Diablo's Throne MMA Books 1-3

by HJ Bellus

  “You’re like my child, Mack. I love you so much. I also saw the way Trick looked at you. He’s smitten.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Oh, I do. I was a strapping young man one time, and that’s the same way I looked at my Wilma. Still did until her dying day.”

  I smile, having no words. Something deep down inside of me knows Gene hit the nail on the head. I think I knew it from the day I fell in Trick’s lap. He’s owned me since that moment.

  I warm up some soup for Gene and make sure he has everything before I head out to the gym. I pedal my bike with a grin on my face and my soul free. My legs don’t protest in pain. It’s as if I’m floating on a cloud.

  There are cars lined up and down the road in front of the gym. I ignore the prickle of trepidation. It’s clear there are lots and lots of people here. That assumption is correct when I swing open the door to the gym. There’re at least ten times the amount of people here tonight than at self-defense classes. My spine stiffens and knees grow weak, but I push on, stepping into the gym. There’s a ring set up in the middle with metal folding chairs framing all sides of it.

  I slink back into a corner, giving myself a moment to ground myself. Nobody notices me as they chatter and move about the gym. That fact comforts me. I can cope and will fight through this. Trick in all his glory is what I focus on. He lives for fighting. I’ve never seen a man with so much passion and drive for a sport. There’s nothing that could hold me back from watching him.

  I hear a familiar voice chewing someone’s ass. I glance around frantically, trying to find it. Boss finally comes into view. It’s like he feels me watching him when he peers over his shoulder. He continues tearing into a well-muscled man who I guess is a fighter, then he turns on his heels, striding toward me.

  “Hey, Mack.”

  I manage to wave.

  “Came to watch Trick, I see.” He tucks a hand into a pocket of his workout pants.

  “Yeah, he wanted me to.” I glance down for a second then flinch, bringing my vision right back up to Boss.

  “We all wanted you here.” He loops an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go find the girls.”

  And just like that, Boss guides me through the gym. The crowd parts with his mere presence. Since I’ve always been the quiet observer, I’ve learned how to judge people and am pretty damn good at it. I can tell you, Boss has a gentle, loving soul. He’s a good guy who protects what he loves. I see so many of those qualities in Trick as well.

  “Mack.” Layla brightens up and waves as we approach her.

  Sunni is next greeting me. They swarm me. I don’t have a chance to tell Boss thank you or even goodbye. The two go on about how excited they are to see me.

  “I’ve never seen Trick smile so damn much in all the years I’ve known him,” Layla says as she takes a seat in the front row.

  The two women sandwich me in.

  “I know. Jag said the same thing the other night when he was organizing his antique glass lemon squeezers.” Sunni rubs her protruding belly.

  “I’m not even going to ask.” Layla shakes her head.

  Sunni waves her off. “He watched some television show that got him addicted to them, and now he has quite the collection.”

  “Oh hey.” Sunni slaps my shoulder, startling me. “Layla and I are going to an author signing Friday. You should go with us. This woman is amazing.”

  “Yes,” Layla squeals. “You have to.”

  “Who?” I ask, giddy on the inside since reading is my favorite hobby.

  “Navy York. She’s such an inspiration, Mack, and she’s on tour with her books. Her words were my savior when I was at my lowest.” Sunni’s eyes grow misty.

  “Okay,” I agree without dwelling too much on it.

  We are interrupted when someone begins talking into the microphone. Everything seems low key considering a fight is about to take place. Then I remember this isn’t an official match. My vision darts around the gym while the deep voice drones on.

  Layla grabs my bouncing leg. “He’s not out here yet. He’ll walk out over there.”

  I follow to where she’s pointing and nod. Blaring music fills the gym. The crowd boos as Trick’s opponent steps out into the gym. He bounces from toe to toe with a scarlet silk robe covering his body. His head is bowed as he shakes the stress from his shoulders.

  The atmosphere in the gym heightens with a few simple strums of a guitar. A familiar song that Gene used to play while I was growing up begins beating in the gym. “A Country Boy Can Survive” by Hank Williams, Jr. serenades all of us.

