Clincher (DS Fight Club Book 6)

by Josie Kerr

“The hat stays on,” Charlotte confirmed. “A lot of times, the boots stay on, too. And the belt.”

  “Bailey needs to be here so she can give us the scoop on C. I bet he’s a wild man with a filthy, filthy mouth.” Nanda helped herself to a forkful of Annie’s cake. “Oh, that’s good cake, too. Damn.”

  “Okay, Nanda. There has to be something about Mr. Dominic DiGiacomo that’s down and dirty.” Bridget took a swipe of icing from Nanda’s plate. “I know he’s Mr. All-American, but . . .”

  Nanda looked around and motioned for the women to move closer. When they huddled around the table, she said, “Toys.”

  “Toys?” Annie frowned. When Nanda made a buzzing noise, she giggled and blushed. “Oh, those kinds of toys.”

  Bridget stuck up her hand and wiggled two fingers at Cal, who was talking with the hostess. Bridget recalled that Cal was dating the pretty blonde. She also remembered Nolan giving the woman some side-eye, but when she asked about her, Nolan remained closed-mouthed, which made Bridget like him that much more. Cal held up one finger and inclined his head in apology, and Bridget just nodded.

  “If I’d known it was going to be smut talk tonight, I would have passed,” she said with a grin before yawning widely. Between the whiskey and the dessert, she was going into a sugar crash. “Jaysus, I’m a lightweight.”

  “You ready to bail, lady?” Nanda was already punching at her phone, most likely texting Dig to come and retrieve them. He, Pierce, and all the girls had shown up at Bridget’s. The boys had dropped the girls off at Pickett & Spence, telling them to let them know when they were finished.

  Bridget nodded and swallowed the last of her whiskey. The women paid their tab, Nanda and Charlotte each securing their own cake to take home. They waved to Cal, who saluted the rowdy group, and then the women piled into the van and headed back to the fight club after dropping Charlotte at home. Pierce had walked Charlotte to her door, and as they drove off, Bridget saw Tig pick Charlotte up and carry her across the threshold.

  She sighed and leaned her head up against the glass of the window. Her last night before camp wouldn’t be that much different from the last time she fought, only this time, she wasn’t married. That made the fact that she was spending it alone a little better and not nearly as humiliating.

  They pulled up to Bridget’s house, and she, Annie, and Pierce hopped out of the van.

  “Thanks, guys. This was a lot of fun. I appreciate your taking my lame ass out on the town.” Bridget frowned. Was she slurring?

  “Anytime, lady. Take some aspirin and drink an assload of water, Bridg—you’re going to be hurting tomorrow.” Nanda grinned and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “See you on Monday.”

  Pierce and Annie saw Bridget safely into the house before they walked next door to their home, and Bridget chuckled to herself when the house remained mostly dark. No more free shows for me. She took Nanda’s advice and drank a large glass of water, as well as taking two pain relievers, while she scrubbed her makeup off and got ready for bed.

  She was setting her alarm when she saw a missed text from Nolan, asking her if she enjoyed the cake. She grinned in the dark. Nolan was a sweetheart. Probably too sweet to be truly interested in the likes of her. Impulsively, she called him. The phone rang three times, and then he answered.

  “Hello? Bridget? Is there something wrong?”

  “Uh, no. No, I saw your text, and I thought I’d call you, see what you were up to.”

  “I was doing some reading and trying to relax enough to go to sleep.”

  “I know what would relax you.”

  She heard a soft chuckle from Nolan. “Yeah, I’m sure you do,” he murmured. “You doing okay?”

  “I’d be doing better if you’d come over.”

  “Oh, jeez. Yeah, that’s not going to happen, Bridget. You said yourself that we needed to cool it for eight weeks.”

  “The fight’s not for ten, so two more.”

  “Well, that’s a bummer, but it’ll be fine. Good things come to those who wait, right?”

  “Waiting is overrated. I waited for Kevin, and look where that got me.”

  “I’m sorry, Bridg.”

  “I’m lonely, Nolan.”

