FORCE: Alpha Badboy MMA Romance (2 page)

Who are you? Is this who you want to be for the rest of your fucking life? Why the fuck did you make her your goddamn reason for living for damn near two decades just to run away and then hate-fuck every bitch you could find? Is this the guy she would want? How far down are you going to go before you can’t find your way back?

Cameron glared at the fuck in the mirror. His lips curled back showing off his chipped front tooth and he turned on the cold water, splashing it on his face until his head screamed in pain, and his skin felt like a corpse.

Living death man. Living. Fucking. Death.

He stared back into the eyes in the steamed reflection as the freezing water dripped from his nose and chin.

He spoke to the image that returned his stare, “Never again.”

His words echoed in the small white tiled bathroom as his face splintered into a silver and black spider web.

A sharp pain shot from his knuckles to his shoulder. Cameron’s fist dripped ripe, round spots of crimson onto the stark white porcelain, and he heard the harsh noise of glass shards hitting the floor around his feet.

Never again.

.

2

Jesus, tomorrow’s fucking Thanksgiving and this place is packed. For once in my fucking life I thought I would have something to be thankful for. Now it’s all fucked.

She wasn’t supposed to be there. Girls like her don’t come to places like this. Spend their time knee deep with the human wreckage that populates the night. Why the fuck did she decide tonight was the night she was determined to dance on the wrong side of the tracks? Jesus, it's not supposed to happen this way.

Cameron knew it was his fault she found her way here. Someday he wouldn’t fight in the trenches of old industrial buildings, stinking like some outdoor toilet with barely enough lighting to find your footing. The crumbling of a once proud icon of manufacturing now filled with throngs of drunken wannabes hungry for brutality, kicking away the rats as they screamed for blood.

Tonight of all nights he needed to focus. There she was, second row outside the octagon, red tank top. Cameron fought the demons trying to push her presence away, but it was no use. He could feel her there.

She was the drop of blood in the ocean, and he was the shark. Unable to dismiss the intoxicating scent even from this far away.

Didn’t she understand what it would do for him to see her here? The sweat burned and blurred his eyes as the ref called them to the center of the ring.

He was the only authority the two men would honor. In a few breaths, he would call for one fist bump, and then unleash the circling, fighting dogs in front of him.

Cameron shook his head like a dog, trying to block out the reminder of betrayal that sat staring at him from the second row.

Cameron’s cut, angled muscles created eerie valleys and shadows across the square of his chest in the uneven light of the crumbling building. The ripples of his abdominals moved with each breath.

He was a spring, tightened to its limit and every muscle stood like a soldier at the battle line, drawn and ready to give everything for the cause.

The layers of thick muscle moved the light and darkness of the indigo ink that covered his arms, back, and torso in a wild combination of spiders, webs, words, and tribal tattooed artwork. Fingers twitched, curled into fits, released, and tightened again.

He was Marlin Brando in On the Waterfront and Brad Pitt in Fight Club. He didn’t appear real. It was as though he was a devil’s spawn carved in an evil dark laboratory — not born from human flesh.

The pulsing sound of the crowd’s jeers and whistles turned to a low hum, becoming more of a living organism vibrating with evil intent than real people here to entertain their blood lust.

He listened as the power of the crowd grew — blood thirsty and ripe for their particular version of spectator vengeance. Cameron and his opponent were the Roman gladiators, and nothing made the crowd happier than to see blood and broken bones.

Cameron’s job was to be sure he gave them that, only, he needed to be sure he wasn’t the one who ended up broken and bleeding.

His fists clenched and unclenched on the yellow wrapping; his broad, flat torso looked like an iridescent danger sign in the buzzing, flickering fluorescent lights. His number two buzz cut showed just a hint of his onyx hair.

“Okay, gentleman.” The ref motioned the two frothing dogs to meet him center ring. “I want a clean fight. Protect yourselves at all times, listen to my instructions at all times. Ready?” His eyes darted from Cameron to his opponent Jake Rashney.

Both men gave a nod as they stared eye to eye; equally matched in size and reach.

They were the anchor fight of the card; two mammoth machines hell bent on inflicting as much damage on the other as possible. The ref looked like a school boy standing in the shadow of the two rabid wolves with blood dripping from their fangs.

