Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance

by Simone Scarlet MMA

  So I could win tonight – and as I’d said too-few hours earlier; all I needed what that chance.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, I staggered back into the lobby of the Park Plaza with sweat dripping down my back.

  I’d run a lazy two miles – just enough to get the heart pounding. This close out to a fight, I didn’t want to do anything that might risk my performance in the octagon – pull a muscle pounding weights, or tear a tendon really pounding the asphalt.

  But two lazy ten-minute miles? It was enough to wash the whiskey out of my system, and fill my body and muscles with blood.

  Still panting, I staggered up to the elevator, and was soon getting whisked upstairs. I figured I had enough time for a shower, and shave and maybe a nap before the car came to take me to the O2 arena over in Greenwich; to finally face my destiny.

  And with the confidence of last night’s pep-talk, and the rush of a good run pumping through my veins, I figured there was nothing that could stand in my way.

  I was wrong.

  The elevator dinged as we reached my floor. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I lumbered down the corridor…

  …and then froze.

  The door to our hotel room was swinging open.

  When I’d left, not twenty minutes earlier, I’d made sure to lock it behind me. It had clicked shut, and I’d tried the handle to make sure.

  After all, Roxy was still asleep in there, and I didn’t want room service or the cleaners to disturb her.

  But now the door was hanging open – and as I pushed it wider, and stepped into the hotel room, my heart suddenly skipped for a reason more chilling than the two miles I’d just run.

  The bed was empty. The room was trashed.

  Somebody had come in here and torn the place right up – with our luggage strewn across the room, and the chairs and tables kicked over.

  And Roxy was nowhere in sight.

  “Roxy?” I checked the bathroom. “Honey? Where are you?”

  It was a small hotel suite. It didn’t take long to establish that she wasn’t there.

  What the fuck?

  I crossed the room to where my wallet, phone and keys were. They’d been thrown onto the floor, but were all still there, apparently.

  I grabbed my phone – ready to call the cops.

  But it rang before I could unlock it.

  A London number.

  “Hello?” Putting my phone to my ear, I searched the room for some pants and a shirt. “Who is this?”

  “It’s James,” came the flustered reply – the Scot’s accent unmistakable. “Jesus, Travis. They’ve taken Toni.”

  “What?” I froze, phone pressed to my ear. “What do you mean? Who’s taken her?”

  “She’s gone,” James repeated. “She went out this morning for breakfast, and never came back… and then I got this call.”

  And the exact moment he said it, I got another call as well – a blocked number this time, buzzing insistently.

  “James, I’ll call you back.”

  I already knew who it would be before I answered it – but as I dropped James’ call, and answered this new one, the familiar voice at the end of the line still gave me chills.

  “’Ello, Travis.”

  Uncle Frank.

  “Probably noticed by now that something’s missing from your hotel room,” the Londoner purred menacingly down the line.

  “Why you son of a bitch,” I hissed. “Where the fuck is she? I swear, if you’ve hurt one hair on Roxy’s head…”

  “…you’ll what?” Frank chuckled – and, the truth be told, I didn’t have a good response to that.

  “Listen up, you fucking yank,” Frank continued. “Yeah, I’ve got your girl. I’ve got James MacDonald’s girl, too. And if either of you cunts want to see ‘em again, you’re going to throw tonight’s fight like a good little boy.”

  I shuddered as I heard that threat.

  “…and if you think of going to the cops, or to Dan Blanc, then the next time you’ll see your quote-unquote ‘trainer’ again is when she’s floating face-down in the fucking Thames. Understood?”

  I stood there in silence.

  “Understood?” Frank repeated.

  My knees wobbled. Slowly, I sunk down onto the bed, reeling from the news.

  “I’ll take your silence as agreement,” Frank hissed menacingly. “Now I’m gonna hang up, and you’re going to go about your business. Only tonight, when you face off against Frankie Junior, you’re gonna fucking lose.”

