No Limits (The Fighter Series Book 6)

by TC Matson

  The Fighter Series #6

  By: TC Matson

  Copyright © 2018 TC Matson

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. Copyright property of the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permissions of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at authortcmatson@gmail.com.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people, whether living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognizes the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

  Dedication

  Just dive…

  And to Angela,

  Thank you for your patience, your support, and your love.

  Chapter 1

  I take out my earpiece and plug it up in my work locker before making my way down the hall to Jackson’s office. I bought one of those external batteries so I can charge it in the safety of my locker without the worry of someone else mistakenly using it. I’ll share a lot of shit, but ear wax is a hard pass for me.

  I slap the wall beside Jackson’s office. “Heading out,” I announce, crossing my arms and dropping a shoulder against the frame.

  He glances away from his monitor allowing his blue eyes to adjust. “Big plans tonight?” he asks, resting back into his chair.

  Jackson’s my oldest brother by nine years and one of the biggest pains in my ass, but he’s a friend nevertheless. You’d think working for your brother is a shitty idea, but it hasn’t been. When I turned twenty-one, he offered me a job in security. Of course, I jumped on it. I got my ass out of a dead-end warehouse job and into a career, working my ass off so I can eventually take over as head of security.

  We’re able to separate our business lives from our personal ones. Besides, my boss wants to see me succeed. I’m not just a pawn in his plan. I’m valuable in and out of work.

  And I can cuss him with a smirk.

  “Hitting the club with Nick and Jeff,” I tell him.

  “Wrap it up if you’re going to chub it up.”

  “Yes, father,” I deadpan, arching a brow. “Who the fuck says chub anymore? Your age is shining there, old man…” I mutter and it causes him to crack up.

  “You’re just like Ryker when you don’t get laid. Grumpy as fuck. Go invest in a pocket pussy to hold you over until you find the real deal.”

  I scoff. “You two signed off on the rights of getting laid when you got married. Dry spell or not, I’m for sure getting more ass than the both of you put together.”

  His lips contort, twisting up on one side. “You realize that’s not the case? In fact, it’s quite the opposite.”

  “You do realize I don’t give a flying fuck about your sex life?”

  “I think I’ll order you a blow-up doll too,” he says with annoyed sarcasm. “Your attitude has been shitty lately. Whatever has your panties in a twist, you’re allowing it to roll in here to work. Next time check it at the door. Got it?” He ends in a bossy stern glare.

  Well, aren’t his boxers strangling his nuts…

  I grit my teeth, nod and push off the wall, leaving without another word. Although it has been three long and torturous weeks since my dick has been wet, that’s not the main reason for my piss poor mood. Reality is. I’m not where I pictured I’d be at twenty-five. Instead, I’m surrounded by marriages and kids, boyfriends and girlfriends, fighters and gamblers. I’ve got a cold heart and a hard dick, and no desire to be in a relationship. Finding a good woman outside of a good fuck is like finding a bride in a brothel.

  Think about that.

  My life today is contrary to what it was two years ago. Back then, I was in the right spot—girls on the side and just a phone call away. But they too have found someone and no longer need my moaning services.

  It’s bullshit. The world around me continues to move and I’m here holding on for dear life.

  I wasn’t always this bitter, but being charred several times within a short time can dampen anyone’s mood.

  The first sting to my ego was Crystal. Honestly, I set myself up for that. We dated for four months and then one morning she bounced out. No note. No texts. Not even her toothbrush. And she never returned my phone calls. I wouldn’t say I loved her because I didn’t, but I did care. Then two months later, out of the blue, she pops back up.

  She explained she needed time to find herself because she fell in love with me and it scared her knowing I didn’t reciprocate. I gave her a second shot despite my gut intuitions telling me otherwise. But two weeks back into our relationship, we were supposed to go on a date. She called and canceled, explaining she wasn’t feeling well. I knew something didn’t feel right, so I decided to drive past her place. “Not feeling well” was in the shape of a man in a suit, slicked back hair, a black Mercedes, and the smell of money. He was old enough to have ugly fucking wrinkly balls and a daughter Crystal’s age. That threw my ego into a tailspin.

  Two months after that, in walks Melody, who kicked my feet right out from under me. She was banging with a personality that was just as impressive as her looks. It was instant sparks. We connected and the sex was fucking great. I fell for her. Head over heels, face in the mud. She was thoughtful, sweet, career-driven, supportive, and independent. She had ambitions and goals. Like her yet? I did…a whole fucking lot.

  Until after dating her for almost a year.

  She was a lying, conniving, trifling ass bitch.

  She wasn’t twenty-three. She was twenty. She didn’t work as a secretary for a software developer. She was a cashier at a drug store three towns over. That lake house she lived in? That was her parents’ vacation home. She lived in a small apartment with her ex-boyfriend. She had fake Instagram accounts where she posed half nude for attention.

  And she didn’t like dogs.

  She steamrolled my dumbass. I was broken. Felt like a moron. I gave her my all and she gave me a fake girlfriend.

