FIGHT NIGHT #1: Three Story MMA Romance Bundle

by Scarlet MMA, Simone

  And, when Cassie’s period was late a couple of weeks later, they realized they’d made something even more tangible that night, as well!

  Round 2

  LAID OUT

  A FIGHT NIGHT Romance

  By Simone Scarlet

  Chapter One

  “Is he dead?”

  Those were the first words that Silas Batres heard as he regained consciousness.

  “No, no,” said the doctor, flashing a light into the fighter’s eyes. “In fact, I think we’re lucky. I don’t think he even has concussion… But we ought to get him checked out to be sure.”

  Silas groaned, and there was a loud cheer from around him.

  “See?” Said the doctor. “He’s not dead.”

  “Shit,” came the response. “I thought at least I could claim on the insurance money.”

  “Mmmuuuurrrghn,” Silas groaned again, and this time the response was a little more sympathetic.

  “Silas? Amigo? Are okay, buddy?”

  “Did he break anything?”

  “Mmmurgh,” Silas groaned again, this time successfully managing to open his eyes.

  He was lying on the floor of the octagon, staring up at the floodlights overhead. Around him, flashbulbs were going off and people were cheering – and jeering –his name.

  Groaning, the Spaniard struggled to haul himself into a sitting position.

  “Take it easy, amigo,” the doctor warned, placing his hand on Silas’ shoulder. “You took one hell of a hit, man.”

  “Jeez,” said somebody else. “That guy knocked you clean into next week.”

  “Forty-one seconds,” said the third and final voice – one Silas instantly recognized as belonging to his sponsor, Jared Hedberg. “Jesus fucking Christ, man. That cost me a grand a fucking second.”

  It was that which finally brought Silas Batres to full consciousness. Groaning, rubbing his aching jaw, the MMA super-heavyweight fighter sat up and blearily looked around.

  The last thing he remembered, he’d been facing down the meanest sonofabitch in MMA – the “Norwegian Oak” Magnus Bjorn. At 419lbs, Magnus towered over Silas, and was far and away the favorite for the match.

  But Silas had a plan. He was going to get a lucky strike in and fell that Norwegian bastard like he was timber.

  Or, at least, that had been the plan.

  But less than a minute into the match, just as Silas took what he was sure was his winning strike, Magnus had stepped aside and clobbered him.

  It was the sort of punch that could break cinderblocks – and it was more than enough to knock Silas down onto his ass, and into three and a half minutes of sweet, silent unconsciousness.

  “F-fuck,” Silas groaned, rubbing his head as he recollected the events of the past few minutes. “I got fucking beat, man.”

  Chapter Two

  The ride back to the hotel was completed in humiliating silence.

  Silas sat in the back seat of the Cadillac Escalade, nursing his swollen jaw. The MMA medic at the stadium had said nothing was broken, and apparently he’d escaped without a concussion, but that didn’t stop his jaw from fucking hurting.

  Magnus Bjorn had hit him with the force of an express train.

  But much more painful that his jaw was the awkward silence.

  Sitting in the front seat of the Cadillac, beside the driver, was Jared Hedberg – his sponsor.

  This was the guy who’d taken Silas from the obscurity of Logroño, Spain, to the bright lights of the United States.

  Tonight, it was clear, Hedberg was pissed with him.

  His fury was so much so that he couldn’t even find the words to talk to his prize fighter – let alone address what had happened that evening.

  But if the truth was told, Silas was grateful for the silence. He was still struggling to get his thoughts together; having to make excuses for his performance that night would not have helped with that process.

  The driver guided the Cadillac to around the front of the stadium, and they paused in the loading area for a moment.

  “Nicola’s going to meet us,” Jared explained.

  Silas narrowed his eyes. That was all he needed.

  Spotting their awaited guest, the driver slipped out of his leather seat. He opened the rear passenger door of the Escalade, and in climbed the third and final passenger:

  Nicola Hedberg.

  “Why, good evening, Silas,” she purred as she spotted the bruised fighter sitting at the other end of the bench seat. “That was quite a performance tonight.”

