by Kelly Favor
FIGHT FOR HER
by Kelly Favor
Other books by Kelly Favor include the New York Times bestselling series, For His
Pleasure and the hot New Adult series, Naked.
Fight For Her. Copyright 2013. All rights reserved.
Gunner King was the hottest guy in the free world, and Krista Everett was looking right at him.
At least, she was looking at a picture of him in Modern Warrior, the magazine that she’d purchased after arriving at Logan Airport, in Boston. Gunner’s brown eyes glowered at her from an olive complexioned face. His brown hair was short but naturally styled, sweeping across his forehead. He seemed to be smirking at her a little bit.
How he managed to glower and smirk at the same time, she wasn’t sure.
Beneath the eye-catching photo was the headline:
The UFF’s Biggest Star Self-Destructs: Will He Bring the Biggest Fight Organization Down with Him?
Even reading it gave her the chills.
This, after all, was the story in sports right now. Less than a month ago, the reigning heavyweight champion of the United Fighting Federation had simply walked away from the sport. And he’d done it in advance of the biggest pay-per-view event in the history of mixed martial arts. He’d walked away from millions upon millions of dollars with no explanation, and apparently, no regrets.
Of course, Krista knew very little about the man, only what she’d read and researched since finding out that she was going on this trip.
And after doing the best she could to read up on him, all Krista really knew was that Gunner was enigmatic, reclusive, and dangerous. Apparently he was also in hiding and not wishing to be found.
Which was why Krista was currently on her way to find him.
As stupid as it sounded, Krista’s livelihood depended on seeking out the most dangerous man on the planet, and somehow getting him to admit that he’d been wrong about his recent life choices.
“Excuse me, ma’am, we brought your car around front,” the rental agent said, breaking into her reverie as he handed her the keys. “Would you like any help with your bags?”
“No thanks, I’ve got them,” she replied, quickly folding her magazine and tucking it under her arm as she stood up with her small suitcase, purse and laptop computer.
The agent smiled, but his eyes were busy roving over her body, flicking from her legs to her ass and then seeming to gaze longingly at her breasts.
Krista didn’t even bother being annoyed with the man’s obvious stare.
She’d tried to dress down, putting on a simple pair of jeans and a comfortable sweater that seemed to hide her curves well—at least, so she’d thought. Apparently, the rental agent either was seeing things she hadn’t thought seeable or he had quite the imagination.
A short walk out to the lot and she’d thrown her bags into the rental car, a black GMC Yukon. It was big and sturdy, and perfect for the drive into the Berkshires, she decided.
She got in the front seat and started the car, placing the magazine on the passenger seat next to her. As the engine rumbled to life, she glanced down at Gunner’s picture again.
He seemed to be taunting her now, ready to laugh.
You’ve got to be kidding me, his eyes said. You don’t stand a chance.
But Krista wasn’t about to be discouraged, and certainly not by a mere picture of the heavyweight champion fighter.
She set the GPS for the small town of Middle River, and started on her way.
It was a long drive, almost two hours, and there wasn’t a lot to see. But when she finally saw the signs for Middle River, her nerves started jumping and dancing again.
I’m one of the only people on the planet who knows where Gunner is, she thought.
And I’m the only person who’s actually going to get the opportunity to speak to him, convince him that what he’s doing is wrong, and bring him back to Las Vegas, where he belongs.
It sounded nuts, even to her. But she believed she could do it.
This was the chance of a lifetime, and she was ready to make the most of it. The entire flight from Vegas, and the drive through Massachusetts, she’d been practicing her speech. Sometimes she’d even said the words out loud, but mostly she’d just rehearsed it in her head.
Hi, I’m Krista Everett and I work in Fighter Relations for the UFF. I know you probably don’t want to talk right now, but I hope you’ll just take a few minutes of your time to speak with me. After all, it’s my job to help you, Gunner. I really think that if we chat for a little while, we might be able to find some common ground and begin to work through the issues you’re currently having with the UFF. I’m on your side. Just try and trust me.
It sounded good to her. And she meant it. She really did think that Gunner was making a huge mistake, foolishly throwing away everything he’d worked for, and destroying his career and reputation in the process.
Hell, in all likelihood, he would also be sued for breach of contract and end up owing millions of dollars because of the way he’d backed out of the pay-per-view fight on such short notice.
If he listens to me, she thought, then it will change both of our lives for the better.
***
She knew that Middle River was a small town, but she wasn’t prepared for just how small. It was basically one small road in the middle of the woods, and on that same road she saw the tiny little post office, one gas station, a little motel attached to a restaurant (The Middle River Inn, where she had booked a room for one night), and a police station so quaint that it seemed like it could be easily overtaken by a couple of determined old ladies with canes.
But if all went well, Krista thought, she wouldn’t be here very long. A couple of hours and then she’d head right back to the airport, hopefully with Gunner next to her in the passenger seat.