“Okay. Fight!” With a clap of his hands, the ref retreated to the chain link and let the beasts consume one another.

Cameron channeled his focus. Trained since the age of picture books and born with fists clenched, this became the moment of decision. He searched every weapon in his arsenal to block out the face of ultimate distraction that sat in the sea of filth around the cage.

Tonight became the tipping point. He needed to make the choice to change his life; to break out of the bottom and into the light, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to get there.

Even with the chaos of his life wrapping itself tighter and tighter like the gray clouds of an impending hurricane looming, he blocked it out and let it fall away. He knew his one job inside these eight walls, and that was to destroy the other human being that was hell bent on doing the same to him.

Only, winning meant losing. And losing meant winning. Nothing was right.

He ran on instinct, and for a man like him, instinct always pulled him into the darkest of corners. The ones where other people feared to go.

That night was the beginning and the end, and she was at the center of it all.

3

Cameron struggled to swallow the bite of turkey in his mouth. It wasn’t even the river of slurred, drunken proselytizing that his father was doing.

It was having to sit here and try to keep the top of his head from blowing off because
she
was sitting right across from him.

Cameron picked at a chip in the Formica veneer of the tabletop. The smells of the holiday dinner combined with her soft perfume, years of cigarette smoke, and spilled beer absorbed into the stained, rust colored carpet, turning his stomach.

Inside this modest brick bungalow they had once called each other family, but today Cameron was unsure what any of them were to him, especially her.

Trophies, ribbons and photos filled the $11.00 thrift store china cabinet his mother bought when he was still in diapers. She knew better than to expect to fill the space with fine china, crystal goblets and sterling silver flatware.

Instead, it became a shrine. A shrine to black-and-blue, swollen-shut eyes, raw knuckles, pulled muscles and a life of condoned violence for which their father stood as their dictator.

“Asher, shut the fuck up.” Larry was halfway through his case of Bud and barely half the day was gone.

Cameron’s eyes darted to Asher, then back to the pockmarked, swollen red face of the man who’s name appeared under ‘Father’ on their birth certificates.

“Hey, Dad…just eat. That’s fucking enough.” Cameron gave him a sour glance.

The room was as primed for explosion as an episode of one of those damn Housewives shows.

Asher’s eyes narrowed, his lips tight, Cameron knew they were close to the breaking point. It was a dance they had all danced before.

“Don tell me what ta do. I’m ur Father…he knows I’m right. Aren’t I right Victoria? Asher need’sa stay with me. I’m the one that coached you both to where you are now…You stay with me if you wanna win. You wanna be a loser like ur brother, then go on, get another coach.”

Larry threw his head back, tipping the red and white can and spilling the piss colored liquid over his three day old unshaved salt and pepper chin.

Victoria sat like a beacon of light in the gray tones of the dining room. Cameron couldn’t look at her, but he felt it whenever her eyes dared to cross the table and touch any part of him.

“Well! What you gonna do? I’m ur coach” He turned to the quiet girl that probably wished she was eating Thanksgiving dinner with anyone but the Cobain family. “Right Victoria? You gotta tell him…me and your Dad, we built that gym. Made these boys into what they are. I trained
winners.
Lotsa them. Cameron…I coulda taken you all the way. Now, your brother thinks he can go off on his own too.” A loud clatter made them all jump as Larry threw his empty can through the door way of the kitchen.

“I just said maybe, Dad. I’m just thinking about it…” Asher shoved his plate away, shaking his head. “I’m just saying, when I graduate and go to college, I’ll have another coach for a while. That’s all! Jesus.”

“College?” Larry pulled his lips back over his nicotine colored teeth in what would on anyone else be called a smile. “Who’s gonna pay for you to go to college? Huh? You got a trust fun’ somewhere I dun’ know ‘bout??”

“Dad, fuck, just eat.” Cameron’s fists clenched under the table and jerked his legs forward. A jolt of white-hot fire shot to his chest as he accidentally touched Victoria, and her eyes darted to his face.

“I can pay with student loans. I don’t need you to pay. I’m going to Eastern. I told you! I was accepted, and I just need you to give me the tax returns so I can get my loans.”

