FIGHTER: An MMA Romance Novel (13 page)

"
C
an
you take on Liam's account for this morning, Mary? I'm up to my eyeballs in email at the moment."

"Sure thing, Nicole."

The team she worked with was top notch. From live chats with fans to replying to commentary on pictures and other media, the UFL had an active social media presence. Nicole fit in seamlessly, every one of the men and women she worked with had treated her with respect. It was more than she could say for her boss.

"If it gets to be too much, feel free to switch off with someone. I know you’ll do a fantastic job; I trust your judgment."

Mary beamed humble pride. She bowed her head in a tiny nod of thanks.

"I'll make sure the job gets done well. Thanks."

More than a week had passed since the meeting in Kade's office. The billionaire had gone from showering her with gifts and flattering her at every possible moment to pretending she didn't exist. Considering what a selfish pig he was, Nicole was surprised. She desperately needed this time and space away from him, and she hadn't expected Kade to be accommodating. Whatever kindness he'd found in that putrid heart of his was appreciated. Nicole couldn't believe her luck.

"Before I settle in, I'm going to grab coffee from the kitchen. Anyone interested?" Nicole asked. After a chorus of responses, she headed to the kitchen. Since last week, Nicole's couldn’t get enough coffee. She told herself that it helped her stay alert at her job, but a small part of her mind whispered that each sip of the bitter liquid was more than that. Each sip reminded her of her coffee date with Jax. It was the same as when she passed his jacket still hanging in her front hall closet and caught a fleeting whiff of his scent. Now more than ever Nicole's thoughts returned to him. Jax was in stark contrast to Kade, and she couldn’t help but worry that her ‘relationship’ with the billionaire had ruined any chance she had with the fighter.

Nicole set the machine to drip and took mugs down, one by one, from the overhead cabinet. Each clink of ceramic against the counter top marked a new fantasy.

Clink.
Jax winning the belt and sweeping her into his arms for a passionate kiss in the heat of his victory.

Clink.
Jax by her side as they overlooked the city at night from a high rise building, hand in hand.

Clink.
Jax, shirtless, carrying boxes as they moved into a new place together.

"You know, as the boss, you should be delegating one of your employees to do the coffee run. A woman as beautiful as yourself shouldn't be doing menial tasks."

The sound of his voice raised the hairs on Nicole's neck. There was no need to turn around to see who it was. After a blissful week of coming to work without interruption, Kade Holland decided she did exist after all.

Nicole's luck had run out.

"I'm not above anyone here. Coffee is coffee. Five minutes out of my day doesn’t matter." Tension ran through her shoulder blades and straightened her posture. One of Nicole's hands clutched the handle of a coffee mug, the other tightened into a fist at her side.
Kade was a pig.
Their time apart had done her good. She refused to crumple like a wet paper doll crushed beneath the sole of his shoe. Instead, she needed to stand strong and show him that she was not some object to manipulate. Now more than ever, Nicole needed to prove she wouldn’t succumb to petty mind games and hateful words.

"Five minutes can change almost anything," Kade mused. "Five minutes can change your career, it can make you millions, it can have you screaming with pleasure." Predatory lust edged the last phrase. This time, instead of stirring her arousal, Nicole was disgusted. "Five minutes is all I need to change your whole day. Maybe your life."

"I just want coffee," Nicole said through gritted teeth, "and then I want to get back to work to do the job you pay me to do."

"Then while you're making coffee, you can listen to what I have to say," Kade answered casually. The man wasn't picking up on any of her hostility. Trapped by the slow drip of the coffee brewer, there was little choice.

Nicole turned to face Kade, and found him leaning against the kitchen's open door frame. With a smirk on his face, he ate her up from head to toe without attempting to mask his lust. The smooth features she'd once found handsome revolted her now. Instead of classic beauty, the smoothness of Kade's appearance reminded her of how slimy he was, like oil slicked over a rounded surface.
The man was nothing more than a scum ball.

