Fighter Daddy: A Bad Boy Secret Baby MMA Sports Romance

by Marci Fawn

  "You rest up now," Ricky says, smiling his fake smirk. "I'll make sure you have everything you need."

  He lets his hands wander over my body. Once I even enjoyed his touch, but now it repulses me. I have to control myself not to push him away with every ounce of strength I have left. Ricky smiles again.

  "Oh yes," he says. "I can't wait to continue our relationship from where we left off."

  His hand stops on my stomach. I nearly jump away in disgust.

  "As soon as you're feeling better, I want to start a family with you. You'll be a great mother."

  This is not happening. Fuck, fuck. If he tells Dr. Morris to check me up, I'm dead. We're all dead.

  He kisses me again on unmoving lips and leaves.

  I wait until I'm sure he's gone far enough before I allow myself to break down, but the tears don't come anymore. I've cried a lot because of Ricky, but it seems I'm done. There is no more pain he can inflict on me.

  Instead of sorrow and rage, I feel emptied of emotions. I'm alone in the dark, not knowing what happened to my baby or what the future holds. All I have is my faith in Lee.

  He is the only miracle I can hope for. My last chance to escape before I'm locked into the cage forever.

  Raina

  The walls of my room are closing in.

  I can barely breathe, sitting under the roaring, dancing, thumping Ricky's. Upstairs, I can hear people having fun, living without concerns that can't be put on hold for one wild night.

  And here I am, right in the middle of a spider's web that I helped to create.

  My problems aren't the kind that go away when you add a few tequila shots into the mix. To begin with, I can't drink. Let me count the ways in which I'm completely and utterly fucked in all the ways but the one I want.

  I have a healing bullet wound in my stomach. My doctor, the hired brain for my ex the mob boss, is telling me it's mending nicely. That's problem number one.

  Right at its heels is problem number two.

  I'm pregnant. I know this for sure now, although I can't imagine how the baby survived the wound. And I can't have anyone know, so I've been avoiding any check-ups like the plague, but my excuses are running out. Dr. Morris isn't a guy I can bullshit for long. I think he has a bit of sympathy for me, so he hasn't told his boss anything yet, but it won't last.

  Ricky Gerrard, the owner of the building I'm in and all the people in it, is the center of my problems. The ex that won't take no for an answer, all the more dangerous because he's got more than one gun aimed at me. The baby is not his.

  I've been sitting here in the basement of his club for weeks now, cut off from the outside world, but he has dropped by to see me. Every time his words chill me to the bone, quickly going from bad to worse.

  I knew he had no intention of letting me go. Now it's obvious to me just how deep his obsession goes. I guess guys who wield small armies of thugs don't have to second-guess their sanity too much. Basically his last brilliant idea is to put a baby inside me as soon as I recover enough.

  Not only does that idea repulse me beyond belief, but there's already a life growing in me. That's going to be a problem, but Ricky has a very straight-forward way of dealing with those.

  So far, he keeps away because I managed to convince him my health is worse than it actually is.

  Dr. Morris has been explaining things about the wound to me. It was a lucky shot, it didn't hit anything vital and it went straight through me. It's only a small puncture hole over my hip now, but it doesn't make it okay yet. I need tons of antibiotics and care, but I'm long out of the woods. My life is not in danger.

  What else? Oh yeah, I'm neck-high in debt, courtesy of my captor. And somewhere he has my Aunt Susan and Lee's father essentially in prison to keep us playing nice.

  The short version is, I have a lot of reasons to be upset right now.

  None of those are the reason I'm sitting frozen right now, the screen of the laptop the only illumination in the room.

  They tried to keep the name from me as long as they could. Ricky and Lee both. It is so uncanny to have them agree on anything.

  Weeks, as I said. For weeks the only information I've received is what they tell me. I never saw Susan again after waking up in the aftermath of the shooting. Ricky, in his infinite mercy, let me see her and her me. We confirmed we were both still alive, for the time being. Then he relocated her and Philip somewhere. I don't know where they are and neither does Lee.

  He has dropped by to see me every once in a while, under the strictest chaperoning. Victor, Ricky's right-hand man, is always nearby when Lee comes around. I was disappointed not to be able to touch him at first, but it only got worse from there. It's terribly lonely here and the future is looking mighty dark.

  The only light in my life was when I determined I was still pregnant, but it's so dangerous right now. I need his comfort, his strength, but he can't give it to me. He's as much a prisoner as I am, only Lee's cage is bigger. He's free to leave Ricky's when he wishes, but he keeps coming back. I know it's for me and I feel equally shitty and glad about it.

  We tried our best, but Ricky isn't a man you escape from.

  Now Lee has gotten himself killed because of me. Oh, he's still drawing breath, but not for long. The man I love is a dead man walking.

  * * *

  As I said, they tried to keep the name from me as best they could.

  But as weeks ticked by and I slowly started to lose my mind, someone—I suspect Dr. Morris—convinced Ricky to let me have a laptop. So far I had my phone, but it is only to check up on Susan and Philip. Victor dials for me and stands guard as I talk. They can't have me notifying the cops, can they?