  As cliché as it is—I’m done with relationships. Broken boy swears off relationships. Until someone gives me a good reason to genuinely care, I’ll keep things to fucking only.

  Chapter 2

  After leaving work, I went home to shit, shower, and shave. I’ve dressed to pusspress—that’s impress the pussy, if you’re wondering—and then came to the Grind. It’s been open for a few years and it’s the best dance club in a twenty-mile radius. The scene never changes, but the people do.

  Loud music rushes by to fill the air around my body. It’s Friday, meaning everyone is here to get away from the stresses of their work week. But most importantly, the balance between men and women is perfect.

  I grab a beer from the bartender and head off to meet Nick and Jeff at our usual tall table. It’s far enough away from the dance floor to not be bumped into, but close enough to watch. From our vantage point, we own the bar, the dance floor, and the VIP section above us. Eyes everywhere.

  Nick grins widely when he spots me and as I approach the table, he slaps my shoulder, pulling me into a bro-hug. “What the fuck is up, man? It feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”

  I blow a chuckle. “It has. Your girl put you on lockdown. What tricks did you pull to get out tonight?”

  His lips tighten, turning down at the sides. “We split. She was too damn controlling.�
�

  I lift a shoulder. “I tried telling you.”

  And I did. The first time I met Jessica, I knew she was a crazy bitch. She was pretty in that “I’m a psycho” way, but she was clingy and incredibly insecure. She didn’t like Nick having friends, a life, or the need to piss without her. He couldn’t go to the store without her texting him twenty times to find out where he was and who he was with. She had to be a great lay for him to put up with it for so long.

  “Where’s Jeff?” I ask and then take a swallow of my beer.

  Nick juts his chin toward the other side of the bar. Following the direction, I spot Jeff casually and coolly leaning on his elbow chatting up a brunette in a black top and a pair of jeans. “He never made it to the table. She sank her claws in from the get-go and he’s been stuck there since.”

  I nod, panning over the crowd. Men and women grind their bodies to the music, some only mingling as they keep their feet moving and other’s trying to show off their hip movements like it’s a selling point.

  For an hour, we catch up on work, family and friends. Not much has changed in the six months he’s been held hostage other than he bought a new couch. Fun lives, huh?

  “Nature calls,” I tell him and excuse myself.

  After doing my business, thanking the stars above the line wasn’t as long as the women’s, I wash my hands and toss the paper towel into the trash before shoving back out the door. I’m zigzagging my way around the bodies when all of a sudden, a slender tattooed arm hooks around mine.

  She’s shorter than me with blonde hair, a few purple streaks contouring her face, and wide eyes. “Just go with it, please,” she rushes out.

  Confused, I open my mouth to say something when she addresses someone else. “Here’s my boyfriend. Now please take a damn hike.”

  His eyes, raked with disdain and crinkled at the sides, bore into her like the liar she is. But for a woman to grab onto a complete stranger, this dude must be a fuckface.

  I wrap my arm around her shoulder and straighten, squaring up the guy. “Is there a problem?”

  Her body relaxes under me, settling in a bit closer, and I can’t help but notice how good she feels against me.

  Fuckface with the pube curls on his head tips his chin. “Claims you’re her boyfriend although she’s been without you all night.”

  “Because she enjoys her girl time and I like my guy time. We want to do our own things but not be too far apart. It’s the perfect remedy,” I say. “Love. It’s a mystifying emotion.” For emphasis, I kiss the side of her hair, smelling the scent of cherry shampoo.

  He eyes us both. “You’re both liars.”

  “What the fuck is your problem, man?” I snap, ready to pummel this douchebag’s face.

  The woman under my arm turns into me, sliding her hands up my cheeks, wraps her fingers around the back of my neck and pulls me into a kiss. Apprehensive at first, the kiss is testing.

  Titillation stirs deep in my stomach and rattles my dick awake. Cupping her cheek, I pull her closer, intensifying the kiss. She moans softly, and I plunge my tongue in, tangling with hers. She tastes of something sweet and alcoholic. Her nails dig into the back of my neck. Not in a friendly manner. A warning. I break the kiss, arching a brow with a smirk.

  Fire blazes from her darkened gaze, braided with arousal and pleasure. She can be mad all she wants, but I know she felt that kiss in her soul. Strobe lights in the distance act as fireworks as I’m stunned and latched on to her stare.

  She breaks it, looking around us. Apparently the fuckface left in the middle of the best kiss of my life.

  “Thank you,” she whispers with a soft pant.

  As she starts to take a step away, I flex my fingers on the side of her head, stopping her. “If you leave now, you’ll blow your cover. And after a kiss like that, I’d like to buy you a drink.”

  She studies me for a fleeting moment keeping her hands around my neck.

  “You just stripped my clothes off in front of everyone and mind fucked me. I owe you a drink,” I add.

  Her smile is sweet, her eyes bold. “Okay. But only for a few minutes.”

  Guiding her by the small of her back, I lead her toward the table. Nick sees us and immediately straightens up, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to look presentable.