"What do you want?” Nicole asked, tone just as guarded as before.

"I'm going to use your five minutes to change the course of your day, Ms. Washington. Here's how it's going to go. Today at work, you're going to spend all day thinking about how you want your hair styled. I want it up, pinned, elegant. When you're off the clock, my personal town car will be waiting to take you to the best hair stylist in Vegas. Once you’re utterly flawless, we're going to head out onto the strip and—"

"You can forget all of that," Nicole interrupted. "I'm not going."

For a moment, Kade's lips pursed as he struggled to figure out her angle.

"Whatever your plans are, cancel them.” He tried again, unfazed. “Trust me, nothing you have lined up for tonight can compare with what I’ve got planned.”

"Seriously? You really don't get it, do you?" Nicole asked, incredulous anger in her voice. "You live in your own little world where everyone else is your soulless pawn. You don't care about anyone, or anything, if it doesn't directly involve you."

"Nicole," Kade said, doing little to hide his amused surprise. He clearly still thought this was a game in his control, "what are you talking about?"

"This is what I'm talking about," Nicole growled, loaded with bitterness. "I don't have plans. After work today, I'm going to go home and change into sweatpants. Then I’m going to watch TV for the rest of the night. And that will still be better than your Vegas hair stylist or the night you have planned. I don’t care if you throw me out the door right now, I’m not your whore and I won’t be bought.”

The tightness in Kade's lips returned, wrinkles forming in their corners. The man furrowed his brow, aging him. The outside finally began to match the inside. Without his charm and his easygoing facade, Kade was ugly.

"Excuse me?"

"I know you heard everything I just said, for once," Nicole replied. "I don't care about your glamorous parties or your money Kade. I'm only paid to do social media around here, not to be your fuck toy. Maybe you can pay your assistant, and your flight attendant, and other women to keep their legs open and lips sealed. But that's not who I am. You don’t respect me, but I have respect for myself. Like I said, if you want to fire me, I guess that’s a risk I need to take, but I won’t let you use me in your sick games anymore."

Kade’s features twisted into gargoylish hate and venom. A look like that wasn't made because he cared about her — it was made because the game wasn't going his way. No other woman had called him out on his shit before, but Nicole didn't care. She wasn’t going to spend her life as Kade’s lapdog. Jax helped give her reason to become a better person not only for her family's sake, but for her own.

"I guess what they say about black women is true," Kade spat from the doorway. "You give them the world, and they’re still fucking cunts. I know you’re not very smart, so I hope you understand the huge fucking mistake you're making right now."

A comment like that was meant to send her over the top, but Kade had no power over her. Nicole shook her head in disbelief.

"I already made my mistakes," she said. There was a cool, hollow quality to her words now. "Starting today, I'm working to fix them. Goodbye, Kade."

The mugs were still on the counter, and the pot of coffee sat on the burner. Nicole left it all behind and crossed the room, pushing past him to get out the door. Kade remained frozen in the door frame, glaring after her.

No more easy way out. She needed to be responsible for her own future. It was time to make a positive difference in her life. As she walked back to the office she shared with her team, Nicole held her head high and felt no regret. Walking away from Kade was the best thing she had done for herself in years.
One step at a time, she would become a woman she was proud of — and maybe, one day, that Jax would be proud of as well.

"
B
itch
," the word cut through the hall despite how quietly he'd uttered it. Nicole rounded the corner and left his line of sight, but solitude didn’t ease Kade's rage.
Who did that slut think she was?
Long legs and a round ass like hers deserved to be fucked senseless. The fact that he was willing to shower her with gifts and treat her like a Princess was out of the goodness of his heart.

If she really was walking away from him, she was walking away from the best goddamn thing she'd ever have a shot at in her miserable life. In months, maybe years, another man would come around. He’ll pump that bitch full of children, beat her senseless, and leave her stranded. It was a pity that a woman with such a hot body and a dirty streak like hers would only see the light when it was too late. By that time, she'd be used up. Kade didn't fuck pussy that had been through childbirth — not when he could get young, tight goods at the snap of his fingers.