  My heart skips a beat the moment I see Trick flanked by Boss, Jag, and Cruz. His stride screams pride and confidence. It’s a quiet yet loud action as he makes his presence known. Nothing flashy or cocky like the other fighter. At the height of the song, Trick raises his head, an eerie smile covering his face. He’s in the zone.

  “Relax.” Sunni grabs my hand. “I’ve been in your shoes before. It’s the scariest thing you’ll ever witness and also the most gratifying. This is his passion.”

  I nod, not taking my vision off Trick as he enters the ring. Boss gets up in his face, smacking him and yelling. I flinch but don’t look away. The referee or whatever he’s called steps up to Trick, checking his wrapped hands and mouth.

  Before I know it, a bell dings and the men dance around one another. Both girls leap to their feet, and I follow, having no clue how to feel. I can’t even process what’s happening in front of me.

  The men move swiftly bouncing around. Trick’s chest is taut along with his biceps flexed tight. The other man, Savage Joker, swings and hits Trick, causing his head to jerk back.

  I gasp. A swirl of dread boils low in my stomach. He strikes Trick several more times until there’s blood running down his face. I gag then slap my palm over my mouth to keep it stuffed down. The bell rings again, and Trick goes to his corner. People swarm him as they wipe the blood off his face, and Boss once again yells at him. Trick nods his head the whole time while opening his mouth for a squirt of water.

  “Act. Get it done, son,” Boss roars as the bell rings.

  It starts out like last time with the two men dancing around each other. Trick takes two solid punches to his jaw before his leg sweeps out. The crack of the action echoes over the roar of the crowd. Savage Joker goes down. Trick pounces, straddling the man. What happens next leaves me speechless.

  It’s a blur of action and commotion as Trick viciously swings his arms, landing his fist in the center of Joker’s face. It’s so rapid that it’s impossible to count how many times he lands punches. Joker’s head rolls to the side and his arms go limp. The referee jumps in, pulling Trick off him.

  The noise level in the gym deafens me. Trick’s corner is out in the center of the ring. Trick throws back his head and roars out a victory cry with his arms raised out to his sides.

  Something inside of me bursts wide open watching Trick revel in his glory. It’s addictive. The dam of fear that’s held me back for so long shatters. I want to live. Be free. Relish life. I yearn for the same adrenaline pumping through Trick’s veins to course through mine. I crave that. And I crave it with him. He’s the one person who has brought me to life.

  Jag and Trick chest bump and roar in unison. Once they bounce back, they do some sort of head bob and shake of the hands then they both scale the cage swiftly and with precision until they’re straddling the top. Their victory cries and celebration continue. They have the crowd going insane, including me. I’m up on my feet cheering right along with chest-bursting pride.

  Layla takes the cake, though. Her excitement makes me dizzy. That feeling is amplified when Trick searches me out in the audience. When we make eye contact, he winks at me. It’s devilish and sexy as hell. Then he points at me and mouths one word. Mine.

  It cements everything I’ve been questioning. I’m all in.

  “So what did you think?” Sunni places her hand on my arm.

  “That was amazing,” I
squeal. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It’s just the beginning.” Sunni grins wide, rubs her belly, and saunters off.

  Layla is already gone. I can make out the top of her head in the crowd. It looks as if she’s directing and managing crowd control.

  “Hey.” Arms wrap around me from the back.

  I don’t flinch or even hesitate to melt back into the sweaty fighter. And he is sweaty. The scent is downright as addicting as the first sip of whiskey.

  In a bold move, I reach back with one hand, gripping the back of Trick’s neck. “Hey yourself.”

  “Need to go shower. Then dinner?” He runs his lips up and down my neck.

  His beads of sweat and cut skin glide against mine.

  “Okay.” I turn in his arms and reach up to cup his strong jaw. Trick helps by dipping his head down for me. “I want you, Trick.”

  He growls. His fingers dig into my hips. “Want you too, baby. Have since the first day I met you.”

  “You mean the day I fell in your lap?”

  “Hells yes. It was meant to be.”