  Again, the only satisfaction Frank got from me was silence. But, once again, he didn’t seem to care.

  “Don’t make it look too easy,” the Londoner warned. “And don’t think of telling anybody it’s rigged. ‘Cos if you do, your girl is getting sent back to America in the cargo hold.”

  The cargo hold. Where they put coffins, on planes.

  “You understood all that?”

  Again, I gave him nothing but silence. But, apparently, that was good enough.

  “Do as you’re told, and your little slut will be back with you tomorrow morning, safe as sound. But try to double cross me…”

  Frank never finished that sentence. He just hung up.

  I sat there on the bed, trembling.

  What the fuck had just happened?

  Chapter Fifty One

  Roxy

  The bag got ripped off my head.

  Blinking, I looked around. For the past hour, I’d been kept in total darkness – but now my eyes were adjusting to the light, I could see I was in a run-down warehouse; with bare, brick walls and light filtering in from filthy skylights overhead.

  I was tied wrist and ankle to a sturdy wooden chair – and it didn’t look like I was alone.

  Four men in cheap suits and balaclavas stood around me – all staring down at me menacingly.

  And opposite? There was another young woman tied to a chair, with a bag over her head.

  Only when they tore this girl’s bag off, she didn’t hold back in response.

  “Why you honky-ass Limey motherfuckers,” screamed Toni Rome, as she writhed and struggled against her bonds. “You let me out of this right fucking now or I swear, I’ll kick all of y’all asses like it was Independence Day all over again.”

  Toni was dressed in a purple velour tracksuit, but her coiffured hair and makeup was perfect. The only thing inelegant about her was her language and attitude – and, given the circumstances, you could hardly blame her.

  “Snatch a homegirl off the streets?” The chair Toni was tied to rocked back and forth, as she struggled against the ropes. “You motherfuckers have some fuckin’ nerve!”

  Damn. I’d read that Toni had grown up in the roughest part of Compton, Los Angeles – a hotbed of crime, racial discrimination and abuse. But I’d only seen her at her poised, elegant best. Now she was tied up and helpless, she was playing the scrappy, sassy hoodrat – and I feared for any man who got the wrong side of her.

  Slap!

  Apparently, one man wouldn’t have heeded my warning.

  “Shaddap,” growled one of the thugs, after slapping Toni across the face. “Any more lip out of you, and I’ll fucking gag you.”

  And while Toni shot him a look that could have killed at a hundred paces, she did indeed fall silent.

  “Right,” the towering thug hissed. “If you two can finally behave for a moment, I’d got something to show you.”

  And then from his jacket, he pulled what looked like an iPad out.

  The thug swiped and tapped the screen for a second, and then suddenly a face appeared.

  ‘Uncle’ Frank Slater.

  He was choppy and digitized, but nobody could mistake that grizzled face, or the thick, London accent.

  “Good morning, ladies,” Frank growled through the iPad speakers. “Sorry I can’t be there in person… gotta keep an alibi, and all that.”

  “You bastard!” I screamed, struggling against the ropes tying my wrists to the chair. “Why ha
ve you done this? Let us fucking go!”

  On the screen, ‘Uncle’ Frank chuckled good-naturedly.

  “Sorry, ladies. Can’t do that.” He grinned, showing his digitized teeth. “Wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I had a word with your boy Travis last night, and I found him to be…”

  Frank paused.

  “…uncooperative.”

  I struggled against the ropes, and rocked the chair from side to side.

  “Why, you grey-haired limey prick…”

  Frank ignored my insults.

  “So that’s why I snatched you ladies. Surprisingly easy, as it turned out. Especially you, Ms. Roxy. Knock on the hotel door. Taser to the ribs.” Frank grinned. “You should be careful who you open the door to.”

  My cheeks flushed as Frank went over the circumstances of my kidnapping. After a lifetime of martial arts, I’d never thought of myself as an easy mark – but Franks goons had caught me unawares, and I’d paid dearly for it.