  “I know. I can tell. Another reason that my coming over isn’t a good idea.”

  “You could feed me cake.”

  She heard him sigh. “No, darlin’. As much as I would love to feed you cake, I think we need to stick to the plan, okay? Ten weeks.”

  “Fine. I’ll guess I’ll talk to you sometime.”

  “Bridget, sweetheart . . .”

  “Oh, don’t fucking call me ‘sweetheart’; you know better than that.” Bridget knew she sounded petulant, and maybe even a little bit bitchy, but she really didn’t care. She was lonely and just this side of tipsy, and she’d give anything to feel Nolan’s strong embrace like she did the night before.

  “Okay, fine. If that’s how you wanna be. Don’t ever call me again when you’re drunk. Desperation isn’t a good look on you. Good night, Bridget.”

  Bridget heard the connection end, but she didn’t take the phone away from her ear for a few long moments. When she lowered the phone, she didn’t toss it aside; she just sat there in her dark bedroom and waited for the sun to come up.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nolan sat on his balcony, drinking coffee and letting his mind wander. Iggy sat at his feet, under his feet, really, waiting for him to drop a morsel of biscuit. Nolan hadn’t baked in months, but helping solve Cal’s cake emergency reminded him how much the physical act of rolling dough acted as a form of therapy for him. The cakes were an ideal situation—labor-intensive and then out the door. The jam-drenched biscuit in his hand? Not so much. He tried not to think about the four in his belly.

  “Mrowp.”

  “Yeah, I know, Iggy. I’m eating my feelings, but damn, they taste good.” He popped the final bite into his mouth and closed his eyes, savoring the way the flakey, butter-soaked goodness melded with the jam. Then, sitting back in his chair, he settled in for a good mulling session.

  She had drunk-dialed him last night. He’d never been the recipient of a bona fide booty call before, and he didn’t quite know what to think about it. Part of him thought he should be flattered that someone like Bridget would choose to call him, of all people, to come over and scratch an itch, but the naysayer part of him, always in his father’s nasty voice, told him that she was still fairly new in town and most likely didn’t know anyone else to call. Oh, he realized there were at least fifty men at DS Fight Club, but he would bet that even a tipsy Bridget wouldn’t shit where she ate.

  Lord, he’d been tempted, though, especially after whatever that was the other night on Bridget’s couch. He’d actually come home and jacked off, twice, once in the shower and once in the bed, which was kind of ridiculous. He was almost forty years old. He should be able to control himself better. Restraint had never been one of his strongest characteristics, though.

  And he’d be damned if thinking about Bridget’s soft, solid weight lying against him didn’t cause his cock to stiffen. He palmed the fledgling erection through his pajama pants, thinking about Bridget’s little guttural grunts she made when she demonstrated striking. Thank God he wore a strong jock at the fight club; otherwise, he’d have a real reason to be mortified.

  Nolan cupped his balls with both hands, cradling and stroking them through the material of his pajama bottoms. And then he thought about Bridget. The way sweat gathered at the base of her neck when she lay back, the taut muscles of her ass when she stuck that booty out. Is this what he’d been reduced to? Thirty-eight years old and getting ready to jack off on the balcony of his one-bedroom apartment at nine o’clock in the morning?

  His telephone’s chiming saved him from embarrassing himself further. The eldest Harper boy wanted to meet his brothers for lunch at Foley’s, which was odd because they usually met at Pickett & Spence so Cal could do double duty of prepping for the day as well as harassing his brothers. T
he fact that Toby was altering the usual meeting place had all of Nolan’s instincts sounding that something was amiss. He replied to his brother, and after a short texted conversation, blew out a noisy breath and blinked. So much for a quiet afternoon of pouting.

  “Okay, Iggy. I gotta go get ready, bud.”

  “Mrowp.”

  “I know. I don’t have a good feeling about this, either.”

  “Mrrrowp.”

  “You boys need anything, let Ronnie know. I have to step out for a bit, so if I don’t see you before you leave, have a good one, okay?” Meghan slid several platters of food in front of the men. “I know you didn’t order anything, but from the looks on all your faces, you’re going to need some sustenance. It’s on the house.”

