Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance (22 page)

Chapter Fifty Eight

Travis

I had a fight to lose.

And, to be honest, Frankie Junior was makin’ it easy for me.

As the buzzer went for the first round, I’d expected a normal MMA showdown – circling each other warily, feeling each other out before we committed ourselves to an attack.

But Frankie ‘Fury’ Slater lived up to his name. As soon as the buzzer sounded, he came lurching forward with his arms swinging, and I had to defend myself against a cannonade of punches.

My forearms screamed in pain as I used them to block swing after swing, protecting my head, but losing ground and momentum as I did so.

Frankie came in like a bull in a China shop, and soon I was staggering back across the canvas, barely able to keep on my feet.

“Come on then, you fucker,” Frankie grinned at me, as he kept the punches flying. “Go down. Give me a personal record for the quickest knockout.”

And in other circumstances? He might just have achieved that.

But while ‘Uncle’ Frank had made me promise to throw the fight, he didn’t tell me
how
, or
when
– and I’d be fucked before I’d hand Frankie Slater bragging rights about how quick he’d knocked me down.

So the moment his brutal assault let up – throwing punches was exhausting, after all – I sprang back with an offensive all of my own.

Frankie Slater was big, and powerful – but he was unsophisticated. The confidence of a guaranteed win had made him sloppy; and that was all the opportunity I needed.

As he backed off for a second to catch his breath, I launched myself into a spinning back-kick that Chuck Norris would have been proud of.

Bam! My shin landed right in the side of Frankie’s head, and the big guy staggered back, absolutely stunned.

He hadn’t been expecting
that
.

For a second I worried I’d overdone it – a good spin kick can K/O even the toughest opponent. But a moment later Frankie was back, snarling like a wildebeest, with blood dribbling from his nose.

I’d stung him,
bad
. And now all that confidence and bravado he’d had was draining out of him.

“Why, you…”

I launched another attack – coming in with my fists flying, and then following it up with some kicks.

It was a mixture of Muay Thai and Taekwondo – two martial arts Frankie clearly wasn’t well versed in. I carefully pulled my punches – I didn’t want to accidently knock him out – but by the time I’d finished he was staggering back across the canvas with a worried look on his handsome face.

We ended the first round circling each other warily – Frankie clearly holding me in a lot more respect than he did when he felt his victory was assured.

The buzzer sounded, and I staggered back to my corner.

Taffy was waiting with a stool and a bottle of water.

“Fuck me, boyo,” he grinned, sloshing water into my mouth. “Those were some nice moves. If this fucking thing wasn’t rigged, I think you could
have
that bastard.”

I didn’t think it – I
knew
it.

But I had to be careful. Because if I won this fight, I lost the only thing that really mattered – Roxy.

*              *              *

My confidence got shaken the moment the second round began.

As Frankie and I lumbered back into the center of the octagon, the big bastard had a different look in his eye – a
mean
one.

He’d gone into that first round full of confidence and bluster, knowing he couldn’t lose.

But I’d given him a literal bloody nose, and suddenly he wasn’t so arrogant any more. He might still know he was going to win – but he knew I was going to make him
work
for it.

And the scary thing? From the look in his eye, Junior looked like he relished that idea.

He came lumbering in with his fists flying, just like before – but this time, as I raised my arms to defend myself, Frankie ducked his head and charged.

Oooof!
I suddenly had all 240lbs of that big bastard land in my chest, and went
down
.

I had the wind knocked right out of my lungs, as Frankie landed right down on top of me. He sunk his knee into my chest, and his big fists started flying; like wrecking balls to the face.

It was the old ‘ground and pound’ – and with a good 20lbs on me, Frankie was ideally suited to this tactic.

I covered my face with my forearms, and withstood the assault as best I could, but it was
brutal
.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Like sledgehammers, Frank’s big fists landed on my forearms. At the same time, he crushed the air out of my lungs with his knees, and ground me hard into the canvas.

Shit
!

I struggled. I arched my back and threw my hips and did everything I could to dislodge that huge, powerful bastard from my chest – but I just
couldn’t
.

Jesus, for the first time I realized I might actually
lose
this fight – and not just because it was rigged.

Because Frankie Slater might actually be stronger… Faster…
Better
than me.

I mean, that’s what the bookies had said, right? That’s what the pundits had all thought?

Even Red, that crooked bastard, hadn’t been willing to bet on me until I laid my own cash on the line.