  “I agree, but enough of this mushy shit and go shower, my sexy fighter.” My stomach growls on cue. I was too amped up about the thought of this fight tonight. While at the center this afternoon prepping the meal, I was distracted to the point of putting chopped onions in a dessert instead of flaked coconut. A task that should’ve taken me fifteen minutes turned into an hour.

  “Be right back, Mack. Gotta beat Cruz and Layla to the locker room.”

  Trick plants a quick kiss on my forehead and jogs back to the hallway he came out of. My mind reels in confusion because Cruz didn’t even fight, and why would Layla be in the locker room? I sense there’s an inside story to this, and I’ll ask Trick about it later.

  I don’t have time to process it because I’m interrupted by a high-pitched squeal. The culprit of it is an angelic mini version of Layla. The tiny toddler bounces around with glee in a storm of a teal tutu. Jag’s in front of her with his fists held up. He calls out moves, and the little girl executes each one with perfection. Once their routine is done, Jag pulls out a sucker from his pocket.

  “He’s going to be such a good daddy.” Sunni is by my side again.

  “He sure is,” I reply.

  Sunni informs me the little girl is Belle, the daughter of Cruz and Layla. Her babysitter had just dropped her off. I also learn Jag and Sunni are expecting twin boys in a few short weeks.

  I join the group surrounding Belle with Sunni leading the way. I learn this fight was crucial tonight even though it wasn’t sanctioned. Boss details all the information while running his hand over his head in a repetitive motion. Joker is an opponent Trick has never taken down. He has a lethal right hook that knocks most fighters out in the first round. Boss knew if Trick could get him down, it would be lights out, and he wanted Trick to build confidence by doing so.

  It’s not long before Trick reappears. His strides are determined, and he is laser-focused on me. His face is already beginning to swell. The dark bruises mask his features. It adds to Trick. They represent his victory like a shiny gold medal, not to mention the badass sex appeal. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought a man like Trick would be interested in me. He’s proven time after time he’s in it to win.

  Trick introduces me to a few other fighters. I struggle to keep up with their names. I can remember Riot since Trick talks about him so much. They seem to be really tight. It’s not long before Cruz and Layla sneak off to the locker room, leaving Belle with Jag and Sunni. I don’t have to ask Trick what that’s about after all; I can deduce enough.

  Meeting Trick’s family adds to the overwhelming excitement. I could float high on the clouds right now. My shoulders are relaxed, and my thoughts center on Trick.

  “Ready?” Trick pulls me to him.

  “Yeah.”

  We walk out into the fresh air. Dusk is beginning to paint the expansive sky with shades of pink and oranges.

  “Truck?” Trick raises an eyebrow in question.

  I shake my head. “I have my bike.”

  “Okay, let me get mine then.” He jogs off, his long legs eating up the sidewalk with ease.

  The man just exerted his body to the max and didn’t blink twice about riding a bike across town. He tosses his duffle bag in the cab of his truck, clicks the lock, and reaches in the bed of his truck slinging out his bike. He makes it look effortless, not even a muscle straining in his bicep. I groan out loud, admiring his beauty.

  “Bitch, you got a bike?”

  I turn to see Jag trotting up to us with nothing but a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Trick ignores him as he walks his bike up next to us.

  “Dude, let me ride it.” Jag goes for the handlebars. “I was the motherfucking king of BMX hill back in the day.”

  “Not a chance, Jag,” Trick growls.

  Sunni and Belle join us on the sidewalk. It doesn’t detour Jag from begging.

  “Let me try it once. I’ll jump it off that curb over there.”

  Sunni groans, and Trick shakes his head. Part of me wants to see Jag on the bike. I have a feeling he’d make a real good fool out of himself.

  “Let’s go, Jag. My feet are killing me,” Sunni pleads.

  Belle is doing her best to climb the bike. Trick bends over, picks up Belle, and places her on the seat. She kicks her feet and makes motorcycle sounds. Jag pitches a fit, eventually making Trick cave in. Boss and Riot have joined us on the sidewalk. Belle went right into her grandpa’s arms.

  “Hell, yeah, baby, record this shit,” he announces as he throws his leg over the bike.

