Kicker (DS Fight Club Book 1)

by Josie Kerr

  They had infants, and yet they were at the doctor’s, waiting for “babby” news? Charlotte shook her head. She could not imagine having a baby, much less two babies. Hell, she did not even have a pet or any real plants, and she never had, which was something she had on her list, directly after learning to cook and moving to a place where she could actually have a pet.

  Charlotte sighed and went back into her office to concentrate on spreadsheets and numbers and not think about babies, pets, or flower gardens.

  Junior Maldonado watched Tig as he bounced and jabbed in place, earbuds in his ears and cowboy hat still on his head.

  Tig stilled—only his shoulders remained rocking in time to whatever he was listening to—and rolled his neck, his eyes still closed.

  “How is he?” Colin Carmichael asked the trainer.

  Junior shook his head. “I dunno, C. Loose, but not too loose, but there’s something . . .”

  The smallish kickboxer suddenly sprang into motion, bringing his leg out straight, hip fully extended, and then moved smoothly back to standing position, his eyes remaining closed the entire time.

  Colin chuckled. “Oh yeah, he’s ready.”

  Junior nodded again. “Raptor Pryde’s fighter isn’t going to know what hit him. Or rather, kicked him, since it’s Tig.”

  “You get the feeling that there’s more to this than meets the eye?” Colin asked. His eyes remained glued to Tig, who was once again shadowboxing, still with his eyes closed and his cowboy hat on his head.

  “No doubt. I don’t know if it’s simply because it’s a Raptor Pryde fighter, and they screwed him before, or if it’s this particular fighter, but Tig’s totally torqued up, and I’m not sure it’s a good thing.”

  “Trevor Mashburn, you’re up,” a promotion assistant called into the room.

  Tig opened his eyes just as the man had come into the room, and when Colin looked at him, he cracked his neck and nodded.

  “Let’s do this,” Tig said, pounding his fists together.

  There was no walkout music since he wasn’t a headliner, but that did not stop Tig from bouncing down the narrow walkway to something that only played in his head.

  Tig stripped his hoodie off, slipped off his shoes, and then finally handed his hat to Junior, who took it with a nod and a squeeze to his shoulder. Colin grabbed him in a hug and whispered in his ear, looking seriously at him before grinning and playfully cuffing the side of his head. Tig turned to the tournament’s cutman, who applied petroleum jelly to his forehead and cheeks and checked his ears, mouthpiece, gloves, and cup. The cutman nodded, and Tig bounded up the stairs to the cage, pausing for a moment in the doorway, bowing his head, and then exploded into the octagon.

  He bounced and jabbed and kicked, seemingly oblivious to the world outside the cage, but Tig vigilantly watched as Mikey “Lightning” Browne walked down the same walkway and undergo the same blessings and checks as he himself did.

  In and out, Mashburn. Put this guy down and show that fucker, Raptor, what he missed out on.

  Browne grinned a mean smile around his mouthpiece, which was to look like vampire fangs. Tig shook his head and rolled his eyes. I wonder how much that ridiculous thing set Raptor back?

  The referee called the fighters to the center of the cage and stated the rules, and the bell rang. Tig was surprised when Browne tapped his gloves and then worried when he saw the look in the other fighter’s eyes.

  Fuck.

  Tig knew immediately what was going to happen unless he made even quicker work of this opponent than he planned on.

  The two fighters circled each other, feinting for a few moments, and then Tig extended his leg, lightning quick, kicking Browne on the side of his head and sending him to the floor of the octagon in a heap.

  Ninety-seven seconds.

  It took about that long for Browne to regain consciousness, and by that time, Tig was on top of the cage, astride the metal piping, roaring with victory. He tumbled backward, flipping neatly in one complete rotation to land on his feet, only to be grabbed and lifted by Colin and Junior.

  After the referee announced Tig’s victory, the defeated opponent bumped Tig’s fist and walked shakily from the octagon. Tig made sure he caught Jett Raptor’s eye, and he could not help but notice the small nod that Bruce Pryde gave him.