I was about to lose…

And for a second there, I was all ready to lie back and accept it.

I shielded my face with my forearms, and breathed into the moment. I started to accept the inevitable – that Frankie ‘Fury’ Slater would ground-and-pound me into submission, and then he’d be hailed the winner.

Why fight it? It’s what I had to do, right?

But then I heard a scream – not of panic, or fear, but a scream nonetheless.

My name. A woman, screaming my name.

“TRAVIS!”

I lifted my arms for a second, and struggled to turn my head.

I could hardly see anything with that brute on top of me, rocking me with every impact of those huge fists.

I was sprawled out, upside down, with sweat and grit blurring my vision.

But even like that – practically blind – I saw
her
.

Roxy.

Roxy Rockatansky!

No shit, it was
her
! Her head bouncing up over the edge of the octagon, trying to peer in despite her short frame.

“TRAVIS!” She screamed again. “It’s okay!
I’m okay
!”

And then BLAM!

Everything went black.

I’d been so distracted by Roxy that I’d let my guard down, and with that Frankie Junior had slammed his forearm down and crushed my nose and face.

I felt hot blood gushing down my chin, and stars exploded in front of my eyes. I was
done for
.

Or was I?

As I lay there, struggling just to stay conscious, I heard that scream again.

“Travis! Travis! I’m
okay
!”

And I wondered if I was hallucinating it… if whether my bruised and concussed brain had just served up Roxy’s face and voice moments before I lost consciousness.

But I couldn’t take that chance.

I had one whole round to go because conceding to Frankie, if I was going to. And, dammit, I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of beating me fair and square.

If that big bastard wanted me to throw the fight, then he’d have to look me in the eye as I did it – to
know
that I was
letting
him win.

So I wasn’t going to let it end like this.

Closing my eyes, I reached up blindly and wrapped my arms around Frankie Junior’s neck – and then I pulled him down, into my chest.

The big brute snarled, and growled, and tried to break free – but once I’d locked my two arms behind his neck, there was nothing he could do. Bent over like that, he simply didn’t have the leverage to break free.

And with his head crushed to my chest, he also didn’t have the leverage to hit me anymore, or choke me…

Shit, he was powerless.

He squirmed, and arched his back, and struggled furiously – and I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep him there like that for long.

But it was long enough.

Just as I felt my grip weakening – knowing he was going to rear up, and go to town on me with those powerful fists of his – the buzzer sounded, and the second round ended.

The referee practically hauled Frankie Junior off me – but at least he
was
off me.

As he was dragged back to his corner, swearing at me, I just lay on the canvas and stared up at the spotlights and girders overhead.

Fuck me, that had been
close
.

But it might be about to get a lot closer. I still had one more round to go.

Chapter Fifty Nine

Roxy

For a minute, I honestly thought he was dead.

As the MMA League officials held me back – checking my ID, and getting approval from Dan Blanc – I stood at the bottom of the steps and stared at the lifeless, prone body of Travis.

For almost three minutes, Frankie Junior had been on top of him, pummeling him like he was pizza dough.

Maybe it had all been too much…

But then the MMA officials let me past, and I rushed up the steps behind Taffy – a bottle of water in one hand, and the stool in another.

We both rushed across the blood-streaked canvas to where Travis was struggling to sit up – and fuck, did he look like a mess.

His nose was a twisted swollen mess. His eyes were bruised and puffy – to the point that I wondered if he could see out of them.

But apparently he could see – me, at least.

“Roxy!”

His voice was barely a croak, but my heart skipped as I heard it.

I skidded to my knees on the bloody canvas, and wrapped my arms around Travis’ shoulders – bombarding his bruised and bloodied face with kisses.

“Oh, fuck, Roxy,” he gasped, clinging to me like a drowning man. “You’re okay! You’re okay!”

“Yes, yes,” I stroked his sweat-slick hair. “I’m fine. The cops found us. Toni’s fine too. We’re all good.”

Travis pulled his head out from my shoulder, and his busted lips curled into smile.

“Thank God,” he murmured. “Oh, thank God.”

“The cops are here,” I reassured him. “They’re probably arresting Frank Senior as we speak. We’re
free
.”

And then the referee snapped at us – the fight was about to begin again.

Taffy hauled Travis to his unsteady feet, and wiped the blood from his nose and mouth.

As I slurped water into my lover’s mouth, I murmured: “We’re okay, Travis. There’s nothing he can do to hurt us now.”