  “He needs medication,” Boss grumbles.

  Strong arms wrap around me. Trick pulls me back into his chest, resting his chin on the top of my shoulder. “My bike is toast.”

  “Why did you let him ride it, then?” I lace my fingers in his.

  “He’s like a rash. It’s easier to give in.”

  We both look up just in time to see Jag’s foot slip off the pedal. He was in a standing position pedaling the hell out of the bike, aiming to jump off the curb. He collides down on the bar with grace and not so much ease. His blood-curdling screams ricochet up and down the streets. Laughter from Jag’s misery couple with his groans of agony.

  Sunni doesn’t flinch. She only shakes her head and rolls her eyes. I gasp, horrified how hard he hit his man parts.

  “Right in the Sacajawea,” Trick mumbles through his laughter.

  Boss’ head is thrown back, and I swear I’ve never heard someone laugh so damn hard.

  “Peas. Frozen peas, stat, before my nuts lose blood circulation and turn into goddamn raisins.” Jag lets the bike drop to the sidewalk and creeps toward us, hunched over in pain and cupping his junk.

  “What in the hell is going on?” Layla asks, walking out the front door, brushing her messy hair back.

  “Jag thought he was going to Evil Knievel on a mountain bike and didn’t realize the gears weren’t going to work with him,” Boss manages to get out.

  Trick ignores the circus surrounding us while running the tip of his nose up and down the sensitive part of my neck. His hand roams dangerously close to the waist of my shorts. “Let’s go. I’m fucking starving and not for food.”

  Chapter 12

  Trick

  I’m an idiot. There’s no way around it. Riding a bike two-and-a-half miles across town after a fight is a death wish. And one I happily geared up for. Mack and I stopped in at my favorite steakhouse. The food was fantastic like always. The attention from the hostess and servers was not so incredible.

  Shit, Jag, Cruz, Riot, and I would dine there at least three times a week back in the day and would end up taking home women. Not something I’m proud of. And even though I had Mack at my side, it didn’t stop their advances. She took it like a champ, still high off my fight. Couldn’t get her to order a meal off the menu. She did the same thing as last time, copying my order. It bothered the hell out of me. She’s
that calf getting her legs under her. It will take time.

  “Want to come in?” Mack asks, hopping off her bike.

  I take the opportunity to study those tanned, toned legs before answering. I rake my vision up her body, admiring all her voluptuous parts. I bite down on my bottom lip, stifling a moan, and then remember Mack asked me a question.

  “Hell yes, I do. Thought you’d never ask.” I hitch my leg off my bike and lean it next to Mack’s.

  The best fucking fantastic view in the universe graces my vision as we walk up the smooth sidewalk—Mack’s beautiful ass. I sure in the hell don’t like her walking and riding her bike everywhere, but Jesus the things it’s done for her smoking little body.

  “Hey.” She turns to me and plants a palm on my chest. “I’m going to check on Gene real quick. Go ahead and go on in.”

  I force myself to remain standing upright and not take her lips with mine. Mack bounces off before I have the chance to respond. Anger races up my spine when I place my hand on the doorknob, and it opens. Her door was fucking unlocked. I take a second to flex my fists and settle my nerves. This caveman shit inside of me is ridiculous. The reality of it is Mack is easy prey. All it would take is for some damn creep to follow her for few days to set the trap. She’d walk right into her own demise.

  I tamp down my emotions, saving this talk for another day. I’m plain exhausted and have had way too sweet of a day to ruin it. Mack’s home consists of two rooms from what I can see. One large living area, which includes a living room and kitchen. There’s one door off to the side that I assume is her bedroom.

  “Hey, I’m back.”

  I turn to see Mack bouncing inside the house with a mile-wide grin on her face. She’s changed. I can see it in her movements and the gentle ease in her smile.

  “Gene doing okay?” I ask.

  Mack shared her worries with me on the ride over here.

  “Yes, he does look better and is getting ready for bed.” She kicks off her shoes and drops them on a yellow mat near the door. “Tomorrow will be the true test. We will see if he goes down to the center for dinner and to socialize.”