  Frank was unaware of what was going on in my head, so he just kept talking.

  “Now, then, ladies,” he growled. “Here’s how it’s gonna go down. You two lovely things are going to hang tight with my boys, here – while back in London, dear old Travis will hopefully see the light of day, and do what he should have done from the start – let my boy win tonight’s fight.”

  I stopped struggling.

  So, that was the deal. After Travis refused to be bought off, ‘Uncle’ Frank had found another way to convince him to throw the upcoming fight with Frankie Junior.

  Me.

  “You prick,” Toni started screaming at the iPad. “Why did you drag me into this?”

  And then, a little sheepishly, she turned to me and clarified: “Not that I’d want you to be going through this alone, hun. I was just…”

  “No worries,” I reassured her.

  Frank laughed again.

  “Two heads are better than one,” he grinned, peering out at us from behind the glass of the iPad screen. “I figured if I get that posh prick MacDonald involved too, he’ll convince Travis to stay the course even if that trashy Texan comes down with a fatal case of conscience.”

  Toni growled at the iPad:

  “Well, your plan’s dumb, motherfucker. So what if Travis does throw the fight? What then?” She nodded in my direction. “You think Roxy and I ain’t gonna tell the cops, and the MMA League, the moment we get free?”

  Frank narrowed his eyes on screen.

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, that’s true. But don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.”

  We listened silently.

  “The moment young Travis has done his part, I’ll tell him and Bulldog where to find you two – only, when they turn up, I’ll have arranged a nice little accident for all four of you; just like I did for Andy Mackey.”

  I shuddered when I heard that.

  “It’ll be a real pity, like,” Frank sighed wistfully. “Four young, successful people. Snuffed out in a tragic accident.”

  And then he laughed.

  “But don’t feel too badly about it. Maybe they’ll name an MMA arena after you, or something.”

  And then the screen went blank; and Toni and I were left alone in the deserted warehouse, surrounded by Frank’s menacing, hooded thugs.

  I turned to Toni, and mouthed the word ‘sorry.’ After all, her getting swept up in this was all my fault.

  But she didn’t seem to care about blame. She gave me a conspiratorial nod, and then struggled with her bonds.

  “Oi!” The thug with the iPad swatted her over the back of the head. “You two sit still. Any nonsense out of the pair of you, and we’ll make sure that ‘accident’ happens sooner, rather than later.”

  And with four burly thugs staring down at us, Toni and I slumped in defeat. After all, we didn’t have much other choice.

  Chapter Fifty Two

  Travis

  “Fuck, James,” I cried, as I burst in through the front door of ‘Bulldog’ MacDonald’s expensive Chelsea flat. “What the fuck do we do?”

  James was waiting for me, dressed in a natty tweed suit he’d obviously picked out for commentary duties later than night.

  But, right now, the upcoming fight was the last thing on our minds.

  “I got the call a few moments after you did,” he hissed, slamming the door shut behind me. “Frank Slater, telling me you’d better lose tonight’s fight, or Toni’s going to suffer the same fate as Roxy.”

  I wheeled around, heart pounding in my chest.

  “So what do we do? Call the cops? Tell Dan Blanc?”

  “We can’t do anything,” James held up his hand in a silent warning. “You heard what Frank said. If we go to the police, or tell the league…”

  He mimed somebody getting their throat cut.

  Deflated, I slumped against the wall in the hallway.

  “So… so what? What do we do now?”

  James checked his Rolex.

  “We get ready, that’s all.” Looking up at me, the handsome Scotsman hissed: “Until we figure out a plan, we have to follow Frank’s instructions.” When he saw me wavering, MacDonald stepped forward and grabbed my arm. “Hey, it’s not just your girl at stake, okay? It’s mine, too. And, so help me, if you do something dumb to put her at risk, ‘Uncle’ Frank will be the last thing you need to worry about.”