And that’s when Taffy dropped the bombshell.

“Well, if that’s true, lassie,” he warned me, “then we’ve got another fish to fry.”

Taffy grabbed Travis’ chin, and forced the bruised and bloodied fighter to look at him.

“If Toni and Roxy are back, you know what that means, right?”

Travis blinked, barely able to form a reply.

“It means you’re got to get out there and fucking
win
this fight.”

Chapter Sixty

Travis

For a second there – just one – I almost wished Roxy had turned up thirty seconds later.

I could be peacefully K/O’d by now – laying on the comforting firmness of the canvas, getting some well-deserved rest.

But instead, I was standing in my corner of the octagon, swaying from side to side, barely able to stand.

How the
fuck
was I going to last five more minutes?

But then I shook my aching head, and sense returned to me.

Shit, this was better than I could have hoped for. Roxy was
safe
. The cops were about to round up ‘Uncle’ Frank.

And what did that mean?

That finally, I was free to do what I was born to do –
to
win this fight
.

I stared across the canvas to where Frankie was standing, and grinned as best I could with my busted, swollen lip.

Sure, Frankie still looked mean and dangerous – sleek and sweaty and ready for more.

But he was glancing uncertainly at me, as Taffy and Roxy retreated out of the octagon.

I knew what he was thinking: What the fuck was
she
doing there?

And then I saw him glance up towards the VIP boxes – presumably where his father was sitting. I didn’t think he’d be able to see Uncle Frank getting hauled off in handcuffs; but he didn’t need to. The suspicion was there.

Everything Frankie had expected was crumbling around him; and he knew that this fight was no longer rigged.

But even so, Frankie’s eyes snapped in my direction.

The big brute snarled at me – a reminder that even if the fight was now mine to win; I still had to actually
make that happen
.

And he wasn’t going to make it easy.

Now the buzzer had sounded, we circled each other warily.

There was so much more to fight for now, and Frankie had tasted enough of his own blood to know that I wasn’t going to be a pushover about it.

Nevertheless, I was woozy and shaking as I circled him – knowing that if I gave him just one opportunity, it would all be over.

“You
fucker
,” Frankie hissed, as he circled me. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on, but you’re going
down
– and I’m gonna make it
hurt
.”

I snorted bitterly: “
Bring it
.”

And so he did.

With a snarl, Frankie Junior came charging in at me, throwing his fists like they were sledgehammers.

And I ducked. I don’t know where I found the strength or focus from, but I ducked out of the way of each gnarly swing, until Frankie got close enough for me to throw my own punch, right into his guts, and then follow it up with my forearm right across his jaw.

Frankie staggered back, snarling. Rearing back up to his full height, he casually shrugged off the two kicks I followed up with – before launching one of his own.

I caught his ankle.

Suddenly, Frankie was hopping on one leg, as I gripped his ankle and hoisted him off balance. That gave me a great opportunity to kick him in return – sending him sprawling to the canvas with a knee to the stomach.

But before I could even follow up, Frankie was back on his feet – growling at me.

“You’re going
down
, you fucking yank,” he spat, raising his fists. “I’m gonna fucking
break
you.”

And then Frankie threatened to make good on that promise.

Once again, he charged at me – head down, powerful legs driving him forward like an express train.

Frank’s thick head impacted with my stomach, and I staggered back, off balance.

I might have recovered from that, but at the same time the big Londoner hooked his elbows under my thighs, and hoisted me clean off the canvas.

Down I crashed, splaying out onto the canvas. The impact knocked the wind from my lungs – and what breathe I still did have followed the moment Frankie landed on my chest, and started pounding my face.

Fuck
!

I lifted my forearms to defend myself, but once again – it was brutal. Like wrecking balls, those two big fists came down again and again, impacting with my forearms until I swore they’d snap.

“I’m gonna fucking
wreck
you, mate,” Frankie sneered, as he kept up his relentless assault. “They’re going to fly you back to America in a
fucking wheelchair
.”

And once again, I didn’t know how I was going to get out of this.

Fuck, Frankie was crushing me to the canvas. His thighs were either side of my chest, and I couldn’t shift him. It was all I could do to protect my face, as he whaled on me – punch after punch after punch.

Shit!

Even with my forearms protecting my face, I started to see stars. I knew that I was seconds away from unconsciousness.

And even if I hadn’t been… what now?

How was I going to get out of this?