  But he wasn’t going to think about either of his former trainers tonight; he was just going to enjoy the sweet taste of victory and a decent meal after cutting weight. And maybe, just maybe, the sweet attention of a woman.

  *****

  Tig sat in the dressing room while Ryan Richards, the DS Fight Club cutman, unwrapped his hands. Colin came up behind him and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “So. Tell me about Browne,” Colin said quietly.

  Tig huffed a laugh. The owner of DS Fight Club might be socially awkward and gruff at times, but he possessed an uncanny fight I.Q. That preternatural sense had helped him become a champion fighter and continued to help him now that he was mentoring his own team.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Tig said, keeping his eyes on Ryan, who was massaging Tig’s knuckles and hands. “The guy’s a trash-talker but not much more. Just a jackass.”

  Colin stood by Tig for a long moment more, hoping that he would tell him the truth, but Tig just inhaled deeply and then blew out a breath.

  Colin patted Tig on the shoulder once more and then said, “Okay. Well, we’re going to Foley’s. There’s a catered dinner waiting for you and the rest of the guys. Ryan, let’s finish him up and get him to the pub because I know this bottomless pit is going to want to chow.”

  “Sure thing, C. Be done in five,” Ryan said, still working on Tig’s hands to remove the last bit of tape from them. Colin nodded at the two men and went to talk to the other fighters.

  “You need to tell them,” Ryan murmured. “It won’t do you any good if Colin finds out that, one, you’ve been participating in unauthorized fights, and two, it was either you or Browne that was going to be put on the Raptor Pryde roster, but you didn’t make the cut because you weren’t willing to throw fights.”

  “I know, Goody; I know,” Tig said with a sigh. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. Tonight I just want to kick back and enjoy my victory, you know?”

  “Yep. And, dude, that kick was so sweet. My Lord. But don’t wait too long, okay? I don’t want to see you penalized for doing the right thing.”

  “Good Lord, Goody. You’re as bad as my mama with the worrying.”

  Ryan snorted. “That’s why they call me ‘Goody,’ buddy.”

  Tig laughed because he knew that statement was patently untrue, but he did not contradict his friend.

  Ryan looked at Tig. “How long have I known you?”

  Tig inhaled and thought about it. “Man, almost two years, now that I think about it.”

  “How many times have I patched you up and covered for you?”

  “A lot.”

  “It’s gotta give, Tig. You cannot keep doing the other fights, man. You’re going to get seriously hurt, or, possibly worse, Colin’s gonna cut you loose because of the fights. And then where will you be? You gonna go crawling back to Raptor? You gonna tell him you’re willing to throw fights if he’ll give you chance to get back on the roster? Think on that a bit, man. You’re a better fighter than that. You’re a better man that that.”

  Tig nodded, knowing with certainty that what Ryan was saying was true, but feeling a gnawing hole in his chest at the thought of talking to Colin and telling him of his extracurricular activities.

  Ryan stuck out his hand. “Okay, Kicker. Let’s go get you some grub and maybe a little bit of sugar to make that victory even sweeter.”

  Ryan winked at him, and Tig laughed as they headed out to the van that was going to take them to Foley’s Public House.

  Tig sank down into the seat next to Dominic ‘Dig’ DiGiacomo, who grinned at him, his teeth white in his dark beard.

  “Tiggyman, you are such a badass,” Dig said with a lau
gh. “Man, you should have seen that Raptor fuck’s expression when your foot connected with Browne’s head. It was classic.”

  “I saw Pryde’s face, and he didn’t look too happy,” Tig said, settling back into the seat and feeling suddenly exhausted.

  “Fuck no, he wasn’t happy. He let Raptor bully him into letting you go. And for what? So Browne could throw fights? Not that he threw the fight tonight. He didn’t have chance to the throw the fight.”

  Tig huffed a laugh. No, he did not. Tig made damn sure he did not have a chance to throw the fight. If Lightning Browne was going to lose a fight, he was going to lose the fucking fight.