  Silas grumbled under his breath.

  Nicola Hedberg was Jared’s beautiful wife – a venomous vixen rarely seen not draped in Prada or Donna Karen, and doused in Chanel No. 5.

  Tonight was no exception, and her perfume assailed Silas’ nostrils as he watched her settle into her seat.

  “Back to the hotel, then?” Nicola sneered, as the driver climbed back behind the wheel. “Calling it an early night?”

  “Not by choice,” Jared scoffed, in the front seat. “By rights, the fight with Bjorn should have still been going on right now.”

  Silas slunk even lower into his seat.

  He was 265lbs of pure Spanish muscle – trained in seven martial arts, and feared and respected across the country. But between them, Jared and Nicola could effortlessly make him feel like a worthless little runt.

  Chapter Three

  “You know how much this hotel suite cost, Silas?”

  They were standing in Silas’ suite at the Ritz Carlton, and the bruised fighter was pressing a bag of ice up against his jaw.

  “I was doing some math,” Jared continued, adjusting his $250 dollar necktie, as he paced menacingly around the room. “Between flights, accommodation and training, getting you to this fight alone set me back $53,000.”

  The businessman narrowed his eyes.

  “So I wasn’t far off what I said earlier: Every second you spent in that ring cost me more than a grand.”

  Silas rolled his eyes.

  “Okay, okay, I get it,” he growled. “I fucked up, jefe.” He indicated his swollen jaw. “But this was a pretty good reminder not to leave myself open like that again.”

  “You think your jaw hurts?” Jared growled. “What about my wallet?”

  Silas narrowed his eyes.

  Jared Hedberg sponsored him because he himself was a frustrated, wannabe MMA fighter. Standing 6’2” and 250lbs, Hedberg had a shaved head, a goatee and the swagger of a heavyweight.

  Unfortunately, he also had a bad ticker and a glass jaw.

  But what hitting power Jared lacked in the octagon, he more than made up for with his bank account.

  The owner of a multi-million dollar landscaping business, Jared had poured tens of thousands into sponsoring fighters, just so he could live out his MMA fantasies through them.

  Silas Batres was supposed to be his secret weapon.

  Jared had personally selected him after seeing videos of his bouts on YouTube. He’d spent tens of thousands getting Silas a working visa, and flying him from his little hometown in La Rioja, Spain, to the United States.

  Personal trainers. Fighting coaches. The best supplements money could buy. Jared had spent tens of thousands getting Silas ready for the octagon.

  And, tonight, Silas had blown all that in under 41 seconds.

  In some ways, Batres could understand why Hedberg was pissed at him. But for the most part, Silas just felt resentful.

  At the time, he’d thought sponsorship by Hedberg would be his ticket to the big time. Now he just felt like the businessman’s property. Shit, he thought Americans had outlawed slavery in the 19th century – but the way Jared Hedberg acted around him, he realized owning people was still possible here in the land of the almighty dollar.

  As if reading Silas’ thoughts, Jared gave a frustrated snort.

  “Get some fucking sleep, Silas,” he snapped, turning on his heel and marching towards the door. “Tomorrow we’re going to have a very serious discussio
n about your future in the MMA.” And as his hand reached for the door handle, Jared turned and menacingly met Silas’ gaze. “I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to enjoy it very much.”

  Then he was gone, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Silas Batres stood alone, in his luxurious hotel suite, and cursed in every language he knew. Then he crossed to the bedside cabinet, tore the lamp out of the socket on the wall, and hurled it across the room.

  It shattered in the corner.

  “Carajo!” Silas spat. “Hijo de mil cojeros!” He kicked the bedside cabinet, and the door flew off the hinges.

  Snarling, the angry Spaniard surveyed the luxurious hotel suite for more stuff to smash – knowing that each thing he wrecked would be another dollar charged to that cabron, Jared.

  But then the door to his hotel suite swung open, and a disdainful voice sneered: “Such language, Silas!”

  Stunned, the fighter span around, and narrowed his eyes.

  It was Nicola Hedberg.

