No Holds (The Fighter Series Book 4)

by TC Matson

  I roll my eyes playfully.

  “I have to go to these events or Brian will have my ass. I don’t want to miss them anyway. Not the charity ones.”

  I kiss his cheek. “Softy.”

  He flexes his hips again with a knowing smile. Yeah. He’s definitely not soft.

  Chapter 23

  My skin crawls when Whit isn’t around. I’m restless, itching to get that sweet look she always gives me. It fucks me up every time and I revel the shit out of it.

  What does a guy do when his girl is out of his reach? Spend it with the next best girl possible—Gracie. I called earlier to make sure she wasn’t doing anything better than spending time with me and now I’m watching her show me her best attempt at swan diving. She’s belly-flopped more than once, face planted against the water twice, and her tiny legs tend to flail just before hitting the water every time.

  Don’t look at me to teach her. I can’t do this Olympic shit.

  She pops up in a fit of bubbles and swims toward me, water splashing like hell behind her. She swims right in front of me and stands all out of breath. Droplets of water are scattered over her face. The brown in her hazel eyes seems darker, the whites redder, and her eye lashes are matted together. She fights with the hair slapped against her cheek, trying to sweep the mess away.

  “That one was horrible.” She latches on to my arm, holding it as she floats.

  “Practice makes perfect,” I tell her.

  “I’ve got the perfect feet-first down pat,” she giggles.

  “So…no Olympics this year?” I tease.

  “No Olympics ever.” She drops her head into the water, allowing it to pull the strands away from her face. “Unk, did you know what you wanted to be when you were my age?”

  I laugh, picking her up and placing her on the edge of the pool. “Spiderman.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Wait.” She holds up her finger. “Actor or the real Spiderman.”

  “The real deal, Pooh. Ask grandma. I used to try climbing the walls, and jumping from the couch to a counter.”

  She dips her chin, looking at me with the cutest serious glare. “You got a lot of whoopings, didn’t you?”

  I bellow out a laugh and nod. “I got away with it more with grandma, but grandpa? Not a chance. Didn’t help I’d climb up the bookshelf and wait on someone to pass by so I could jump down at them.”

  “Spiderman doesn’t scare people.” Her tone implies I’m an idiot.

  “You’re saying if some dude in a red leotard comes swinging in from a piece of thread it wouldn’t scare you?”

  She laughs, kicking her feet in the water. “Ry, I think you have the wrong idea of Spiderman.”

  I shrug. “My version was cooler.”

  She flicks her bright and joyful eyes to me. “I think I want to be the girl who holds the numbers at your fights.”

  I pat her head, standing up. “Over my dead body. Be a doctor or some sh…thing like that.” Saved that one.

  She springs and steps beside me, wrapping a hot pink towel around her body, cocooning her little self. “I could be a dancer. Would you come to my recitals?”

  “I wouldn’t miss any in my control. What’s with all the seriousness? You’re eight, Pooh. You have years to change your mind a hundred times.”

  “Mrs. Santner said we can be anything we can put our minds to,” she explains.

  “She sounds smart.” I smile at her.

  “She’s a teacher, RyRy.” Yep. I’m definitely an idiot.

  “You two hungry?” Sarah calls out from the house and in a flash, Gracie is running toward her.

  There’s her answer.

  She’s made sandwiches giving mine special attention since she knows my fighting diet. Bland, boring, and turkey. I’d rather have a Whitney special from Nuckles.

  Sarah sets a bottle of water in front of me and hands Gracie a napkin and her drink. She pulls out a seat across the table, staring directly at me. I know this look. She’s up to something.

  “Where’s Whitney today?” she asks.

  I eye her conspicuously. “She had to work.”

  “You’re pretty serious with her, huh?” The way the corners of her lips pull up insinuates it’s a rhetorical question.

  I rest my forearms on the side of the table, holding my sandwich in front of me. “Does it upset you? Have you finally come to your senses and seen I’m the better brother?” Although we tease each other all the time, she’s been Jackson’s light since they met and never my type.