  “Man, you don’t seem as stoked as a guy that’s up for Fight of the Night should be,” Dig said, his brow furrowed in a frown. “Something wrong?”

  Tig shook his head. “Nah. I’m just starving and horny, and I’m coming down from the rush,” he said with a laugh. “I just want to eat a steak, and maybe some pussy, and then sleep for about three days after I nut as many times as I possibly can.”

  Dig bleated a surprised laugh and shook his head. “You do not have a filter, do you? Jesus.”

  “At least he’s honest,” Colin said, laughing as well.

  Tig exhaled again. Yeah, at least I’m honest.

  “Charlotte, what are you doing still here?” Bailey stood in the doorway of Charlotte’s office, a frown crinkling her brow.

  “I might ask you the same thing, Miss Bailey.”

  Bailey waived her off with a small laugh. “Colin has a thing tonight, and Maude’s grandparents are spoiling her so that Colin and I can have some time alone. I’m just cleaning some things up until it’s time to meet him.” Bailey looked at the newest member of the Tara Security Systems team and got ready to say something but then snapped her mouth shut. “Well, don’t stay too much later, okay?”

  “Okay, I promise. Night, Bailey. I’ll see you Monday.” Charlotte turned her attention back to the spreadsheets on her monitor.

  Charlotte worked, even after she heard Bailey leave, until the night cleaning crew scared her half to death. She glanced at the clock and sighed.

  So much for taking myself out for a nice birthday dinner.

  With another sigh, she packed up her bags and headed out to her car.

  She caught her reflection in the rearview mirror as she settled behind the steering wheel. Her violet eyes looked tired beneath her no-longer-impeccable eye makeup, and the tight French roll at the back of her head wasn’t quite as tidy as it was fourteen hours earlier.

  Her stomach growled, and Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Okay, Audrey, I’ll feed you,” she said to herself as she pulled out of the darkened parking lot.

  As she drove to her Midtown apartment, Charlotte tried not to feel sorry for herself. No one knew her birthday was coming up because she had not told anyone, and she would have felt fine with that fact at any other workplace, but Tara Security Systems was something special. She actually felt a little bit guilty keeping the information from them because all of the people at the office had welcomed her with open arms.

  She rounded the corner and a snapping blur of orange, white, and green caught her eye. A bright spotlight lit the Irish flag and a sign that proclaimed the establishment to be Foley’s Public House, est. 1998. Below, a sandwich board listed the meals of the day, along with the magic words: Kitchen open until 2:00 a.m.

  Charlotte pulled into the crowded parking lot, and after tidying her hair and powdering her nose, made her way into the pub.

  It was everything she could have wanted. High-top bar tables sat in the middle of the pub, and the benches and low tables lined the walls. A small stage with a karaoke set was situated at one end of the bar, and the gleaming mahogany bar itself ran from one side of the pub to the other.

  As most of the tables were occupied, Charlotte sucked in a breath and made her way to the bar. A woman can sit by herself at a bar and not look trashy or desperate, right?

  “What’ll ya have, darlin’?” the heavily tattooed man behind the bar asked her.

  “Um. A Guinness?”

  “You sure about that, love?” he said with a wink even as he poured a perfect pint.

  Charlotte grinned. “Yes, I’m sure. Do you serve full dinner at the bar?”

  “Sure do. I’ll leave you for a bit to decide. If you’re ready before I’m back, Meghan will help you.” He nodded at a raven-haired girl that was standing at the far end of the bar.

  “Okay, thank you,” Charlotte said, already distracted by the full menu offerings. The bar grew noisier and noisier behind her, but then again, it was late.

  Charlotte sipped on her beer and tried to catch the female bartender’s eye.

  “What’ll you have, love?” she said with a grin.

  “The smoked salmon plate, please. And another Guinness, please.”

  “Do you want me to start you a tab?”

  After thinking for a moment, Charlotte grinned. “Sure.” Then she pushed her ID and a credit card across the counter.

  Meghan looked at the ID, checking the signature on the back. “Why, someone’s got a birthday coming up—happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll get that order right in, love.”

