Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance (5 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Travis

So ol’ Walt wasn’t ever in the running for Father of the Year.

He used to take his belt to me when I was a kid, and he’d never been shy in raising his voice.

But he wasn’t like a lot of dads down here in Freeport. He never got drunk and sloppy. He never beat me unless I deserved it. He worked his ass off when I was growing up – just to keep a roof over our heads.

So this? The news that my dad was in hock to a local bookie?

It was a total curveball.

And the kicker? When he told me it was all over bets he’d made about
me
.

“What can I say?” Walt shrugged, draining his mug of whiskey. “I was
proud
of you, son. I got to see my boy on TV – the real TV, not the local shit. Up there in the octagon. Fighting.
Winning
.”

I gulped, knowing what was coming next.

“Or, at least, you
were
winning.”

Walt slumped back in his seat.

“I used to drive over to Red’s bar on a Friday night. Sink a few cold ones and watch the fights.” He snorted dryly. “Hell, they used to buy me drink after drink on the nights you’d be up on that TV. They were some
good
times.”

He reached for the whiskey, but I moved the bottle out of reach. It was mid-afternoon – and he’d had enough Johnny Walker already.

“So what happened, Walt?” Roxy demanded.

My dad took a deep breath, and admitted:

“I got talking to the guy who ran the bar. This asshole from Georgia, Red Callahan. And he said, If your boy’s so good in the cage, maybe you should start makin’ some money from it.”

My heart sank as I listened to this.

“…and at first, it worked out
great
,” dad continued. “You remember that fight the other year against Paddy White? You kicked that Yankee’s ass in the first round.”

I smirked, remembering one of my first fights in the MMA League. I’d gone up against a ten-year veteran from Long Island, New York, and given him a K.O. in the first two minutes.”

“After that, I started putting more money down,” dad admitted. “And why the fuck not?” He looked up at me, and those steely grey eyes of his softened a little. “What else was I supposed to do? Stay home in the trailer?” He snorted. “I had nothing else, Travis. Work, and that bar, and watching my boy on TV.”

His lips curled.

“I was
proud
of you, son.”

And my heart sank lower, knowing what was coming next.

“So I started making bigger bets. I mean, I wasn’t spending the money anyway, so I’d just roll it on over. Whatever I won the first time, I’d bet the next.”

He looked up at me bitterly, and sighed, “And then you went up against your buddy, Nicolai Bukov.”

That fight had occurred earlier in the year. Nico was my best pal. We shared an apartment together in Brooklyn, and trained together each and every day. It’d been a mean trick, squaring us both off against each other.

And a bad day for me – Nicolai had knocked me on my ass.

“So,
poof
,” my dad shook his head. “All that money, gone in an instant.” He looked up at me, and I was wondering if I saw disappointment in his eyes.

Even if I didn’t, I sure
felt
it.

“And so Red offers me double or nothing, and like some kind of jackass, I accept.” Walt peered into the empty coffee cup, and breathed in the final fumes of whiskey. “And that’s when you went up against ‘Bruiser’ Broderick.”

I practically winced when he mentioned that name.

Benjamin ‘Bruiser’ Broderick was supposed to be my stepping stone back into competitive fighting. A nice, easy mark after Nico knocked me onto my ass.

He was karate instructor from New Jersey – soft round the middle, and reeling from his own recent loss. I’d gone in cocky, and overconfident, and paid the price.

Within the first minute of the first round, Broderick had me tapping out like a little bitch, with a brutal arm bar that I should never have let him get me into.

“And that’s when I got the wrong side of Red,” Walt’s shoulders slumped, as he came to the end of his story. “Because when I’d bet ‘double or nothing’ he’d had the not-entirely-misunderstandable impression that I’d have been able to make good on it.”

I sat there, reeling.

“You mean, you bet ‘double or nothing’ when you didn’t have anything to bet?”

Walt shrugged.

As mad as I was at my old man, I had to admire the way he was dealing with this. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t making excuses. He just sat there and admitted it.

“Red gave me a week to pay,” my father explained. “And when I didn’t, his boys came round and busted up my hands.”

He held up his bandaged limbs.

“And even after they did
this
, Red still expects me to pay.”

My hands balled into fists when I heard this. It was lucky there was nothing nearby to smash, or throw – because it’d probably have gone flying out of the window of the doublewide.

“That
son of a bitch
,” I growled. “Fuck, I’m gonna go round to that bar of his and bust
more
than just his hands.”

“Y’ain’t gonna do
shit
, son,” Walt snapped. I turned to face him, and my father explained, “He’s got the sheriff on the payroll, and a small army of bikers at his disposal. You head over to his bar and start causing trouble, you’ll find yourself floating face down in the swamp.”

Roxy reached over and placed her hand on my shoulder. It was the first time she’d touched me since I’d come back to Texas, and it was like a fiery brand against my skin.

