by P. T. Macias
Spencer: Bad Boy MMA Cage Fighter
Bad Boy Fights The Fight Of His
Life For His Girl!
Spencer: Bad Boy MMA Cage Fighter
An MMA Fighter Romance
P.T. Macias
Spencer: Spencer: Bad Boy MMA Cage Fighter, Bad Boy Fights The Fight Of His Life For His Girl, An MMA Fighter Romance
By P.T. Macias
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2020 P.T. Macias
Copyright © 2020 By P. T. Macias.
ISBN- 9798654024268
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
P.T. Macias is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, mythology and folklore, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
P.T. Macias books printed in the United States of America.
Dedication
I’m dedicating this book to my husband, children, grandchildren, and family. I’m thankful for your love, patience, and support.
Special Acknowledgements
Thank you, Karen L. Komarinski and Mikki Thomas, for being amazing friends, always there when I need help, and for editing! They’re awesome!
Thank you to my P.T. Macias ARC Angels!
Thank you to my readers that support and love my stories.
Synopsis
Spencer Sinclair
Fuckingtastic.
I’m a fighter.
I’m not a babysitter.
The girl is wild.
She’s rude.
She’s spoiled.
She’s gorgeous.
She’s light.
She’s mine.
What the hell.
Dior Ford
I’m a grown-ass woman.
Father treats me like a child.
I don’t need a babysitter.
The new guard is hot.
He’s serious.
He’s dark.
He’s menacing.
I’m going to drive him insane.
Table Of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Note From P.T. Macias
P.T. Macias
P.T. Macias Series
P.T. Macias Newsletter Signup
Love Me, Stalk Me!
Note To Reader
One
Spencer
“Spencer, keep your arms up! Get Ash on the floor; you need to practice the submissions," Xavier yells, standing at the side of the octagon ring, the cage.
The sweat runs down my face, into my eyes, making them water.
Fuck, the sweat stings, and I'm getting tired. I blink rapidly; I didn't even see Ash's fist coming. Ash connects with my face. Motherfucker is going down.
I'm panting, burning through my energy; I inhale through my nose and exhale harshly. I'm trying to control my breathing to keep focus, but at the moment, it seems like it's a futile effort. I keep my arms up, my biceps flex with each move as I block the punches. I look for the opening to bring Ash down.
Ashton Compton, Ash is my buddy. We're both in the Light Heavyweight class, so it's excellent training since he's an experienced fighter. Ash has several professional fights under his belt. He has all wins and currently ranks at number 149 in the light heavyweight class. I'm 148, working hard, and I know that I’m track on moving up in the ranks.
Fuck, I won't stop until I'm number one!
Ash and I are about the same height, but he's a little broader at the shoulders. I'm thankful that I'm training with Ash and X; I'm taking all of the help I can get.
Xavier Knotts is our very own MMA heavyweight champion. He's making bank; I mean like millions. X has generous sponsorships and Pay Per View offers, earning him millions of dollars each fight. His career is something to aspire to, and he's my mentor, one of my best friends.
Apollo's Gym is one of the country's best, and the coach is Rock Jones. He's a fantastic trainer; he's trained several champions.
I was on the wrestling team in high school, and I took Jiu Jitsu classes for years. Of course, I have other special skills; I'm also a sniper. I received exceptional training in the Marines. Yes, I'm your guy if you need any particular jobs done.
I was fighting in the underworld, making a few hundred dollars, and putting it all on the line. The underworld is cutthroat, there are no rules, and fights can turn into a free for all. There's nothing like fighting with the Unified Rules of Mixed Martial Arts used in the UFC fights.
The Apollo team went to check out the underworld fights, looking to recruit a few new fighters, and that's when they spotted me.
The Apollo Team immediately recruited me, fuck, that's the luckiest day of my life. I'm a lucky motherfucker to get this opportunity practically handed to me. It's not as if I haven't worked my ass off; yeah, I paid my dues over the years. I have several wins, working up to this big fight. Yeah, I'm on my way.
I'm training for my first big UFC, Ultimate Fighting Championship match. I can get eight hundred grand if I lose. Fuck, but I'm going to win this. The purse is over two million.
I know that my life is finally changing for the better; I can feel it. I know that I'll win my first professional fight, I'm making damn sure by training extra hard, pushing my limits.
I swing at Ash, and he counters. I take that moment to move my muscular leg to do a round kick, knocking Ash's legs right out from under him. I take the opportunity to use my brawny arms to do a rear-naked choke, locking Ash into submission.
“You gonna tap?" Spencer says, gasping for air. His muscles contract as he tightens the hold.
"Yeah," Ash says, hitting the mat, allowing his body to relax.
I release Ash, falling over onto my back on the mat, closing my eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to calm my heartbeat. My abdominal muscles flex with each breath I take.