He'd make her regret this
, he thought bitterly to himself. He’d let her keep her job. If she wants to get away from him, he'd give her the opposite. Until she quit, he'd keep her where she was. He’d make sure she was on every business trip, at every meeting, taking his picture for every event. She was never going to get away from him.

Bit by bit, that hard bitch exterior would chip away, and she would regret walking away from him. Once she realized what a fool she was, she'd beg him to fuck that ass again. He'd do it hard and without regard for her pleasure. Kade knew this was just another game to play, and in time Nicole would be his little slut again. She'd go down on him in the back of his town car. She'd slip her hand down his pants ringside. She’d worship his cock until he decided he was done with her, and then he would destroy her. That was how all of this was supposed to work. That’s how it
would
work!

Loud ringing from his pocket stirred Kade from his vitriol. His hand plunged into his jacket to retrieve his phone. Wilson Arbour. Kade's expression soured further. What did the Chris 'The Striker' Sicton's manager want from him now?

"What is it?" Kade snapped. There was stunned silence before Wilson replied.

"I just got off the phone with Chris' personal trainer. He broke his ankle during training not even two hours ago. Doctors say he's gonna need two surgeries and some screw implants before he can even think about getting better."

"Sicton's match is in two weeks. Two fucking weeks!" Kade hissed. "We've been promoting it for almost two fucking months. The people are pumped."

"I don't know what to tell you," Wilson said. "Chris can't fight. The match is off."

"The UFL does
not
cancel events," Kade breathed. Hot headed over what had happened with Nicole, this was not the kind of news he needed. Stress pulsed in his temple. The advertisement. The hype. If they canceled this event, the fans would riot.

"Then send in a replacement and give the people what they want. Everyone just wants to see a fight with Kidwell, they don’t care who it’s against. No one can stand up against that guy anyway. Dangle some money in front of someone and then get Wes to smash his face in. Whatever. But it's not going to be Chris, because Chris can't even fucking get out of bed right now."

Like clouds parting before the sun, clarity came to Kade all at once. Tendrils of glee spread through his chest like vines creeping along the sides of a house.

"That's a brilliant idea, Arbour."

"S'all I've got," the man replied. "If you don't want to cancel the match, you've got to slate someone in to replace Chris. Give a rookie a once in a lifetime chance at hitting it big. Market it right, you’ll get more hype than a regular championship match on your hands — if you can get the right guy to step up, that is."

Kade knew
exactly
who that guy would be.

I
t all happened so fast
. One moment Eric was ringside frowning at him, and the next the personal trainer swung himself under the ropes and grabbed Jax by the shoulders. Head to head, Eric was a couple of inches shorter than Jax was, but by no means was he to be taken for granted. There was a lot of power in the ex-fighter.

"What do you think you're doing?" Eric demanded. Thick fingers clutched Jax and shook him, as if to wake him from being knocked out. Jax set his jaw and gripped Eric by the wrists. The man had never jumped into the ring like this, not to scold him.

"I'm workin' on my off hand," Jax replied. "You know I want to be able to fight strong with both hands."

The punching bag was still swinging from the force he'd been putting into it. Jax wasn't anywhere near as good as Santino had been during his peak, but the last week he'd been pouring everything he had into training. Meeting Wes out on the street rattled him deeper than he liked to admit.

"You think what you did was work?" Eric asked. Both hands released Jax's shoulders at once, and the man turned on his heels and slammed his left fist into the punching bag. The power in that punch stole all of Jax's attention. Eric was out of the game, but he could still take care of his own. "Do you want to be a pro fighter, Jax? Do you want to climb your way to the top? Because you're not showing me that you want it. Those weak little swings of yours aren't going to cut it in the ring against the big boys. You need to put your soul into it. I need to see the sweat dripping from your brow. Unless you want to back out."