  Jared’s beautiful wife had let herself into Silas’ hotel room, and was staring at him with amused contempt.

  “If you’d kicked Magnus Bjorn like you just kicked that cabinet, my dear,” the beautiful wife sneered, eyes flashing, “maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

  Chapter Four

  “What the fuck do you want, señora Hedberg?” Silas spat.

  “Oh, Silas,” his sponsor’s wife replied coolly. “Is that any way to greet me?”

  She walked gracefully into the hotel suite on her 6” Christian Louboutin heels, and let the door swing shut softly behind her.

  From across the room, Silas watched her suspiciously.

  Nicola Hedberg was, to him, everything that was dangerous about a woman. She was tall, and slim, and carefully detailed with every enhancement money could afford.

  Hand-dyed honey-blond hair fell around her shoulders. Her lips gleamed with Estee Lauder lipstick. Her bright eyes gleamed with the sort of energy that could only come from doing a line of coke thirty minutes earlier.

  Dressed in her Prada dress, she looked like a million dollars; and her actual price tag probably wasn’t far off that.

  “So Silas, honey,” Nicola purred, stepping up to the towering MMA fighter and peering up at him mockingly. “My husband isn’t very happy with you at the moment.” She placed the palm of her hand on Sila’s massive chest. “And I can’t say I blame him.”

  “That Norwegian cabron just got a lucky punch in,” Silas snarled, snatching her hand away. He squeezed her wrist painfully tight, and Nicola’s eyes flashed at the pain.

  “Well, that ‘lucky punch’ just cost my husband a lot of money,” she purred, biting her bottom lip. “In fact, he’s up in our hotel suite right now, trying to work out exactly how much.”

  Silas tightened his grip on Nicola’s wrist. She gasped, smiling at the intensity of it.

  “So what brought you down here, señora Hedberg?” Silas spat. “You came here to mock?”

  “Why, Silas,” Nicola faked offense. “How could you think such a thing of me.” And, with that, she placed her other hand on his broad chest. “I’m here to help you, darling.”

  Silas growled. Nicola didn’t help anybody, unless she was helping herself.

  “Honey, Jared’s looking at ditching you like last night’s pizza,” Nicola purred, looking Silas dead in the eye. “He thinks his sponsorship money would be better spent on an… ahem… less unreliable fighter.”

  Silas said nothing, but his lips narrowed into a thin line as he heard this.

  “I hear he’s looking into that new guy – ‘Bruiser’ Broderick. Heard of him?”

  “The Jewish guy,” Silas growled. “The one with the school for retarded kids, or something.”

  “Exactly,” Nicola nodded. “He thinks it would be a nice little angle – giving money to a guy who helps the less fortunate, instead of some stubborn Spaniard who trashes hotel rooms.”

  Silas snarled at that.

  “But don’t worry, baby,” Nicola’s hand lifted from Batres’ chest, and she placed a finger on his lips. “I’m sure I can convince him to give you one last chance.”

  And then her eyes flashed.

  “If you make it worth my while, that is.”

  Chapter Five

  Silas snorted disdainfully.

  He wasn’t dumb. He knew what that price would be. Right from the very beginning of his sponsorship by Jared Hedberg, the businessman’s wife had made it very clear what her interest in the handsome MMA fighter was.

  “Fine,” Silas snorted. He let go of her wrist, and stepped back from Nicola with a snarl. “Where do you want to do it? On the bed?”

  Nicola laughed icily.

  “Oh, you cheeky little cunt,” the venomous vixen purred. “Who do you think you are?”

  Turning her back on Silas, Nicola clip-clopped across the room on her high heels, and took a seat on the leather chaise lounge opposite.

  “If you want it,” she grinned, “you’ve got to work for it.”

  And, with that, Nicola lounged back, stretching her arms across the back of the chair, and stretching out her legs in front of her.

  Silas stood there and watched.

  Butterflies churned in his stomach.

  Nicola Hedberg was a vicious little puta, but she was also extremely sexy. She’d been the honey that Silas had got sticky with in the beginning.

