That self-same iPad that Frank Slater had appeared on was being repurposed. Two of the thugs had rigged up the MMA League app, and the live feed from the O2 Arena started streaming.
For a moment, the thug watching us just narrowed his eyes, and continued his menacing vigil. But then, he turned and strode across the empty warehouse towards his buddies – hissing: “You’ve all got some money on Junior, right?”
It didn’t mean we were alone – far from it. But with the four thugs peering at the iPad, it meant Toni and I were as free to talk as we were ever likely to be.
I kept my eyes on the broad backs of the four thugs, and then started shuffling my chair over to where Toni was sitting.
It was awkward – my toes barely touched the concrete underfoot, and the chair scraped loudly as I moved. But the goons didn’t seem to notice – or, at least, care – and soon I was shuffling my seat up beside Toni.
“Psssst,” I turned my head and hissed at her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Toni turned her head, and nodded frantically. “Although I wasn’t kidding about needing a whizz.”
That gave me the first reason to smile since we’d been dragged there.
“Okay,” I whispered across at her, “so what do we do?” I struggled with the ropes. “I ain’t all that good at playing ‘damsel in distress’.”
Toni rasped: “Me neither.” She winked. “Growin’ up in the hood, we learned the only person you can rely on is yourself.” And then, with a grin, she hoisted up one tiny hand, and revealed that she’d managed to get her wrist free. “That’s why I’ve been tryin’ to get free since we got here.”
“Holy shit!”
Toni winked, and then returned her hand behind her back – just in time, too. One of the guards turned around, and glowered at us as we sat there, side by side.
For long, lingering moments he just stared at us – and I was worried he was going to come over and wrench our seats apart.
But, instead, he finally just turned back to the action on the iPad screen, and Toni and I could whisper to each other again.
“Okay, doll,” Toni hissed. “I think I can get free. What about you?”
I was already halfway there. By clenching and unclenching my fists, I was expanding and contracting the rope around my wrists – and soon I managed to get my hand free.
Thank fuck London mobsters never joined the boy scouts.
But even as I pulled my other wrist free, I started to wonder: What now?
We were in an abandoned warehouse, out in God knew where – with four burly thugs guarding us.
“Sugar, I got a plan,” Toni hissed at me. “But you’re not going to like it – and when shit goes down, you’re gonna have to fight.”
I snorted.
“Fight?” Those four thugs looked tough and mean – but they’d only kidnapped me the first time because they’d got the drop on me. “I can fight.”
With the odds even? I figured a lifetime studying taekwondo, jujitsu and Krav Maga would serve me well.
“Okay, Toni,” I shuffled my seat up even closer to her. “What did you have in mind?”
Chapter Fifty Four
Travis
I’d been given dressing rooms in Las Vegas, Atlantic City… shit, even Cleveland – but the 02 Arena took the cake.
The digs Dan Blanc had assigned me were spacious, well-appointed, and brimming with complimentary water and snacks.
It was a shame I was in no mood to appreciate it.
There was another hour until my fight with Frankie ‘Fury’ Slater – but it might as well have been a lifetime away. All I knew was that Roxy was still missing; and there was nothing I could do about it.
“It’ll be okay, boyo,” pacing up and down the other side of the room was Taffy Evans – clearly as upset about this as I was.
But as bad as it was for the both of us, at least we didn’t have James’ job. Up on the TV in the corner, they were playing live coverage of the MMA League event – and there was James trying to offer commentary even as his girlfriend was kidnapped and missing.
In fact, right at that moment, he was being asked about me.
“What do you make of the Slater / Oates fight that’s coming up,” asked one of the other commentators, turning the mic to James. “Think Trigger is in with a chance?”
And James MacDonald, to his credit, was cool as a cucumber as he replied: “I think a lot of people are expecting him to lose… But I have high hopes something can turn around for Travis at the last minute.”
If only!
I was so entranced by the TV that I didn’t hear the knock on the door at first. But then there was another series of loud bangs – loud enough for Taffy and I to turn and stare at the dressing room door.
It flew open, and ‘Uncle’ Frank Slater stood framed in the doorway.
“Travis, my boy,” the Londoner grinned, swaggering inside.
Two of his thuggish bouncers were behind him, and followed Frank inside. They took positions either side of him, as the crook put his hands on his hips, and surveyed my dressing room like he owned it.
And, in some ways, he looked like he did. Frank was wearing his trademark cashmere coat, flung over his shoulders like a cloak. In a Saville Row suit that cost more than I’d make in purse money that night, Frank looked sleek, mean and intimidating.
But I was done being intimidated.
“So son of a bitch,” I growled, raising from my chair and balling my hands into fists.
“Easy now, easy now,” Frank raised his hands in mock surrender. “Save it for the octagon, my son. Trust me, you’ll need that energy when Frankie gets his mitts on you.”
I paused, as I remembered that this unscrupulous son of a bitch was holding Roxy and Toni prisoner. That, and his two bouncers looked like they’d step in before I had the satisfaction of driving my fists in Frank’s broad, flat face.
But while I paused, somebody else didn’t.