“Your dad’s right, Travis,” she warned. “I don’t know much about this Red character, but I do know that bar. Ol’ Smokey’s, out on the water. It’s a
rough
place. You do
not
want to mess with anybody out there.”

I turned and looked up at Roxy.

She looked so beautiful, staring down at me. Her big, blue eyes. Those full, red lips. God, I’d missed that face.

But I pushed those thoughts aside.

“I’m not just gonna sit here after somebody busted up my dad’s hands,” I growled. “Somebody’s gotta
pay
.”

“Yeah,” Walt snorted. “
Me
.
I
gotta pay.”

“Dad, don’t be…”

“Nah, son,” my dad held up one of his bandaged hands. “I don’t like it, but it’s what I’ve got to do. I made a dumbass decision – but my pappy taught me you’d got to live with the choices you make. Even the dumb ones.”

“Yeah,” I shot back, “but where are
you
gonna get five thousand dollars from? Your truck’s not even worth that.”

Walt shrugged.

“I don’t know.” And then he looked sheepish, and dammit I knew what was coming even before he said it.

“Look, this is
embarrassin
’, son,” my dad murmured, “and you know I ain’t never asked you for a
thing
. But I was wondering…”

I preempted him, “I don’t have it.”

Dad blinked.

“You’re gonna ask me for a loan,” I guessed, “and you know I fucking would, pop. I’d write you a check right now. But I
don’t fucking have it
.”

I looked my father square in the eye, and admitted it.

“I’m
broke
, dad.”

Chapter Fourteen

Roxy

I wanted to stay.

Shit
, did I want to stay.

I wanted to hear what Travis was confessing to his father – the real reason he’d come slinking back to Texas like a whipped pup. But I couldn’t. I had my classes to teach and with enrollment the way it was, I couldn’t afford to be late.

So I left the two boys bickering in that doublewide, and I clambered back into my old truck. A few minutes later, I was rumbling back across the water towards town.

And that’s when I noticed them.

Shit, nobody’s on the road in Freeport. With the jobs in the oil fields gone, and half the town in foreclosure, you’re sometimes lucky to see one or two cars pass you on the road.

But as I drove through the wide, flat fields on the way to town, I noticed a car in my rear-view mirror; approaching fast.

Real
fast.

And it was familiar, too – a long, low, black Cadillac like the one that had been parked outside of Walt’s trailer when Travis and I had disturbed those men roughing up his old man.

I felt a suddenly chill down my spine, wondering what the fuck those bastards were doing following me.

I’m not exactly a scaredy-cat – and I don’t have much reason to be. I have black belts in Brazilian Jiujitsu, Taekowndo and I’m certified in Krav Maga. Throw in the .44 Ruger Redhawk I’ve got rattling around inside the glovebox and I’m definitely not the kind of girl you want to car jack.

But I still didn’t go looking for trouble; and didn’t like it when it came looking for me.

And that’s what happened next. The Cadillac suddenly sped up, and roared past me with the ‘dug-dug-dug’ of a powerful V8 engine. And then, as we were about to cross another bridge, the big car slewed to a halt across the road.

I had no choice but to slam my foot on the brake – otherwise I’d have ploughed right into them. I couldn’t even swerve left or right, without leaving the road and plunging into the marshy wetness on either side of the highway.

Dad’s old truck slewed to a halt, the brakes squealing.

Even before we’d stopped moving, I’d reached across the dashboard and popped open the glove compartment.

The worn, wooden grip of that Ruger revolver felt comforting in my hand.

I pulled the gun into my lap, and looked out through the windshield at the Cadillac in front.

Three of the doors swung open – and those same black-suited men from before clambered out.

Two of them looked worse for wear – their white shirts spotted with blood, and their faces all banged up. Travis had done a number on the pair of them.

But nevertheless, they looked pretty menacing as they stepped up in front of the truck, and the lead guy – the one who’d flashed the gun at Travis – barked out, “Why don’t ya get outta the truck, sugar?”

I snorted. Were they serious?

“C’mon,” the guy barked again, and this time he took a menacing step forward. “We ain’t gonna hurt you. We just want to talk.” And as he said that, his two buddies started walking to the right and left – trying to outflank me.

I was sitting in my dad’s old truck, with the doors locked, and the engine rumbling. I wasn’t quite sure of what they expected. Any second, I could just fling the truck into reverse and back the hell away – or even nudge past them, and knock that ugly fucking Caddy off the road.

But before I got a chance to do either of those things, one of the goons pointed at something behind my truck, and the other two looked up.

Still clutching the Ruger, I turned in my seat and peered out through the grimy back window.

In the distance was another car – coming up fast.

The three men in front mumbled to each other – I couldn’t hear it over the sound of my truck. Then they ducked back towards the Cadillac – hauling open the doors and climbing inside.