  She titters, puffing a breath. “That look, your brother has it. It looks good on you. She brings out the old Ryker, the one before fighting hardened you.”

  I take a bite of my sandwich.

  “You’ve been dating her for a while,” she adds.

  “What are you getting at?” I gruff with a mouthful.

  “Nothing,” Sarah croons with a look. “Any future thoughts?”

  “What’s Jackson have you up to?”

  She shakes her head. “I like her. I don’t want to get too close and then have to pick her side when you decide to toss her away.”

  “Keep liking her. She’s not being tossed.”

  Whatever the hell I just said vitalized Sarah. Her facial features brighten up, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she smiles at me and pushes away from the table. I glance to Gracie who’s looking back at me and we both shrug.

  There’s shit on the television. Time has shit on me. Have I mentioned I’m an impatient fucker? No? Well, I am. I have no idea when the hell to expect Whitney other than somewhere close to six or seven. It’s five. And the prelude of a cantankerous man.

  I should’ve gone to the gym after leaving Gracie. That would’ve moved the time, released boredom, and freed my anticipation. The leather always does.

  I grab my ringing phone from the table.

  “Hey,” Abby replies.

  “You all right?” I ask knowing her calls aren’t usually out of some chattery need.

  “I am. I’m at break and just wanted to check on you and Whitney.”

  “What the fuck is in the air today? Why is everyone concerning themselves with my personal life?” I rattle off.

  She laughs. “You’re whining, Ryker. Get over it.”

  I clear my throat, getting frustrated. People in my space causes me to feel claustrophobic.

  “That guy…” she trails off with noises of shuffling coming from her end. “Sorry. So, apparently I wasn’t the only one he was talking to. His wife found out about his cheating ways and beat the shit out of him. He came in last night needing stitches. She threw something and it busted his cheek.”

  “He needs more than that,” I say.

  “I thought you’d get a laugh from it. I had to tell you.”

  “You going to tell me who he is?”

  “No. It’s not important.”

  “Abs, if I find out I know this character, I’m gonna lose my shit on him and be pissed with you,” I warn.

  “I promise you don’t know him. He’s not your gym-rat style.”

  “You’re saying I should head into the business park and walk around until I find someone with stitches on his face?”

  She laughs again. “Karma took care of him. Besides, you don’t want to do anything to jeopardize spending time with Whitney. Poor Ryker will be singing the blues from inside the jail cell. I like her, by the way. She’s really sweet, like you said. She cares a lot about you.”

  “And how do you know this?” I ask.

  “I just do. Don’t fuck it up.”

  “I don’t plan on it, Abs.”

  “Good. I’ve got to go.”

  I toss my phone to the side and drop back into the couch looking around the room. This place needs a lady’s touch. I smirk. I’m a fucking genius.

  Chapter 23

  Whit and I landed in Denver yesterday and after grabbing a bite to eat at some snazzy restaurant, I took her back to the hotel room and christened the sheets.

  She was slo
w to get up this morning not from just being fucked right, but from the late night hour we saw. I watched her peaceful slumber while I devised and formulated a plan and then woke her up around ten with a cup of coffee.

  Simple shit like that makes her happy.

  Most women would enjoy walking the streets, shopping, and sightseeing. Not Whitney. She adds her own special touch to these things. After she clambered out of bed, freshened up, and ate, she threw on her running gear and jogged around the city, taking in the different sights.

  She babbled over the snow tipped mountains off in the distance, saying something about wanting to find a trail up there, ogled at the tall buildings, and paused several times in front of some of the store fronts. I’d like to tell you what she was looking at, but I was too busy watching her light the fuck up experiencing new things.

  I inch my hand up the slit of her dress when she smacks it away. I chuckle, sliding it back to her knee…for now. I’ll try again later.

  She’s breathtaking in a dress representing me—blue. It’s silky, slinking against her skin, dipping low between her tits with a slit up to her thigh.