  As he gazed across the room at the beautiful wife, part of him wanted to cross the room and throttle her. But the sight of her slender figure in that tight dress, and those long, lean legs was making him hard inside his pants.

  “Come on, baby,” Nicola purred, clicking her fingers like he was some kind of a dog. “Come over here and make me feel good.”

  Reluctantly, Silas took a step forward – and that’s when Nicola laughed. Holding up her hand in a wordless ‘stop’ motion, the beautiful honey-blond sneered:

  “Get out of those clothes first.” And then her eyes flashed. “And when you do come over here? Do it on your fucking knees.”

  Chapter Six

  Silas wasn’t much of a reader, but he was suddenly reminded of a quote he’d heard from British writer Oscar Wilde:

  “Everything in the world is about sex. Except sex. That’s about power.”

  Wasn’t that the fucking truth?

  As he stood there, defiantly, Silas gazed at Nicola’s mocking expression and realized she wasn’t just some horny housewife. To her, this was all about power.

  In that respect, she was just as fucked-up as her husband was.

  “Strip,” Nicola snapped again. She glanced at her bejeweled Bulova watch. “I’ve got to be back in bed with Jared in thirty minutes, and I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Silas snorted.

  Staring venomously into Nicola’s eyes, he pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing inch after inch of his tanned, muscular torso.

  Hours in the weight-room and four pounds of grilled chicken every day had given him a 265lb frame and a single-digit body fat percentage. He knew he looked good; and it was gratifying to see Nicola’s mouth open a little as he tossed his t-shirt to the floor.

  Next, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, and shrugged them down. He wasn’t wearing boxers underneath.

  “Huuungh,” Nicola gasped, as she saw him standing in front of her, shamelessly naked.

  Silas snorted again.

  For all her airs and graces – and despite all the accoutrements of luxury that Jared’s money had bought for her – under the skin Nicola was just another puta.

  She loved big, sexy men with big, thick cocks – and Silas Batres was both of those things.

  In fact, it was his cock she was staring at now – his thick, swinging dick that hung half-way to his knees.

  As Silas stood there, naked, he felt blood rushing to it. Nicola’s eyes were growing wider as she watched his manhood swell and thicken.

  “C-come over her
e,” suddenly, the icy wife’s voice wasn’t quite so steady. “O-on your knees, remember?”

  With a sneer, Silas did exactly that.

  Dropping down onto his knees, like some kind of feral predator, he started crawling across the hardwood floors towards Nicola.

  She watched, eyes wide. Her mouth opened a little, and she wetted her lips with her tongue.

  Having Silas on his knees was supposed to make him submissive – but, in fact, the opposite seemed true.

  He moved like a lion, ready to pounce and devour her.

  And from the way Nicola’s breath had deepened, it seemed she didn’t mind that possibility one little bit.

  Chapter Seven

  Silas crawled, naked, across the floor.

  In just a few seconds, he was at Nicola’s feet, and he reached out to curl his thick fingers around her ankles, and spread her legs.

  “Huuungh,” Gasped Nicola, gripping onto the back of the chaise lounge so she didn’t slip off it.

  Silas grinned, looking up from between Nicola’s legs.

  As he spread her legs wider, he could look up; under the hem of her little black dress. He caught sight of the tops of her stockings, and then a tanned patch of bare skin, and finally the lacy black gusset of her panties.

  “I’m going to eat you alive, you sexy little puta.”

  “Oh, you’re going to eat me, alright,” Nicola sneered back at him – and then she lifted her ass off the chaise lounge, and reached under her skirt to hook her thumbs into the waistband of her panties.

  Nicola yanked them down, around her thighs. Then she looked down, at the expectant face of Silas, and demanded: “Take them off me.”

  “Yes, señora,” Silas grinned.

  “With your teeth,” Nicola added, smiling.

  Silas snorted like a bull, and crawled between her legs. A moment later, his bright, white teeth closed down on the lacy material of her thong, and Silas started pulling her panties down.

  Over her thighs they went… Then her knees… Finally, Silas spat out the material, and yanked them the rest of the way with his hands.