“You think I gonna let some college fuck look at my tax returns? No fucking way boy. You don’ need college. You can fight. You stay with me at the gym, and you’ll be pro in five years. Isn’t that what you want? Tell him, Cameron, tell him not to fuck up like you.” Larry’s hazy stare barely wavered as he took another deep draw on his fresh can of Budweiser.

“
Sure
.” Cameron did nothing to hide his indifference to the musing of the drunk to his right.

This little play had run its course, and he was done. He couldn’t give two shits about the man that undeservedly sat at the head of this table. He wasn’t even sure why he came back for this shit.

That was a lie, Cameron thought. He knew why.

And she sat less than three feet away, wearing a yellow sweater that buttoned down the front, pulling perfectly across her chest with each breath.

Cameron shook his legs to keep his cock from rising in his worn khakis.

She was the only one that knew about last night.

Cameron didn’t want anyone there. Not even her, but she didn’t listen worth a shit. She also fell damn short of keeping promises and doing what she said she would. He didn’t need distractions and sure as shit, this family was ripe with them.

The ember that had started the fire was snuffed out now, and everything had changed.

Their chances of winning the lottery were better than trying to go back to the ways things were.

She fucked it up; she crossed the line. There was no going back, and Cameron floundered, lost somewhere between how things were and a lifetime of how he dreamed they could be.

But, she didn’t keep up her end of the bargain. They agreed — it was more than a pact — it was sacred. What tore at Cameron for decades as an impossible dream, only weeks ago had quickly turned into an absolute. Then it all fell around their feet like broken glass.

Victoria’s mom Emily left her father when she was six. It fucked up a lot of things because Larry and Roger owned Southside, the icon old-school fighting gym down on Rosemont in Southwest Detroit. It stood as the mecca for old school boxing and now for MMA training in the gritty fighting streets where they all grew up.

Over the years, the men managed to keep the place together, even with the one or two really rough years just after Emily and Roger broke up.

Roger said his good riddance to Emily, and not weeks later, she turned up sitting in this living room with Larry’s arm around her shoulders.
Right here.
No fucking shit.

A shiver shook Cameron. Looking across the table, he remembered the first time Emily brought Victoria to their house.

Her fierce little clenched face met with Cameron and Asher’s defiance at the situation their respective parents chose to put upon three children. But, even with the thick petulance in the room that day, Cameron felt the same ringing in his ears that a knock to the side of the head by Larry always brought on.

Their neglected brown brick bungalow on the Southwest end of Detroit became the battlefield for three kids caught up in a mess made by the adults that were supposed to protect and care for them.

The day the little girl from the gym in the yellow dress and skinned knees walked through the front door, it was like someone sucker punched Cameron and as far as he was concerned, she had never walked back out.

“So, who you fight lass’? Anyone? You still taking parking lot fights for rent? Huh? Gettin’ youself arrested at some illegal cock fight down on the row?” Larry’s milky blue eyes were as dead as a shark.

Cameron blinked twice. The sound of his Dad’s thick, alcohol fueled rant broke into his memories.

“Huh? Where you fight lass??” Larry kept poking the bear.

Cameron could feel her looking at him. There was an aching in his chest making it hard to take a full breath.

Having her this close is a fuckin’ bad idea right now.

“Larry…” Victoria’s sweet voice of reason cast a spell on Larry. “Maybe Asher can work down at the gym, earn some money. You and Dad talked about needing someone to do the night cleaning and post the workout schedules and some of that stuff I don’t have time for anymore. You should be proud he got accepted to Eastern.” She turned and gave Asher a smile.

Her face could go from candy store sweet to ghetto-fighter in a flash, and it fascinated Cameron.

Larry grumbled like a thunder storm. The
‘crack’
of another beer can opening his only answer.

Victoria knew that meant a possible yes, and for the thousandth time over the last 16 or so years, she managed to tame the lion and buy them all at least a few moments of calm.

Cameron knew why Victoria soothed the savage beast in Larry. Her skin held the same ivory translucence and rose pink petal cheeks of her mother. When she cast her deep honey colored eyes his way, Cameron knew he saw Emily in Victoria’s young face.