  All the Harper brothers murmured their thanks, but when Meghan was out of earshot, Tobias clucked his tongue. “She is going to go broke.”

  Cal, who was perusing the menu, nodded his head in agreement. “I know market prices, and she’s barely covering her costs, much less making any profit. She could be charging twice as much, and it would still be a steal. Why have I never heard of this place? It’s got a great location. And that bar is beautiful.”

  “Apparently her father had it shipped over from Kilkenny when he opened this place up.”

  “No shit? Man, I’d be talking that up.” Cal shook his head again and turned to the eldest brother. “So, Toby, why’d pull rank and call a family meeting?”

  Tobias sighed, and Nolan noticed for the first time that the steadiest of the three boys, the one who bore the brunt of his father’s wrath and expectations, just looked tired.

  “Candy left Chet.”

  “Oh, shit.” Cal and Nolan uttered the curse simultaneously.

  “Yeah, that’s what I said, too, when the home healthcare worker called me and told me he got to the house and found Dad lying on the floor in his own filth. Said he’d been there for hours, probably overnight.” Tobias barked a bitter laugh. “Did you know he never married her? Thirty-fucking years, she’s been a goddamn pain in my ass, and he never even married that bitch. Ain’t that some shit?”

  “So . . . what does this mean?” Cal frowned at Tobias.

  “Means, as of today, I have power of attorney over Chet’s medical care, and you, Cal, have financial power of attorney.”

  Nolan huffed a laugh. And Nolan got nothing, thank God. Jesus be fucking praised. He began chuckling, which bubbled into laughter, and then Cal and Tobias began laughing as well. Soon, all three men were helpless with mirth, laughing and snorting.

  “So she gets nothing?” Cal wiped away a tear. “Nothing. After putting up with him for thirty years.”

  “After having to fuck that son of a bitch for thirty years, she gets nothing.” Tobias chortled. “Not a damn thing.”

  They laughed another minute or two but then grew serious as the reality of the situation sank in.

  Nolan voiced what he knew the others thought. “He needs round-the-clock care. You know he’s not going to go to a home or agree to hospice care. He’d eat the end of his rifle before he’d do that.”

  “He does, and you’re damn right. He told me as much even as he was hollering about Candy.” Tobias cracked his jaw. “The home healthcare person said they do round-the-clock care. It’s expensive, but hell, the old man is loaded. I talked to his lawyer—apparently, he’s had shit drawn up for a couple of months. We all need to go down there and sign papers next week, preferably Monday. Hopefully, he won’t croak before then.”

  “He’s too mean to die.” Cal and Tobias gaped at Nolan. “Well, he is. Jesus.”

  And they all began laughing again.

  “Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, Nolan, you wanna tell me about this little girl you were dancing with that night of the show?” Tobias cocked an eyebrow at Nolan, and Nolan groaned.

  “Is that the same woman you brought to Pickett & Spence?” Cal’s grin worried the fuck out of Nolan. No good ever followed when Calhoun Harper wore that particular smile. “If it is, that same woman happened to bring all her girlfriends in last night.”

  Shit.

  Cal cackled. “Your ears should have been burning, Nol.”

  “Wait, what? They were talking about me?”

  “Apparently, you were smooching on her? In her living room?”

  Nolan laid his head on the table with a thump while his brothers roared with laughter.

  “So I take it the date went well.”

  Nolan sat up. “Well enough that she drunk-dialed me this morning.”

  More laughter.

  “Tell me you went over there.” Cal grinned and hooted, but his smile faded when Nolan shook his head. “What? Why the fuck not?”

  “She was drunk!”

  “She wasn’t that drunk. I served her all night. She probably had a good buzz on, but she knew what she was doing.”

  Nolan squinted at Cal. “I might have called her desperate.”

  “Oh man.” Tobias shook his head. “You know what I saw that night?”

  “Not really, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “Damn straight. I saw her dancing with you all night. And I saw her stare down our old man and then be sympathetic but not pitying. You need to kiss her ass and hope she gives you a second chance.”