  I pull out the stool beside me. “I’m Kyce. This is Nick.”

  “What’s up?” Nick says trying to sound cool—weak attempt.

  “Jolie,” she replies. “Thank you, again. That guy was pushy and gave me a really bad vibe.”

  “Glad I could be of service.” I take a pull of my beer. “What can I get you to drink?”

  She shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m the DD tonight and I’ve had my one-drink limit.”

  “Do we need to make sure she’s okay?” I ask.

  “Not if you’ll kiss her like that.”

  It surprises a laugh from me. I lean closer to her and rest my elbow on the table, flashing a smile. “Are you already getting possessive?”

  She purses her lips playfully and I’d like to kiss them again.

  “She’s with her flavor of the night. She’ll be okay. That guy was set on me anyway,” she says.

  Still staring at her lips, I smile. “Because you’re fucking gorgeous.”

  The music slows to one of those R&B love songs that sounds like shit. Music has gone to hell. But it doesn’t mean I won’t take full advantage of it. I tug her off the stool by her hand and move us toward the dance floor. She doesn’t put up a fight as I hook her by the waist and connect our bodies.

  Fascinated, she looks up to me, brow arched. “You’re playing boyfriend one hundred and ten percent.”

  “I’m going to soak it up for however long you let me,” I say, dropping my mouth close to her ear. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Are you drunk?” she titters.

  I smirk. “Nope. One beer. Scout’s honor. I have to drive home.” I rake my eyes over the curves of her face. Her cheekbones are high, eyes pretty, lips perfect, and her nose is adorable. “You’re like the badass girl next door hot.”

  She laughs. “Wow. I went from gorgeous to the girl next door. I’ll be Quasimodo by the end of the night.”

  “Not a chance. So how long do I get to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

  Her smile is fucking sweet.

  “I was hoping I could take my pretend girlfriend for a greasy slice of pizza at the place down the street,” I continue.

  Happiness beams when her eyes meet mine. “I’d like that. I need to find my friend to tell her I’ll be back.”

  After letting Nick know I was heading out with a smirk and a tip of my chin, we go in search of her friend and find her at a table across the room with her hands in the hair of man who’s eating up the attention. I stay back, watching. Her friend glances to me, grins, and says something to Jolie.

  A few minutes later, I push open the door and we are met with fresh air. “Want to ride or follow?” I offer my best foot forward.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll ride with you.”

  “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I minded?” I jest, heading to the parking lot.

  She looks good in my passenger seat, dolled up for the club but not overly done. While other girls wear mini-skirts and push-up bras, Jolie sports skinny jeans and a red spaghetti strap blouse. She doesn’t look desperate. She looks confident and comfortable. But the most striking thing—her left arm is covered in intricate tattoos, the dark inked artwork curving tendrils around her arm and creating unique illustrations from her wrist to her shoulder.

  “You’re going to wreck if you keep looking at me.” The amusement in her voice pulls my eyes to her face.

  “Not too many women around here have sleeves.”

  She holds her arm out. “I always wanted a sleeve. Started it on my eighteenth birthday. Finished it within a month.”

  I lick my lips. “It’s sexy as hell.”

  “I’m glad you think so, ‘cause se
xy as hell is what I thought about your arms too.”

  My brows jump high. “You think my arms are sexy?”

  Of course she would. I’m the perfect equation. Built, charming, and tatted—every woman’s dreams.

  “Amongst other things.”

  “Now, I’m really intrigued. What are these other things?” I ask, parking the truck and killing the engine before shifting toward her.

  She smirks, opens the door and slides out.

  “You can’t just leave me hanging like that!” I playfully exclaim with a laugh jogging up beside her.

  “Surely a man like you doesn’t need his ego stroked.”

  That mouth… I want to fuck her mouth so badly.

  I pull open the door and she enters, taking a seat along the windows on the side of the restaurant. The waitress comes and takes our drink orders, and without looking at the menu, Jolie orders a slice of supreme pizza with extra pepperoni. Not giving a damn what I eat, I rattle off the same.

  She leans onto her elbow and rests her chin in her palm. “Your name is different. I like it.”

  I chuckle. “Thanks.”

  “You’re the baby, aren’t you?”

  Surprised, my brows jump high. “Takes one to know one.”

  Her lips curve up. “I am.”

  “I’ve got two older brothers and my oldest is my boss.”

  She bats her eyelashes, resting her chin on the back of her hand. “Well, aren’t we just fate destined.” Her tone is frivolous. “My brother is my boss too.”

  Her almond-shaped eyes are extraordinary, just like everything else about her. They’re hazel, more blue than green depending on how the light hits them, with a golden circle surrounding her pupils. Her lips are every man’s fantasy—plump bottom lip and a thinner top with a sexy Cupid’s Bow. Her nose is narrow, cute.

  I inhale. “Jolie. I’m going to be brutally honest here. You keep up with all your smartass comments and I won’t be able to stand without embarrassing the other guys here.”