The clock was ticking – each second marked by another crushing blow. My best case scenario was to hang on until this third and final round ended – and then I’d just lose in the judge’s decision.

Fuck, after all we’d been through, I was going to
lose
?

That meant I’d lose my bet with Red. That my dad would still be on the hook to that bastard.

It meant Roxy’s gym would close, and any chance of keeping her dad’s dream alive would die with it.

And it meant the end of my career. Nobody in the MMA would touch me, after three loses, back to back.

And that’s when it hit me, as I lay there in a puddle of my own blood and sweat.

I
couldn’t
lose.

I mean, I very clearly
could
. In fact, that’s exactly what I was doing just then, as Frankie grounded and pounded me like I was hamburger meat.

But I couldn’t
afford
to lose.

There was too much at stake. Everything to fight for. And there was no way I was just going to lie here on the canvas and accept it.

So I took a deep breath – tasting blood as I sucked it in – and tried one, last time to throw this big bastard off my chest.

I lifted my hips, and thrust them forward. And for some reason – as if through some supernatural gift of strength – I suddenly found the power to do it.

Frankie lurched forward – enough to lose his balance, and fall face-first above my head into the canvas.

That was all I needed – just enough leeway to slide my body out from under him, and scrabble desperately onto my feet.

Shit – for a second there, I couldn’t even stand straight. I staggered three feet in one direction, and then overcompensated, and went lurching three feet in the other.

But somehow, I found my bearings – just as Frankie Junior hauled himself up off the canvas, and wheeled around to face me.

He grinned crookedly, and lifted his fists.

“Let’s finish this,” he sneered.

And that’s when I decided to do just that.

I closed my eyes. Only for a second, mind you – but it seemed like an eternity.

I visualized what I was about to do next – how I was going to throw a punch one way, and then feint in the other.

How I was going to block the swing I knew he’d take, and counter it with a punch of my own.

In less than a heartbeat, I choreographed my final, desperate maneuver – and then Frankie lurched forward, and turned it into reality.

I’d like to claim it was clairvoyance that gave me the insight I needed. Some kind of superpower. But the truth was much more mundane.

I’d fought against Frankie for three, punishing rounds – and learned how he telegraphed each move.

And that’s where I caught him.

Just like he had two times before, Frankie came in at me with his big fists flying – powerful haymakers that could easily K/O somebody if they landed on a jaw, or the side of the head.

But I’d seen them coming, and ducked out of the way.

And the moment I stepped aside, Frankie was off balance – and that gave me the opportunity I needed.

Blam! A punch to the side of the head.

Blam! A follow up, just under the jaw.

Then I gave Frankie a side-kick right in the chest – one that sent him staggering back across the canvas.

He struggled to right himself – stopping his rearward motion just before he hit the fence behind him.

But that’s exactly what I wanted.

Frankie ‘Fury’ Slater looked up, and found himself staring right into my fist – just as I threw a final haymaker that clocked him right above the jaw.

God, it was magnificent. The big bastard’s head cracked back, and I saw the lights go out even before he went crashing onto the canvas like a felled redwood.

The canvas shuddered as he landed – and within seconds the referee came over, waving me back, and and blowing his whistle.

I staggered backwards as Frankie’s corner team came rushing out – helping the stunned Londoner to sit up.

Holy shit. I’d
done
it.

Roxy and Taffy came running out across the octagon, and I winced as my lover came crashing into me, wrapping her arms around my necks and planting kisses on my bruised and bloodied face.

“You did it!” She cried. “You did it, Travis!”

And Taffy pounded me on the shoulder too, muttering: “Bloody good show, boyo. That was one for the history books.”

The two of them were practically holding me upright, as the referee came to take my hand.

Leading me into the center of the octagon, the ref looked around for Frankie… but my vanquished opponent was nowhere in sight.

In fact – shit – we saw him and his corner team retreating down the steps – getting the fuck out of there, even before the official verdict.

So I stood there, alone, as the referee held my hand up over my head, and the announcer roared:

“The judges have called an end to this fight, at two minutes and twenty three seconds into the third round. The winner, by total knockout, is Travis ‘Trigger’ Oates.”

And the crowd went
wild
.

I stood there, basking in the screams, shouts and hollers as thousands of fight fans cheered for me.

God, it was
amazing
.

Two losses. Months of anguish. Countless sleepless nights.

And now here I was, back in the running.

A
winner
again.

And believe me – I never wanted this feeling to end.