  Suddenly, the already loud bar erupted in clapping and cheers.

  Charlotte swiveled on her seat to see a large group of men walk through the door of the pub. One of the men held his arms up in victory, and the patrons of the bar clapped him on his back and arms, jabbering and gabbling at him, and several attempting to lift his large frame up for a parade around the pub.

  “Wow.”

  “Yep,” Meghan said with a laugh as she slid a large plate of smoked salmon in front of Charlotte. “They must have had a good night at the fights. Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, this is perfect.”

  Meghan nodded and slipped down to the end of the bar where the crowd had gathered.

  Charlotte could not help but examine the group of men as she ate. They were mostly big guys, but there was a smaller one with a black eye, a cowboy hat, and a big grin despite a split lip. Cowboy was winking, and people were pounding him on the back as well.

  The tattooed bartender began ringing a large brass bell, and the cheering of “D-S-F-C” filled the pub, cresting until the noise became almost painful, until a very large, very heavily bearded man stepped into the center of the rowdy celebrants.

  “Huge night for Doyle’s South Fight Club, y’all—huge. Not only did Dig win his interim title bout”—lots of cheering as Beardy acknowledged the first large man, a handsome bearded fellow with lots of bright tattoos—“but I just received notice that our very own Kicker got Fight of the Night, so let’s give it up for Tig.” Lots more cheering rang through the small bar as two men hoisted the slight cowboy up on their shoulders, and they finally got to carry a fighter through the pub.

  Charlotte could not help but smile and cheer with the men, at the looks of joy on their faces as they chanted and hooted their way into a back area.

  “Wow, is it always like this?” Charlotte wondered aloud.

  “It’s generally pretty lively, but I’ll say, since Colin’s started bringing the fighters around after their matches, it’s gone to a completely other level,” the bartender said as he put a glass of whiskey in front of Charlotte. “I’m Sully, by the way. Allow me to treat you to a whiskey, seeing as it’s almost your birthday.”

  “Oh. Oh, thank you,” Charlotte said with a shy grin. She’d never had someone buy her a drink out of the blue before. “Sure.”

  “Oh my Lord, Em is going to kick your butt when she finds out,” said a familiar voice. Charlotte turned, eyes opened wide, to see Bailey standing next to the bar, hands on her hips, rapidly tapping one foot. “Charlotte Markham, you are in so much . . . Colin, put me down.”

  Charlotte watched as the giant bearded man swept Bailey off of her feet and nuzzled his face into her neck and twirled her around.

  “Babydoll, it’s a
bout time you got here,” he said, adding another little kiss to the bottom of her chin. “Give me some sugar, sugar.”

  Bailey rolled her eyes, but she grinned and gave him a kiss. “Now will you put me down?”

  Colin, apparently Bailey’s boyfriend or husband, took a moment to squeeze her bottom and then set her down on a barstool next to Charlotte before kissing her again.

  Bailey swatted at the big bearded man as he swooped in for another kiss. “I swear, you’re as bad as the fighters, wanting to get some action after a fight,” she said, giggling. “Charlotte, I’d like you to meet Colin Carmichael.”

  “Nice to meet you, Charlotte. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, grabbing Charlotte’s hand in his massive paw and shaking it. “I’m sorry if the crew was a little boisterous.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too, Colin. I didn’t put two and two together when I heard your name, but I should have.” She peered at him. Something about the massive man seemed familiar. “Have I met you before? You look awfully familiar.”

  Bailey snorted a laugh. “Colin is Mick’s half-brother. You know, Em’s Mick?”

  “Oh, that’s it. I should have known: you two have the exact same eyes.” And you’re both friggin’ huge.

  Colin inclined his head and then turned to Bailey. “The boys are all in the private dining room. Do you want your usual?”

  “Sure, C. I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Charlotte, feel free to join us—the more the merrier.”

  “Oh, please do,” Bailey begged. “Most of these guys don’t have girlfriends, so it’s just me and the ring girls.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Ring girls?”

  “Uh-huh. I don’t have much in common with them.”

  “Well . . .”