“What the fuck are you doing here,” Taffy hissed, stepping up behind me, and pointing his finger accusingly at Frank.
The little Welshman may not have reached much higher than my chest, but he was like a bulldog, the way he stared the Londoner down.
Frank wasn’t intimidated by him, though. In fact, instead of a bulldog, the Londoner glowered at Taffy as if he was nothing but a yapping Chihuahua.
“I’m here for the fight, ain’t I?” Frank sneered. “It’s my boy up the octagon. Gotta lend him support, right?”
And then Frank took a menacing step forward.
“But before I went up to my VIP box, I wanted to stop by and check one last time that you’re gonna play ball.”
I said nothing – I just stared at Frank with unmitigated hatred seething in my veins.
Frank took my silence as my answer.
“Good.” He jabbed a finger in my direction. “It’s not rocket science, lad. You throw the fight. I give you the girl back. It’s as simple as that.”
He winked menacingly.
“Then you can slink back to America and do whatever the fuck you want with your life. I won’t give a shit any more.”
Again, I had nothing to say to him. I couldn’t say anything to him. Just holding back my rage took every effort I had.
Frank watched, with a sneer.
“So, we have an understanding?”
I stared at Frank with more murder and hate seething through me than I’d ever experienced before.
Even Red Callahan, the night he’d sneered that breaking my dad’s legs would be ‘strictly business’, hadn’t made me feel like this.
God, I wanted the chance to choke the life out of this evil bastard. To watch his eyes bulge as I sunk my fingers into his throat.
But, as long as he still had Toni and Roxy at his mercy, I knew I couldn’t touch him.
So I nodded, slowly and simply. And Frank accepted that as my answer, and grinned: “Good boy.”
And then he was gone – wheeling around and pacing out of my
dressing room with his cashmere coat billowing out behind him.
I stood there, hands still balled into fists, and watched him go.
I’d never hated another human being so much in my life.
And the worst thing? There was nothing I could do about it.
Wait, scratch that. That wasn’t even the worst thing.
Because in less than an hour, I was going to be in the octagon with Frank’s son, Junior. And that was a man I could do something about.
In front of a screaming crowd of thousands, I could deliver to him the bloody justice Frank Senior so richly deserved.
Except I couldn’t.
Not while he had Roxy. Not while he had Toni.
Just like I couldn’t touch Frank Senior, I couldn’t even whale on his son for the same reason. I had to let him win.
And even with Roxy’s life hanging in the balance, that was a pill almost too bitter to swallow.
Chapter Fifty Five
Roxy
“Yo!”
Toni’s voice echoed across the deserted warehouse.
At first, the four thugs ignored her – glued to the iPad as they watched the preliminary fights from that night’s MMA League event.
But Toni was nothing if not loud.
“Yo! Douchebags!”
This time, all four thugs spun around, and one of them snarled at her: “What?”
Toni grinned, as she saw she’d caught their attention.
Wobbling side to side in her chair, she cried out: “I told you assholes. I need to use the bathroom!”
The thug pulled himself upright, and started swaggering over to where Toni and I were sat.
“…and I told you, you fucking tart,” he sneered, “if you need to take a leak, go in your fucking knickers.”
And that’s why Toni played her trump card.
“I need to go number two,” she hissed, “and unless you want to smell that for the rest of the evening, I suggest you let me go to the bathroom, stat.”
The big thug had actually raised his palm – as if to slap Toni as she lay tied there. But the moment she said what she did – suggesting she was about to shit her pants – he paused as if to consider her words.
And then, slowly, the hand lowered.
“Fucking fine,” he spat. “Come take a shit. Enjoy it. It’ll be your fucking last.”
And then he bent down to untie her wrists – and that was when this big thug was in for a surprise.
“What the fuck?”
Bending down, the goon discovered that Toni’s wrists weren’t tied to the chair like they were supposed to be. In fact, as he was bent over, she lurched forward, and wrapped her arms tightly around his throat.
“Ack!”
Toni was a tiny little thing, but she was a spitfire. Hooking her elbow around the thug’s burly neck, she tightened her grip until he gasped, and then yelled at me: “Now! Do it now!”
And that meant it was time for the thug’s other surprise – the bit where I rear up from my chair, similarly untied, and then reach back to grab it like this was the WWE.
Gripping the chair with both hands, I hoisted it high above my head, and then brought it down with a crash across the thug’s broad, defenseless back.
He went down like a sack of potatoes – and I’m pretty sure some of the cracks and splinters we heard didn’t come from the chair – they were actually his ribs.
But, of course, you don’t lay out a thug like that without getting noticed – and the moment the chair splintered across his back, the three other goons spun around, and one of them barked: “Fucking hell! They’re loose!”
And that was when Toni gave me a nod, and asked: “You ready?”
And I nodded back – because I’d been waiting my whole life for this.
Turning to the three goons, I slid my right leg back – giving me a solid position to fight from.
Then I raised my fists, and waited for them to come running – and the three thugs didn’t disappoint.
I guess they figured we were ‘just’ a couple of girls. After all, we’d been easy enough to snatch earlier that day.