The GPS turned her off of Main Street and onto Red Fern Road. This was a much smaller street, and it began winding through the woods, which were so thick that they’d blotted out the sun and cast everything in shadow. She took her sunglasses off and tossed them to the side, focusing as she began to head at a steeper and steeper incline.
She was only ten minutes away from the address she’d been given, and no idea if it was for sure even the right address. Maybe the UFF had made a mistake, although some said that Drew Ellis, who ran the company, never made a mistake. He was super intelligent and brutally competitive, almost godlike—or at least, Trump-like in the way that his employees seemed to worship his every move.
The GPS turned her off Red Fern road and onto Cleary Lane, which was the street he lived on. Calling it a street was too kind, though. It was barely a path, and the Yukon was almost too big to get through.
Tree branches clawed and scratched at the car, as it continued going up the mountain road.
Krista was gritting her teeth together, eyes wide, breathing heavily as she tried to navigate without getting stuck. There wasn’t any cell service out here, so if she went off the road and couldn’t get back on, there would be little choice but to hike her way out.
She was sweating and anxious by the time she came to the turnoff that the GPS
claimed was Gunner’s driveway.
“You have arrived at your destination,” the computerized voice announced, and yet, all Krista saw was yet another small dirt road leading God only knew where. Still, she had no other choice but to take it, going on faith that she wouldn’t end up in the hands of some hillbilly cannibals. As laughable as that sounded, it was getting less funny all the time.
There was something eerie and frightening about the wooded, mountainous landscape. It was totally different than the flat, arid desert surrounding Las Vegas.
Driving up the new, even narrower, dirt road, Krista craned her neck to try and
see a house, something that would tell her a person actually lived here. But she couldn’t see it yet. The road went on and on, and she was driving slowly, so as not to run into a tree trunk.
Finally, after rounding one last treacherous turn where she thought seriously about giving up—she came to the end of her journey.
There, not a dozen yards away from her vehicle, was a small wooden cabin. A battered blue pickup truck was even parked out front.
Could that be his truck? Krista thought, and her heart began hammering at twice the speed that it had been beating previously.
Near to the truck was a monstrous stack of wood that had been newly chopped and stacked. She assumed as much, because a hatchet was buried in one final block of wood on the ground.
Still, there was no sign of any life. She drove forward a few more feet, tentatively. Now that she was really here, the excitement was replaced by dread and foreboding. The whole thing felt all too real and she suddenly couldn’t remember why she’d been so quick to say yes to this assignment.
Gunner King is dangerous, violent, and some say he’s gone completely insane. Is this really where you want to be right now, Krista?
Her gaze went back to the hatchet stuck in the wooden block and she swallowed, her mouth dry, the bright metallic taste of panic in her mouth.
Somehow, though, she convinced herself to get out of the car. As she did so, she was struck by how quiet it was out here.
Of course, there was noise; some birds chirping, the wind stirring the leaves, a squirrel running from one branch to the next.
But it wasn’t the kind of noise Krista was used to. She’d come from a city that was literally bells and whistles, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It was culture shock, to say the least.
“Hello?” she called out, her voice sounding thin and shaky in the still air.
Nobody replied.
She glanced at the windows of the cabin, but they were dark and impenetrable.
Perhaps, she thought, he’d gone out somewhere. Maybe he liked to walk in the woods, go fishing.
Maybe he’s inside the cabin, drunk, passed out with a bottle of whiskey nearby.
Or maybe he’s dead, she thought, and gooseflesh popped out along her arms and legs.
I might be the one to save him.
She pictured herself breaking down the door and running over to Gunner’s still body, beginning CPR on him as he lay on the floor, perilously close to death. Then her fantasy jumped to a ceremony where she was given an award for her heroic act that led to saving Gunner’s life, and the interview with Katie Couric—
A dog’s low warning growl pierced the silence. Krista cried out in surprise, spinning around to see a rather frighteningly large dog growling and showing its teeth at her. The dog’s ears were flattened against its skull and it was only a few feet from her.
“Hey, calm down, puppy,” she tried to sooth.
She couldn’t tell what kind of breed it was—she only knew it looked mean. Its reddish brown fur was matted and dirty, and it wore no collar. The growl deepened and intensified.
Krista started to back away from it.
She could see that at any moment, this thing was going to attack her.
“Please, please, don’t—“ she whispered, still backing away. She knew that dogs sensed fear and it was the worst thing to do, but she couldn’t help it. She was terrified.
Just as the dog seemed ready to spring into attack mode, a voice from nearby shouted, startling it.
“Hey! Doogie!”
The mutt spun, saw the person and lowered its head.
Coming around the corner of the house, a large man—wearing baggy jeans and a white t-shirt—shooed at the dog. “What are you growling at, Doogie?” the man said, and then he turned and spotted Krista.
She swallowed hard.
It was none other than Gunner King, looking like a movie star on vacation, beard stubble on his strong, handsome jaw.
The dog barked and ran off into the woods with a crash.
“Who are you?” Gunner asked. He put his hands on his hips.