"Coach, of course I don't," Jax said with a shake of his head. "What's gotten into you? This isn't like you at all."

"You're right," Eric grunted. He turned away from the bag to look at Jax again. The deep creases of his brow were folded deeper with determination and grit. "It's not like me. I've been going easy on you this whole time, thinkin' you weren't going to climb half as far as you claimed. Today I changed my mind. Today I'm going to see you train like a champion. Today I want to see your sweat rolling down your face until you ain’t got a drop of sweat left in ya."

Pep talks were always good sources of motivation, but the change in Eric still had Jax scratching his head. Why today of all days? There was something that the coach wasn't telling him.

"Yes, sir!"

"Now get the fuck back to it, McCarthy!" Eric grunted. "I'm not lettin' you out of the ring until you pay me back in buckets of sweat."

It wasn't as though Jax was lazy in his routine. Between the hours of cardio, weight lifting, and daily skill building in the ring, he soaked more shirts in a day than most people wore in a week. This, though, this was different. When Jax turned back to the bag, the urge to excel burned brighter than ever in him. Time and time again he slammed his wrapped fist into the bag. The chains that suspended it from the ceiling rattled and clinked under the pressure. Sweat beaded on his brow and streamed downward, soaking into his eyelashes until a shake of his head sent a spray of droplets in all directions.

"Keep at it!" Eric roared. "You're still not there yet! I need to see you want it."

Jax wanted it more than anyone else. Paying back his mother’s debts and seeing her move into a nice house. Having the cash to spoil Nicole with anything she wanted. Coming out on top, even with his medical struggles as a child. It all pushed him to succeed, and Jax went harder than ever before. Within minutes his arms were burning, and the pit of his stomach tightened and flipped with nausea. Caught up in the moment, it wasn't until Eric's hand caught him by the shoulder that Jax realized his coach had climbed back into the ring.

"You need water," the man insisted. He pressed a bottle of it into Jax's hand, room temperature so as not to cool down his system. The message was clear — training wasn't over. They were going to go hard.

Palm damp with sweat, Jax clamped his hand over the lid and twisted. The sick feeling grew. Jax pulled away from his coach, jogged to the ropes, and clutched them with his one free hand. When the next wave of nausea hit, he couldn’t hold it back any longer. Burning bile rose from within, and Jax heaved onto the floor just beyond the ring. Then again. The bitterness in his mouth was a reminder that there was still training to be done. He'd been training hard, but not that hard for that long. When the day came that he could go all out like coach wanted for as long as coach wanted, no one in the world would ever be able to hold him back.

"Rinse your mouth," the coach ordered as he approached, "and drink some damn water. I don't need you dying of dehydration before I tell you the news."

The first mouthful rinsed his mouth of his bile and joined the mess he'd left on the floor, and the next was swallowed. Even at room temperature, the water felt like cool heaven as it slid down his throat.

"News? What news?"

"Chris Sicton broke his ankle this morning."

Jax chugged what was left of the water, craving more. Getting too waterlogged was a bad idea if he wanted to be productive with the rest of his afternoon, but the temptation was there.

"Sicton? The Striker? His match is against Kidwell next week."

"It was. It's not his match anymore. According to his manager, who heard it from his trainer, the guy can't even stand up he's in so much pain. There's no way he's going to be patched up in two weeks with a broken bone that bad. They say he's going to need surgeries and screws to fix this. Might end his career if he can't get rehabbed well enough."

When your body was your livelihood, you didn't fuck around — Jax had learned that early, and he had learned it well. A broken bone, a slipped disk, even a concussion could be a deal breaker. The higher up in the ranks a fighter climbed, the more likely it was that he'd walk out of a fight never to step back into the ring again. Top tier fighters were brutal, dangerous. Jax still felt like he could take them all, even Kidwell. Especially Kidwell.

There was something else going on here, something Eric was avoiding. Jax could sense it on the air. "You said it's not his match anymore," Jax said. "So what's happening with it? It getting canceled?"