  “She’s got a fight coming up. She’s in training for the next two months.”

  “Oh, that’s good, then.” Cal leaned on the table. “Make nice with her, and then take it slow. This is good.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Cal nodded.

  “Definitely.” Tobias nodded as well. “Hell, one of us needs to have some decent luck with women.”

  “Hey!” Cal huffed. “What do you call Amanda?”

  “I call her trouble. I would watch out if I were you,” Tobias advised. “But then again, I’m the one whose wife left him for his old man, so what the fuck do I know?”

  The three men sat silent and still for a moment and then burst out laughing.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I’m an idiot. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m an idiot.

  Bridget grinned to herself when she got Nolan’s text message. Then she laughed out loud at the selfie of him with a delicious-looking plate of biscuits and a note card that said “Peace offering?” She began and erased four separate text messages, but nothing seemed to be quite right.

  She’d just started a fifth message when Tig called her name.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hey, the matchmaker from SoPro’s here. He wants to see you.”

  Bridget screwed her up face, trying to remember if she was supposed to meet with the matchmaker one-on-one. Her confusion must have been evident because Tig shrugged and said, “I have no idea why he’s here, but he specifically asked to talk to you. Do you want me to hang around?”

  She paused a moment. “Nah. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She shrugged off her feeling of unease and went to go meet Tommy Thomas. She stood and watched him in the fishbowl conference room for a moment before she went in. He reminded her so much of someone, but she couldn’t quite place him. But then again, she was notoriously bad with names and faces until they were literally right in front of her. Case in point: the Harper brothers. They looked incredibly similar despite the difference in their ages. She didn’t know how she didn’t see it before.

  This is going to bug me. She shook her head to clear it and then pushed her way through the heavy glass door.

  Tommy was staring out the window, looking at the rooftops of converted textile mills, much like the building that housed DS Fight Club, and new developments. He started when Bridget knocked on the glass window and said, “Hey, Tommy.”

  “Ms. Doherty.” He turned and flashed her a nervous smile. “Getting hyped for camp?”

  “Sure. Yeah. This is a big opportunity.” She bobbed her head so hard that she became dizzy. “Tig said you wanted to see me?”

  He blew out a breath and shifted his weight from leg t
o leg. “I don’t know how to say this without coming across like a big psycho, but you need to watch your back.”

  Bridget arched an eyebrow. “Pardon me?”

  “Oh God, that came out wrong.” He shook his head. “Raptor has it out for you. I saw the tape from your last fight with Kowalczyk. You had that match. There’s no reason it should have been a majority draw.”

  Bridget cracked her neck. She’d been trying not to think about that match, about that night, that horrible, horrible night, but she knew the closer the match came, the more unavoidable talking about it would be and the more people would hear about their last fight.

  “That was five years ago, Tommy. Ancient history now. Hell, it was ancient history the moment I walked out of the cage.” She sighed. “What’s this really about?”

  “Word on the street is that Kowalczyk is going to put you down. Permanently. Maybe inside the octagon . . .”

  “But most likely outside.”

  “I’m just telling you that’s what I heard. You know how the fighter rumor mill churns.”

  “Oh, that I definitely do.” She tapped her fingers on the shiny surface of the conference table. “Thank you, Tommy. I appreciate it.”

  “I couldn’t live with myself if I got someone else hurt, you know? Matt’s a good guy, but he pays too much attention to what Jett Raptor has to say. It’s gonna get him into trouble, and I’ll be damned if I end up in the hole with him.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  Tommy flashed her that familiar smile. “Take care of yourself, Bridget Doherty.”

  “You, too, Tommy Thomas.”

  Colin glowered at Bridget from the across the large mahogany desk as she recounted her conversation with Tommy. He had his infant daughter nestled against his upper chest, his freshly shaved cheek resting against her bald head, and Bridget was once again struck by how much baby Nora looked like her father.

  “What?” he whisper-growled.

  “She looks just like you.”

  “She’s my baby girl. Who is she supposed to look like?”

  “I just find it humorous.”