  “How can you think about sex when we’re on our way to a charity event?” She’s nervous for no reason. This is her territory.

  I squeeze her knee. “I know what’s under that dress waiting for me.”

  She exhales. “You’re insatiable.”

  “I like what you have.”

  She tucks her chin, but I can see the smile I just pulled out of her. She fucking loves I’m obsessed with her.

  The limo pulls up to the front door with photographers and reporters sitting there like vultures.

  I take a deep breath. I hate this part. I glance to her. “If it gets too intense, let me know. And don’t—”

  She waves her hand dismissively. “You already went over what to expect. Quit worrying about me. You’re making me nervous.”

  I clutch her hand and help her out of the car as bright flashes begin to flicker. Thing is, I never told her this is the first time I’ve brought a date. Normally, I rock these things alone only because there hasn’t been anyone I care to see pictured beside me and labeled as a date.

  Reporters stretch over the red velvet rope with their recorders and microphones, all shouting different questions simultaneously. I tuck her into my side and wrap my arm around her waist, keeping my hand on her hip.

  “Ryker! Who’s the woman?”

  “Is it serious?”

  “Are you ready for the Murphy fight?”

  “Who will you be donating to?”

  The reporters shout.

  I can feel Whit’s body shaking, but the fear doesn’t manifest itself on the outside. Instead, her head is up, smile engraved on her face as she owns the steps she’s taking.

  As we enter the room holding the event, I watch her begin to take it all in. Her eyes scan everything—ceiling, walls, tables, lights. She’s taking notes. Mentally, I laugh, knowing her work flows in her blood, following her everywhere.

  Large round tables fill the area in front of the stage with curtains lit up with orange and blue. There are bars on each side with everyone standing and mingling amongst each other to our right.

  I hate mingling.

  I lead us to the closest bar and order her a prissy little drink and me a rum and coke.

  I spot Brian and his wife, Melissa, heading toward us. He grins and slaps my shoulder while shaking my hand. “Fashionably late as usual,” he says.

  I ignore it and tap his jaw. “What’s growing on your face?” I chuckle. “Melissa get tired of your ugly looks and force you to cover it up?”

  “It’s sexy,” Melissa says.

  I bend, kissing her on the cheek. “Beautiful as always,” I tell her and then bring Whitney front and center to introduce her.

  Whitney blinks something envious out of her eyes and then shakes both their hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Brian looks between the both of us and then lands on me with concern soaking his face. “Listen. Before you stumble onto him, I need you to keep your cool.” That’s entreating. “Levi’s here.”

  His name has my pulse jack hammering in my ears, and my blood surging with a wicked adrenaline rush.

  “Oh really? And I’m sure you’re just finding this out?” I fire off with harsh sarcasm.

  “Behave yourself,” he reproaches. “I knew if I told you there was a possibility of you not showing up.”

  “You should know me better than that.”

  He drops an eyebrow low. “I know you well enough. Murphy’s here too.”

  I blow a breath. “I expected that. You always find pleasure in forcing me into the same room with my next fights.”

  “Most fighters get along well,” he says condescendingly.

  I laugh. “What do you want me to do? Have a fucking tea party? You know I don’t play well with others.”

  Brian points, his eyes scolding me. “Ryker. I mean it. Behave tonight.” He pans to Whit. “Make sure he mingles.”

  “I’ll do my best. It was nice meeting you.” she replies, but knowing her the way I do, it’s forced politeness.

  Whitney waits for them to walk off before asking, “How the heck do you get away with talking to your manager like that?”

  I take a swallow of my drink, hoping it’ll release the tension in my jaw. It doesn’t. “We’re each other’s pay checks. He needs me just as much as I need him. He’s been with me for a while. I’m sure by now he knows how I am.”

  I haven’t spotted Levi while we make our way to different cliques of people to make my presence here known. Most of the people we speak with are here from different organizations and although I know to play nice with them, Whitney is my shining star, knowing exactly what to say and how to handle them.