"No." Eric leaned against the ropes, arms outstretched to support himself. "At least, not if the big wigs at corporate have anything to say about it. They want the fight to go on. They want you to go in, McCarthy."

"What?" The gravity of the situation hit him all at once, and Jax was freefalling down to reality even as his spirits soared. He had to clutch at the ropes to stop himself from staggering. "They want me to fight for the belt?"

"Holland offered you the fight," Eric admitted, head hung. There was reluctance in his voice, as though he would rather not have told Jax at all.

"What's the payout?"

"Quarter of a mil for the fight," Eric said, words terse. "Plus performance bonuses of up to fifty thousand possible, and two percent of all Pay-Per-View buys. The fight will probably be sold on Pay-Per-View at fifty bucks."

"How many views are they expecting?" The numbers boggled his mind. A quarter of a million dollars for a fight? Big league games meant big league money. With cash like that, Jax could erase all of his mother's debt.

"Six hundred thousand," Eric muttered.

"Coach, I'm no fuckin' good at math, what is—"

"Two percent of six hundred thousand views at fifty bucks a pop is two hundred grand short of a million dollars, McCarthy. With your earnings for appearing in the fight, you'd be walking out of there with a million in your pocket."

A million dollars. For a moment, the world went black. Jax's hand clutched harder at the ropes as he struggled to get a grasp on what that money would mean.
A new house for his mom, paid in full, and then money left to pad his bank account. Hell, maybe a new house for himself.
And if he kept fighting in the big leagues, every match after that would net more of the same. Men fighting in the top tier won millions per match. Everything he'd worked so hard for was finally starting to pay off.

"I'm in."

"Before I do that, you gonna listen to me first?" Eric asked. The man pushed himself off the ropes and started to pace the ring.

"I don't think you're gonna give me a choice, really," Jax said. Bit by bit the world came back in focus. Despite the money, he was still the same guy he'd been thirty seconds ago. All money meant was that life would get easier, and he'd get to give back where it was needed the most.

"You're right, so you're gonna listen good." Eric could not stop pacing, walking circles around the punching bag, chewing on his bottom lip. "I've told you before, Kidwell's the type of man who doesn’t give a shit about MMA, he just loves hurting others. The kid didn't get his nickname out of the blue — he'll kill you if he can. When you're down, he won't stop. That's the kind of guy who ends careers. That's the kind of guy I want you to stay away from, no matter how high and mighty you get."

"Eric, I have to do this," Jax argued. "A million dollars... A million dollars is too much to pass up."

"You're too green, Jax," Eric shot back. "You've been doing good, real good, but you just broke into the game. There's still a way to go before you're ready for the top five, and you're sure as hell not ready to go up against the undefeated fucking champ."

"I'm undefeated too. My last match took all of ten seconds. Where I am right now, it's not where I should be. I deserve to be ranked higher."

"Listen, I know you better than any other fighter does. I know you're strong. I know you're talented. I know you've got drive. I know you've got a love for fighting, but it takes more than that to be a champion. To be a champ you have to be the strongest. You have to be the most talented. You've got serious skill, kid, but I don't think you have more than Kidwell does."

Before Brazil, his mother doubted him, and Jax proved her wrong. Now he faced the same skepticism from Eric. Jax would just have to prove him wrong too.

"The only way you'll know for sure is if you get me in the ring with him," Jax said. "I'm accepting the match, Eric. Tell Holland that I'll be there."

"I wish you'd reconsider," Eric murmured, "but I knew that this was how it was going to turn out. Tonight we're putting in overtime, just like we're going to every night until the big day. We've got two weeks until the match. I want you in here training harder and longer than you ever have before. I want you to prove to me that you're the right choice to put against Kidwell. I want you to make me proud, Jax."

"I will, coach," Jax promised.

It was going to be the fight of his life, but Jax was ready to give it everything he had. Kidwell was going down, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.