“Okay, let's wrap it up,” Rock yells, clapping his hands, looking at the clock. He walks out of the cage and down towards the lockers. X walks out of the cage, shrugging.
I stop, taking a few steps back, staring at my training partner Ash. We're standing in the cage for a few, trying to regain our breaths.
“I’m so done,” I gasp, rotating my shoulders, closing my eyes. I inhale profoundly and exhale trying to get my tense muscles to relax.
Fuck! My entire body is one huge throbbing ache.
“Hey, let’s go to the club,” Ash says, grabbing his towel. He wipes the sweat off his face. He looks at me, raising his eyebrows, clearly waiting for my agreement.
“Yeah, okay, let’s go,” I say, nodding. I walk towards the door of the octagon cage. Ash follows me out; we walk over to the bench to grab our water bottles.
I’m so fucking thirsty, I gulp down my water, and then I pour an ounce of water over my face to cool off. I then wipe my face with the t
owel.
“Let’s hurry up because I want to grab something to eat before we go,” Ash says, smirking, turns striding off towards the shower.
“Right,” I agree, nodding. I walk after Ash, thinking about my fight in a few months. I feel confident and ready.
Two
Dior
Oh my god, I’m running late! That’s all I need because I know my Father will make a stink about my tardiness.
I hate this with a passion because I would love to drive my car, have the freedom that any other girl has, and not have these apes lurking at my back everywhere I go.
It’s for my safety, Father says. But I feel like I’m actually living in a gilded cage, and I hate it.
“Hurry up, Alfred, I’m late,” I say to the driver inhaling deeply and reaching deep for patience. I close my eyes, trying to control my heartbeat, taking deep breaths to control the nerves.
I don’t know why meeting with my Father always gets me all worked up.
“Yes, Ms. Dior,” says Alfred, nodding.
Alfred glances over at the other guard, Peter, that’s seating in the front passenger seat. He raises his right eyebrow in warning to remain quiet.
A few minutes later, the SUV stops in the reserved parking space. I pushed back my hair, turning to grab my cute red leather Gucci purse. The passenger rear door opens, and Peter waits for me to exit.
“Ms. Dior,” Peter says, stepping back, extending his hand to assist me. I slide to the edge of the black leather back seat of the black SUV.
I hold onto the guard’s hand sliding one leg out of the door, placing my foot onto the concrete walkway. My hair falls over my face as I look down, pushing my other leg putting my other foot on the concrete. The guard releases my hand, and closing the door, stands next to me.
“Ms. Dior, Mr. Ford is waiting,” Peter says, nodding.
I nod, pulling down my dress, adjusting it around my thighs. I really think my dress is really cute; it has ruffle cap sleeves with a V-neck in a dark red scuba crepe material. I adjust my black knee-high suede boots with five-inch heels.
These boots are definitely my favorite!
I adjust my hair before walking onto the sidewalk. I roll my shoulders and straighten my back as I walk towards the huge building belonging to my Father.
Father wants to talk to me, and I hate this. Every time that he requests to meet at his office, it’s always about something that he wants me to do or have someone do for me.
Yeah, yeah, I’m spoiled, but sometimes I would love to be just like any other girl. I’m always on a schedule, but it’s my Father’s schedule. I have dreams and goals that I would like to fulfill. So, I’m left continuously waiting for the opportunity to start, because at this moment I can’t do what I really want to do, and that’s to help children.
I did work hard to earn my nursing degree, but Father doesn’t want me to work. He wants me to marry and have children as if it’s easy to find a good man. They all want only one thing, and it’s not happening. I’m not going to be any man’s toy. I deserve a faithful, loving husband.
So that’s why I broke it off with Roger. He has tons of women following him around, so I know he’s not going to change. I don’t care who he thinks he is.
Sure, he’s a Capo, but I only gave him a chance because Father wants me to marry Roger to strengthen the organization, but it’s not a good idea; in fact, it’s the worst. I don’t want my man to have anything to do with this organization.
I enter the building staring straight ahead, walking down the hall to the elevator. I stop to wait for the elevator looking at my perfect manicured fingernails. Finally, the elevator door opens, and I walk inside, sighing.
Thank God it’s empty, so I don’t have to engage in any small talk.
I push the button, crossing my arms, looking up, watching the numbers climb. The elevator stops on the top floor, the doors slide open. I walk out into the vast foyer, taking off my dark glasses. I flip my hair over my shoulder, walking towards the receptionist, smiling.
“Hey Nancy, how are you? I believe that my Father is expecting me,” I say, resting my slim, right hand on the countertop.
“Hi, Ms. Dior. I’m doing great, thanks for asking. That’s correct, Mr. Ford is expecting you. Go right ahead,” Nancy says smiling, holding her pen.