  I need a refill and at least twice the strength of the first drink. I excuse us from the group of men and start back to the bar. And that’s when I spot them—the MMAT’s finest ring girls ambling their asses in their flashy and classless dresses our way.

  I hum, bending my head slightly to Whit. “Please remember this shit isn’t my style.” My warning barely has time to exit my mouth, when Allison, the biggest slut of them all, reaches us.

  “If it isn’t the Striker,” she says seductively. “Long time no see.”

  “Not nearly long enough,” I deadpan.

  She doesn’t even flinch. “You know they scheduled Emily here for your fight with Nick. She’s new.”

  “You’re hanging with the wrong people,” I inform the dirty blonde with round green eyes.

  Her gaze scans over me and she bites the side of her lip, flipping her hair off her shoulder. “They told me you were pretty hot. They never said you were drop dead gorgeous.”

  I almost roll my eyes, but instead smirk. “I retract my statement. You fit right in.” I glance back to Allison. “Is there no fresh meat around for you to bother? I hear your better half is here.”

  She laughs her flirty, breathy, disgusting laugh and continues to ignore the woman my arm is wrapped around. “You used to love my company.”

  This makes me laugh. “I’ve never enjoyed anything about you.”

  “You’ve been waiting for me,” Emily states.

  It jolts Whitney a bit. “I’m sorry. Do you not see me standing beside him?”

  All the girls give her a once over. “We’ve all stood at his side a time or two,” Tanya, the bitchy redhead, says.

  Whitney clears her throat. “Let me rephrase it. I’m the woman going home with him.”

  Allison’s giggle is malicious and flaunts why she reigns high with the bitch sluts. “Usually the girls at his side do.”

  “Have you?” I bite.

  Allison’s eyes narrow, but she says nothing. That’s new. I didn’t know she had a mute button.

  “Have any of you?” I add. “That’s why you’re all here single without a man at your side. Gold diggers don’t get perused. Not by anyone with intelligence, anyway.”

/>   Huffs, puffs, and glares fill the space before me and they all storm away.

  Thank fuck.

  “Well, that worked,” Whitney giggles, squeezing my arm watching the pissed ring sluts leave.

  I exhale my annoyance. “You better have thick skin with them. Some of them are known for creating nasty ruckuses.”

  “Not a job I’d like to have.” She takes a small sip of her drink. “I know I’m going to regret this, but have you slept with any of them?”

  “None of them or the rest of them. Never a ring girl. They get passed around. I’m not up for sloppy seconds.”

  “Ryker!” Brian calls from a distance off to my right and waves me to join him.

  Nick fucking Murphy stands beside him and Brian zeroes in on me with an ardent stare. “They want a few pictures of you two interacting. Play nice,” he adds.

  Murphy looks more like a personal trainer you’d see at your local gym with a side job at a coal mine. He’s clearly fought in a few blood baths as scars from previous wounds litter his cheek and forehead. You’d think he’d protect his face better than that.

  His unshaven, scruffy jaw shifts as his dark broody eyes narrow to me.

  I plaster a fake smile. “Is this where we have a tea party?” I cut my view to Brian.

  “Is that what little bitches like you do?” Murphy spouts off.

  Rumors of him and Levi joining forces explode in my face as the cocky son of a bitch steps up beside Murphy with the biggest shit eating grin on his fucking face. “Tea parties? No, he prefers Barbies.”

  I shoot Brian a warning glance as red flickers in my vision and black tugs at the corners. This isn’t going to end well. Not a fucking chance.

  Paige stands quietly to the side in a pastel teal dress. Apprehension swirls in her shit-filled eyes.

  “Still wasting your time with him?” I ask, homed in on her.

  She rocks back on her heel, jamming her hand in her hip. “Not here, Ryker.”

  “Glad my name still sounds good coming from your mouth.” I smirk.

  “Ryker.” Brian tenses. He should’ve known better than this. He should’ve seen this coming. He knows how deeply I despise this little fucker.