But that had been with the element of surprise – and, in my case, a fucking tazer.
But now? Now the fight was on my terms.
The two thugs in the front split up – one heading to grab Toni, and the other reaching to grab me.
He hurtled toward me like a raging bull, huge hands outstretched to grab me.
He was big, and he looked tough – but this giant goon was sloppy, and clearly underestimated me. As he lurched forward, I simply ducked to the left; and he roared right on past.
Which might have been fine, if I hadn’t also extended my leg, to trip him over as he ran.
The thug skidded face-first onto the concrete, sprawling like a felled bison. And then, as he sloppily tried to clamber back up, I stepped over to him, and gave him a right hook I’d been practicing for twenty years, right on the side of the head.
He slumped to the dirty concrete, absolutely unconscious.
I’m not going to lie – it felt good. Studying martial arts involves a lot of practice – but the philosophy is always: “Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.” The fact that I’d laid out this big goon with two strategic moves showed that those years of forms and exercises hadn’t been wasted.
“Hey! Gerrof me!”
Across from me, things weren’t going so well for Toni. She was fighting like a little alley cat – clawing, and spitting, and hissing. But the bigger, stronger thug had his arms wrapped around her, and was crushing her with his iron grip.
Emphasis on the ‘was’ – because the moment my guy hit the concrete, I crossed the space between us, and gave Toni’s assailant a sucker punch he wasn’t expecting.
Thwack! The full force of my knuckles impacted with the thug’s throat. Instantly, he released Toni – staggering back and gasping as he clutched at his bruised Adam’s Apple.
For a few vital seconds, he was unprepared, and undefended – and that was all I needed. I landed two jabs, one after the other, right under his nose. The big lug’s head bounced back with each one like it was a punching bag.
The was probably enough – I saw the light go out from his eyes after the first punch, and the second one definitely knocked him out. But, just to be sure, I followed it up with a brutal side-kick right in the brute’s solar plexus – which lifted him clean into the air, and sent him flying across the room.
He crashed onto the concrete moaning, spluttering, and gasping.
“Damn, girl!” Toni staggered back, eyes wide. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
And I’m not going to lie – I felt a certain amount of pride as I stood there, fists raised, and looked at my three vanquished opponents.
But then that elation quickly turned sour.
There was a ‘click’ from behind us – the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.
Toni and I wheeled around, and found that fourth thug – the one who’d hung back – bearing down on us with a gun.
Jesus, the thing looked like it belonged in a museum – an old Webley, as far as I could tell. But I came from Texas, and had learned from a young age that a gun is always deadly – no matter how old it is.
“You fucking bitches,” the fourth thug gasped, looking at our handiwork. The three other thugs were all sprawled out, groaning and writhing. “Look what you did.”
But, from the look on his face, it was very clear he had no intention of falling victim to the same thing.
Raising the pistol, he hissed: “Uncle Frank wanted us to keep you alive until after the fight. But ‘accidents happen’, right?” His finger tightened on the trigger, “and I’m sure old Frank will understand if we have to change the schedule…”
Toni stepped over and clung to me – and, helpless, we both stared at the unblinking black eye of that deadly revolver.
Chapter Fifty Six
Travis
It was time.
I’d pac
ed back and forth in that dressing room for the full hour, hoping beyond hope that there’d be some news about Roxy, or Toni. But there had been nothing.
And I’d felt helpless – wanting to be out there, looking for them. But I knew I couldn’t. ‘Uncle’ Frank had made that very clear.
The only thing I could do to keep Roxy safe was exactly what he’d told me to – face off against Frankie Junior in the octagon, and lose.
So when there was a knock on the door, and an MMA League official barked: “It’s time, Mr. Oates!” I didn’t feel like a potential champion, about to meet his destiny.
I felt like a condemned man, walking out to his execution.
At least I had Taffy by my side. The little Welshman patted me on the back as I strapped on my gloves, and hissed:
“You have to lose, boyo. But don’t give it to him easy. You’ve got three rounds to draw it out. Make him work for it.”
And that made me feel slightly better.
I might have to concede to Frankie Junior before the final buzzer sounded – but by God, I was going to leave him bruised and bloodied by the end of it.
Taffy ruffled my hair – which was no easy feat, given that I was a foot taller than him – and we stepped out of the dressing room into the corridor.
A moment later, we were emerging out into the arena itself – nearly blinded by the spotlights overhead, and the roar of thousands of fight fans.
The speakers overhead burst into my walk-on music, Life is a Highway, by Rascal Flatts, and even I couldn’t help but get a swagger to my step as I listened to the pounding beat and lyrics.
But even though I looked the part, as I swaggered up to the steps of the octagon, I didn’t feel it.
At the bottom of the steps, Taffy helped me strip off my t-shirt and pants, and the MMA League cut man quickly examined me, before anointing my forehead with smears of Vaseline.
And then it was time.
“Boyo!” Taffy embraced me, and patted my shoulders. “You go up there and do what you have to. Don’t even think about it. Just think about Roxy and Toni, okay?”
I took a deep breath, and nodded.
Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 19