“Awesome, thanks, Nancy,” I say, nodding.
I walk down the hall, ignoring the open doors and the employee’s curious looks.
Yeah, it’s best not to make friends because they will want me to do something for them to move up in the company. I know it makes me sound paranoid, but it’s happened before, so Father hates me to intervene in his business, as he puts it.
Too bad, so sad, peeps.
I stop in front of my Father’s office, staring at the closed door. I look around the hall, shrugging, rolling my shoulders back. I inhale deeply and exhale before knocking on the door even though I know that Father is expecting me.
I open the door walking into the office, looking around to see if he’s alone.
“Enter,” Father says, closing the laptop as I walk in.
Yes, he’s alone, and that’s great. I never know what he’s scheming. I can feel it; I have this funny ache in the center of my tummy. I know something is off.
I take a few steps into the office, closing the door. I look at Father, nodding. I walk over to stand next to his desk, crossing my arms, raising my eyebrow.
“Father,” I say, tilting my head to the side, smiling a small smile.
“Dior, you’re late! Take a seat,” Father says, scowling, shuffling some papers on the desk.
“I prefer to stand, Father. What’s up?” I ask, staring at him, clenching my teeth. My long golden-brown hair swings around my shoulders as I shift my feet. I stand straight, raising my chin high defiantly.
Father is up to something, and I’m not going to allow him to rule my life.
I’m a grown-ass woman.
I narrow my huge turquoise eyes, looking at him through my thick black eyelashes. I gaze into his eyes and at his lips, checking to see if he’s in a good or ill mood.
I just never know what he’s going to do. As far as I’m concerned, the less that he’s in my business, the better. I’m not a child, and I don’t need to be micromanaged.
“Dior, I learned from your brother William that a bastard tried to get smart with you at the club. I asked you to stop attending the Excalibur on your own. The club is not a place for you to pass your time. What’s the problem, Dior? I’ve asked you several times to behave like the high society young lady, like your sister, that’s what you are, but no, you fight me at every turn. You keep testing my patience. So, I’ve decided,” Father says, leaning back, rocking in his chair, purses his lips.
He taps his fat fingers on his desk, shrewdly looking at me, then he slowly smirks.
God!
My Father always likes to keep me in suspense; he always does this.
“Father, William is blowing the situation out of proportion, and I can take care of myself. I did take self-defense classes. Candance and Jillian are always with me when we go out, so I think that this is overkill. What do you mean, like my sister? Parris doesn’t like to go out because she’s always waiting for Xavier. You can’t compare me to her. What do you mean that you’ve decided? Decided what?” I ask, in a screeching tone, staring at him, trying to read him. I tilt my head to the side, furrowing my forehead, pulling her eyebrows up high, drawing them together.
“Dior, don’t raise your voice at me, young lady. I’m also concerned with Roger. I don’t like what I’m hearing from the soldiers. I don’t give a damn what you think. I’ve decided to have a guard at your side every second, and when you’re out, you will have a larger contingent of guards! I’m not going to risk that some bastard tries to get at me through you,” Father says, patronizingly.
He crosses his huge arms over his chest, tapping his fingers on his dark brown leather chair armrests.
“Father, it’s
not necessary! I can take care of myself. I don’t need a babysitter. I already have guards 24/7,” I huff, rolling my eyes.
My black eyelashes fan across my eyebrows, turning away. I lift my arms up high, shaking my head, frustrated. I walk over to stare out of the window.
I can’t believe this!
What’s going on?
He’s been acting strangely lately.
I move my right hand up, shoving my golden-brown hair over my shoulder, inhaling deeply. I stare at him, exhaling, crossing my arms, fidgeting with my fingers; I grasp my arms. I chew on my lower lip, right at the corner when I’m nervous.
I know that he wouldn’t listen, no matter how much I beg. I wonder if he also hired a babysitter for my brother and sister, or did he only get one for me? Geeze, I’m so tired of this.
“Dior, I’m not asking your opinion, and I’ve already hired a guard for you. He’ll start tomorrow, so I’m asking you to go straight home after this and not to leave the house today,” Father says, pursing his lips tight in a straight line.
“Oh my god, Father! This is getting ridiculous! I’m not a child,” I say, raising my arms, tapping my right foot.
“I don’t give a damn if you’re pissed; you will do as I say,” Father growls, lifting his chin in dismissal.
Three
Spencer
The next day, I roll out of bed, cracking my neck, grabbing my cell to check the time.
Damn, it’s Sunday! I need to squeeze in a few hours of training at the gym. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to sleep on a Sunday, it sounds fucking great, but I can’t.
I push out of bed, grabbing my workout clothes from the chair. I pull my sweatpants to my slim muscular waist, pulling on my black t-shirt and black hoodie. The front of the hoodie has the Apollo logo in bold silver letters.