The guy who’d spoken was the last to get inside. He pointed at me through the windshield before he closed the door, and barked, “Be seein’ ya around, sweetheart.
Real soon
.”

And then he was behind the wheel, and the Cadillac was rolling off into the distance.

I sat there for a second, in my stationary truck, and watched the three strangers drive off into the distance.

I suddenly realized that I was trembling.

I was still sitting there when the car in the distance finally reached me, and I looked up in concern as it pulled to a halt alongside my stationary truck.

The concern evaporated as soon as I recognized it. An old Chevy S-10. A truck so achingly familiar to me, I could have read you the VIN number from memory.

And sitting behind the wheel was Travis.

He wound down the window, and I did the same, trying to control my shaking hand.

“Yo, Roxy,” Travis barked through the window. “You okay? Why are you stopped in the middle of the goddamn road?”

And for a second I kept my shit together, and opened my mouth to speak…

But nothing but a sob came out.

Chapter Fifteen

Travis

“Shit, Roxy, you don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

Of the seven deadly sins, the ones Roxy Rockatansky was most guilty of were ‘wrath’ and ‘pride’ (although she was pretty gifted at ‘lust’ as well, given the right circumstances.)

But it was definitely pride that was fucking with her that afternoon.

“I-I don’t know what came over me,” she sniffled, wiping her eyes as she sat at the reception desk at X-AMERICA. “As soon as those… those
assholes
drove off, I just started crying.”

She looked up at me, and for the first time I saw she was staring at me without the anger, or resentment, or bitterness I’d felt since I’d arrived back in Texas.

“You were scared,” I told her, looming over her as I stood at the desk. “It was pretty fucking scary, those three bastards following you down the road. Stopping you.”

Even I shuddered at that point.

“I wonder what they wanted.”

Whatever it was, it wasn’t
good
.

I was confident Roxy could handle herself, but clearly she’d been shaken up by the experience.

“If you hadn’t turned up…” she shuddered.

And then Roxy looked up at me.

“Why
did
you turn up?” She asked. “What were you doing out there in the truck? Were you
following
me?”

I snorted dismissively.

“Aww, hell no. I just had a big blow up with pops and I needed to clear my head. Figured I’d drive on over to town and pick up some groceries while I was at it. That’s when I saw you pulled over by the side of the road.”

Roxy snorted.

“Well, I’m glad you did.” She shuddered. “Who knows what would have happened otherwise.”

Before I could answer that, the door of the karate center swung open, and a line of kids barreled through. These were Roxy’s after-school students – her ‘little ninjas.’

Reluctantly, Roxy got up out of her chair, wiped her red and tear-streaked eyes, and tried to to force some enthusiasm into her voice.

“Good afternoon, guys!”

There were probably eight or nine kids shuffling into the karate studio, and they all offered a half-hearted, “Good afternoon, Ms. Roxy” as they walked past.

But I could tell the kids were wondering why Roxy’s eyes were red, and her cheeks were glistening.

I decided I’d do something.

I followed Roxy into the karate studio, and watched the kids line up obediently across the room – each of them taking a ‘dot’ painted on the mats, in two rows of four students each.

As Roxy made them chant out the student creed, I flopped down into one the seats at the edge of the room, and pulled off my cowboy boots.

A moment later, as Roxy finished off the creed, I padded barefoot across the mats and stood next to her – towering over the beautiful instructor.

Roxy turned and looked up at me quizzically, her eyes broadcasting the unspoken question, “What the
fuck
do you think you’re doing?”

So I just started speaking.

“Hey, kids. Anybody know who I am?”

And from the back row, a little eight or nine-year-old kid shouted out, “I know you! You’re Trigger, off the TV.”

I smiled, and felt my cheeks burn.

“That’s right. My name’s Travis Oates. I’m a mixed martial arts fighter from New York – but I used to train
right here
, in X-AMERICA.”

The kids’ eyes all widened, as they listened.

“Hey, I figured I’d give Ms. Roxy a break, and come and help out today. How does that sound?”

The rows of kids stared up at me, and I knew they were impressed. I mean, I might not have
looked
like much of a martial artist, in my tight jeans and
Lynyrd Skynyrd
t-shirt, but I towered over them, and my bulging biceps and broad shoulders were pretty impressive.

Roxy continued to look up at me, and a flash of anger crossed her eyes.

I wondered for a second if I’d made a horrible mistake. Roxy didn’t like anybody showing her up.

But after staring at me intently for a moment, her lips curled, and she reached up and punched me on the shoulder; mouthing the word ‘thanks’.

And then she stepped off the mats, and went and took a seat at the edge of the room, with all the parents who’d gathered for class.

I watched her sit down with a smile; happy to be useful…

…and then my attention snapped back to the room.

Eight pairs of eyes stared up at me from the mats, expecting instruction.

And I suddenly had to pull a karate class out of my ass.