  I stared at the steely determination in the Scotsman’s eyes, and realized that he was speaking the truth.

  We didn’t have any choice. We just had to play along, and hope that somewhere, somehow, an opportunity to make things right presented itself.

  * * *

  The 02 Arena in North Greenwich is one of the most ridiculous things you’ll ever see in your life – a sprawling dome that looks like one of the flying saucers from Independence Day touched down right in the heart of London’s docklands.

  For sports, it was second only to Madison Square Gardens for the number of people it could seat – and, unlike the venue in New York City, had been allowed to host MMA events since the very beginning.

  As even approached, I crammed into the back of James’ elegant Jaguar sportscar, and he powered us through the Blackwall Tunnel towards the famous arena.

  Why was I in the back seat? Because sitting up front was James’ chatty little trainer, Taffy Evans.

  “Well, boyo,” the Welshman was turned in his seat, “I’d volunteered my services to that lovely young lady of yours – but now it looks like you’re stuck with ‘em.” He gave me the thumbs up. “I’ll be your corner team tonight.”

  “Are you serious?”

  I leaned forward in the cramped back seats – a ridiculous fit for my lanky, 6’ 4” frame.

  “We’re just going to pretend like everything’s normal? You expect me to just climb into that cage tonight, and fight like I’m scheduled to?”

  “No,” James growled, as he maneuvered the car through traffic, “I expect you to lose. Because as long as we’re hold up Uncle Frank’s end of the deal, we can only pray he holds up his.”

  I slumped back in the seats, my hands balling into fists.

  Fuck.

  He was right, of course. As long as Frank had Roxy and Toni, there was nothing we could do put play along. Do what he wanted – and hope that we could trust his word.

  But I felt powerless. More powerless, even, than when I’d faced down Red back at Ol’ Smokey’s, in Freeport.

  It was ironic that on two different sides of the world – 3,000 miles apart – I’d fallen foul to two of the same characters.

  “Okay, we’re here.”

  James pulled the Jaguar to a halt at the valet parking, and threw open the door.

  Before he tossed the keys to the valet, the Scotsman helped me out of the cramped back seats – and gripped my arm hard as I clambered out.

  “I can trust you, right?” He hissed into my ear. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

  I turned and looked at the handsome Scots
man, locking my gaze with his.

  Right at that moment? I wanted to take a swing at him – for being such a condescending, arrogant prick.

  But then I realized he was in the same boat as I was. It was his girl who’d been kidnapped, too.

  And while I had the silent luxury of an octagon, James had the really hard task that night: Getting up in front of a crowd of thousands, and commentating on that night’s roster of fights as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  That was the sort of thing no amount of training would ever prepare you for.

  Chapter Fifty Three

  Roxy

  With my hands tied to the chair, I couldn’t even glance at my watch – so who knew how many hours we’d been in that dark and dingy warehouse.

  All I knew was that I was losing feeling in my arms and legs, and my nose had been itching for as long as I could remember.

  “Yo!” It was Toni, sitting across from me. She was barking at one of the four men guarding us. “Yo! I need to take a whizz!”

  She rocked back and forth in the chair she was in – as close to doing the ‘pee-pee’ dance as you can get with your hands and wrists tied.

  But if the thugs cared, they didn’t show it.

  In fact, one of the masked men swaggered over to where Toni was struggling, and kicked her chair hard. It threatened to topple right over, until the goon grabbed the back of it with his hand and righted it.

  Toni stopped struggling.

  “If you need to take a leak,” the thug growled, “piss in your fucking knickers. I ain’t letting you up for nothing.”

  And then he snarled, and turned his back on the both of us.

  For a moment, there was silence in the warehouse – and I turned to Toni and looked at her despondent face as we both sat there silently.

  Fuck.

  What were we going to do?

  But then there was a shout from the other side of the room.

  “Oi! The fucking fights are about to begin!”