Victoria looked around the table; Asher pulled his plate of piled turkey, mashed potatoes, and a burgundy glob of cranberry sauce back under him, his knife and fork clinking on his overloaded plate.

They hadn’t been together like this much over the last couple years. Staring around the table, Larry’s meal sat untouched, his slight frame getting smaller every month as the beer, and very little else, sustained him.

Cameron wouldn’t meet her eye. His chest felt like someone dropped a 50lb. iron plate on top. Cold steel fingers tightened around his heart as he did his best to pretend she wasn’t there.

“You go see Reggie yet? How’s it going over there?” Asher broke the silence.

Larry’s eyes slowly looked up to see if Cameron would answer, trying to focus on his former golden boy.

“Yup.” Cameron slumped down in his chair, his arms resting on the table as he pushed the food around on his plate.

“Did you fight at Victor’s last week? Joey Moyer said you were supposed to fight at Victor’s, but no one saw you.”

“Naw. I skipped it. Had something else going on.”

“You didn’t take that Rashney fight, did you? I heard somethin’ about a row fight with Rashney from Joey. I think it was last night.” Asher shoved mashed potatoes into his mouth

“Naw, he’d be still swolled and marked if he took that Rashney fight. Rashney probably kick your ass all over eight sides of that ring”, Larry slurred.

Cameron felt Larry’s eyes on him. Trying to avoid eye contact with both of them failed and he made a mistake and let himself look across the table to see Victoria bite down on her lip.

A jolt of energy shot from his eyes and landed itself straight into his already thickening dick. He knew better than to look right at her. If she only knew what it did to him when she pulled her china doll pink lips between her teeth like that she would have an idea the power she held over him.

Before Cameron could decide on his answer, the already ripe tension around the holiday table could be felt clutching around Victoria’s neck.

Her amber flecked brown eyes couldn’t keep from darting to Cameron’s face. As much as he was avoiding looking at her, she couldn’t stop herself from looking at him. It was only a matter of time, and one of them was going to snap.

“Sis, get him to talk. Jesus, Cameron, you’re like a fucking monk with some fucked up vow of silence. You gonna answer me? You fucking know those row fights gonna get you busted. Jake Rashney? He’s a monster, man. Dirty. They don’t care about the rules; they just want someone to bleed or break. Tell me you didn’t.”

Asher still looked at Cameron like a superhero, and more than anything, Cameron tried his best to give Asher something that he lacked in the father department. Someone he could count on, someone whose only focus wasn’t his own selfish needs.

Sure, Larry was their father, but he was worth as much as the empty beer cans that littered the kitchen floor. Cameron was 12 when Emily and Larry ran off and decided to bind them all together as family.

Victoria would have been 6 or 7 by then, and Asher was just barely out of diapers. It felt like they were in a blender, and someone kept throwing ice cubes in and turning it on and off along with the lights.

The irony was, Emily brought the only year of light and stability into the house since Cameron and Asher’s mom died five years before. Asher barely remembered her, but every night Cameron imagined what life would have been like if she were still here.

Their own mother’s kindness, the way she made them feel safe and loved all evaporated that night Cameron saw his Dad hovering over her bed.

Then, almost as fast as Emily came into their lives, she was gone too.

The loss of their own mother lingered. Slow and tortured days of hospitals and moans from the bedroom where she withered into a gray, sunken figure.

With Emily, it was as though someone threw a blanket over the sun on a spring day.

The screech of brakes, the shattering of glass, and the smell of rubber were the only things that Cameron and Victoria could remember as the hands of the fire fighters pulled them from the back seat of the van.

“Awww, fuck. Asher, don’t fucking try to get him ta talk. Itz like getting the government to tell you the truth. Cameron ain’t never gonna be nobody Asher. YOU, you gotta chance still. You stick with me, and I’ll take you where you need to go”, Larry chimed in with his thick tongued contribution.

They were all tied in intricate, painful knots to each other.

Victoria slumped into Cameron that awful afternoon as they watched the emergency workers frantically pumping Emily’s chest, shoving a long tube down her throat while screams and the sound of helicopter blades filled their ears.