Krista opened her mouth, ready to let the speech flow. She’d certainly rehearsed it enough over the last couple of days.
But somehow, the words wouldn’t come. At first, she wasn’t sure why. And then she realized, almost in an instant, what it was that stopped her from saying her speech.
Gunner King was too…everything.
For starters, he was too gorgeous. Even wearing his baggy jeans with holes in the knees and the plain white tee, he looked like a Greek God come to life. His arms and shoulders were chiseled as if from stone, and she could see the telltale tribal tattoos he’d made famous, visible on each arm.
His eyes were super intelligent, piercing and without an ounce of madness in them. The moment he looked at her, she knew he was far from crazy.
In fact, his eyes were so beautiful and penetrating that Krista completely lost her nerve.
Gunner’s presence, as a whole, was unlike anything Krista had ever experienced.
She’d met other famous people while living in Vegas, and she’d met other fighters as well. But nobody had ever affected her this way. She literally felt as though she’d turned into a child again.
This man was not going to be talked into returning to Vegas by some twenty-something girl who’d been in the fighting business all of a month. He was going to laugh at her, and then he was going to promptly kick her off his property.
“What are you,” he said, “a journalist?”
For some inexplicable reason, she jumped at the chance to be something—
anything—other than what she was. “Yes,” she said. “I’m a journalist.”
A journalist had a right to ask questions, she thought. A journalist wasn’t nearly as much of an enemy as a woman who worked for the company he hated.
He shook his head. “You people just don’t quit, do you?” He turned to walk away. “Look, get in your car and go home. I’m not interested.”
“I only wanted—“
He turned back to her again, and those infinitely piercing eyes silenced her abruptly. “I know what you want,” he said. “And I told you, I’m not interested.”
Krista saw that her chance was evaporating far more rapidly than she ever would have thought possible. Her thoughts were racing, and she felt tongue tied, incapable of stringing together a sentence.
She could only marvel at the incredibly grace in his movements, the way his muscles worked beneath his t-shirt.
Stop looking at his chest and his biceps, she reprimanded herself. But then she looked at his eyes and it was even worse. There was nowhere safe to look at all.
She realized that she needed to say something to stop him from going back inside his cabin and she needed to do it quick. Somehow, she had to make him see that she wasn’t like all the other people bothering him—she wasn’t a threat.
“I’m not really a journalist,” she said.
This seemed to halt him momentarily. He was watching her again. “What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed and he searched her face warily.
“I mean, I want to be a journalist. I’m a journalism student, and I wanted to do a story about you.”
“How did you find me?”
“It’s a small town,” she said. “Word was bound to get out eventually.”
She expected him to deny it, to tell her that he’d been careful not to go into town, but he didn’t. Instead, his shoulders seemed to sag a little and his expression changed from mistrust to bewilderment.
“What do I need to do, move to Antarctica to get away from you people?”
“I’m not one of those people, Gunner—“
“You don’t know me,” he growled. “Don’t say my name like we’ve been friends for years.”
She licked her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come across that way. I’m just incredibly nervous. I almost got attacked by a wild dog a minute ago.”
Gunner’s lips twitched
as if about to form a full-fledged smile. “You mean Doogie?”
“I don’t know the dog’s name, but he was growling and baring his teeth at me.”
“Doogie was just giving you a hard time.”
“Is that your dog?”
“He lives at a nearby farm. But he likes me. I guess he doesn’t like you too much, though. Can’t say I blame him.”
“Did you train him to hate journalists?”
“No, but it’s a good idea. Maybe I’ll do that in case any other stalkers come up here looking for me.”
“I’m not a stalker. I’m just a student who thought maybe you’d want to talk.”
“Well, I don’t.” He sighed, and his tone softened a little. “Can you get out of here okay? Your car’s pretty big and tough to maneuver.”
She looked back at the Yukon and pictured herself trying to turn it around in the small clearing in front of the house. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Okay,” Gunner said. “Go slow and be careful getting off the mountain.” He started to walk away again.
As he was leaving, when his back was to her, she made one last attempt.
“Gunner,” she called out.
He stopped walking but didn’t turn to face her. “Yeah?”
“I happen to agree with your choice.”
He didn’t move for a long, long moment. His heavily muscled back was still, and she could almost feel him taking in her words.
Krista held her breath. She knew that if she failed today, there was a very good chance that she wouldn’t have a job when she got back to Las Vegas. Drew Ellis himself had made it quite clear that the newly created Fighter Relations position wasn’t worth much to the UFF if she couldn’t even open up the lines of communication with their most important fighter.
Slowly, Gunner turned around. “Say that again,” he told her. “Tell me what you mean.”
“I agree with your choice. I think it’s courageous, what you’ve done—walking away from this fight.”
“Are you bullshitting me?” he asked, coming towards her now.
She was once again struck by his size, and the sheer magnitude of his charisma, which seemed to radiate outward from him like a visible aura. He was magnetic, and every time his eyes met hers, she found herself struggling to string a sentence together.