  Susan tells me she and Philip have been forced to make their friends and colleagues believe they're traveling. A long road trip or something. They took their vacation days, bought tickets to Italy that no one used and are now... wherever they are.

  I knew Lee had agreed to fight someone. Ricky offered him a deal to settle my debt and whatever went on between those two. Lee accepted.

  It didn't sound so bad at first. As much as I've gathered, Lee's an expert MMA fighter, well able to hold his own. But as days went by and my questions about his opponent went unanswered, I began to suspect it wasn't a regular fight.

  I should have expected as much from Ricky. I just didn't think Lee would serve his own head up on a platter like that.

  Sam Unbroken, they call him.

  It was the first thing I Googled when Dr. Morris brought me the laptop. With Victor hovering somewhere nearby, making sure I'm not sending e-mails, I read. A fight like that would have advertising, tickets, promos. Finding out about it wasn't exactly rocket science.

  The poster was intimidating enough, but then I made the mistake of Googling Sam too.

  His measurements took time to comprehend. Seven foot one, weighing three hundred fifty pounds, a true monster of a man. They called him Andre the Giant reborn, despite the fact the famous wrestler was even bigger. That was the only thing to make me feel slightly better. Bigger men have been beaten, not in MMA, but still. It isn't completely impossible.

  But then came the stories, the news, the outrageous results, and the court cases.

  Sam Unbroken, the internet said, was a murderer walking free. The way his matches ended would often leave the opponents wishing to be dead. Paralyzed, comatose, broken beyond repair. Sam has more career-ending fights under his belt than anyone else.

  And that is the guy Lee is scheduled to fight. I see now what Ricky is trying to do. I can't believe Lee is letting him. I suppose he has no choice, but... God. Sam Unbroken hasn't had a match in more than half a year, because men willingly admit they're terrified of him.

  I go deeper, although I know I shouldn't.

  I find an article about the upcoming fight. Apparently it has sold out in a matter of hours. And there are comments.

  "Lee Mason is going to die, wtf. Why would he agree to this? Is he that broke?"

  "Fuck, ma
n, Lee's toast. I saw him struggle against Carson, Sam's gonna fuck him up."

  "Lee might be one of the few fighters who could stand a chance. If he's quick enough and if he gets some good kicks in early on, he might win."

  "If. Might. Lee needs a fucking miracle."

  I stop reading soon after. All the comments agree Sam is the favorite. Not merely a favorite. The most positive outcome the comments predict for Lee is emerging from the fight without any major injuries. No more.

  I feel sick. It's pretty clear to me. All the comments with proper grammar and good arguments say Lee's in mortal danger. The few that boast he'll win are clearly die-hard fans who use twenty exclamation marks to emphasize their faith in their idol.

  I don't think any amount of exclamation marks can save Lee.

  Fuck, what am I going to do? I've never felt this helpless. I was out of options before, now I can barely move. This is a man's world and I don't think there's anything I can do to convince Ricky to stop this. I mean, why would he? He's getting rid of his rival without dirtying his hands. What does that leave me with?

  I have to do something. I won't let Lee die for me.

  * * *

  "You shouldn't be up," Dr. Morris says.

  "Maybe," I allow.

  The first few steps out of the bed were pretty rough, I'll have to admit. Two weeks in bed with no motion does wonders to one's legs. I walk with a cane, supporting myself on the walls, but I'm moving.

  People take too many things for granted. Mobility is definitely one of them. I feel like senior citizens don't get enough credit for still going on walks.

  My doctor observes me critically over his glasses. He's a tall, thin man. There is something endearing about him, but I can't put my finger on it. It's most assuredly not the fact he's willing to work for Ricky. But I keep my judgments to myself. I don't know his story. Maybe he's the same as I am. Perhaps his hand is forced.

  So far, he's been friendlier to me than the rest of them.

  "Well," he says. "I suppose it's good you're making an effort to bring strength back into your legs. It shows you're feeling better."

  It shows I'm desperate.

  "May I ask where you're going, Miss Feston?"

  "I want to see Lee."

  I see them both wince. Dr. Morris and Victor, my annoying shadow. Life must be pretty boring here if Victor doesn't have a better use than to guard me.

  "That's not wise," Victor growls.

  I don't care, I'm beyond caring about that. If they want to tackle me, they're welcome to. I'm sure they'll be thrilled to explain that to Ricky.

  "I want to talk to him about Sam," I say.

  Dr. Morris sighs. Maybe I'm imagining it, but he sounds compassionate.

  "Oh," he murmurs. "You found out."

  "Oh yeah," I say, my tone bitter as I keep stumbling on.

  He comes to my aid, offering me a hand. I hesitate, thinking he'll pull me back toward my room, but instead he walks with me, slowly.

  "So you'll excuse me for wanting to say goodbye while I still can."

  Even Victor doesn't protest. They also agree that Lee's as good as dead. I'm apparently on a very masochistic streak, so I ask:

  "Dr. Morris. Any chance Lee would win?"

  He can't come up with a plausible lie fast enough. There's my answer.

  "All right," I go on. "Any chance Lee will live?"

  "That depends," Dr. Morris says. "His opponent is known for inflicting serious injuries, but they're damaging his reputation. This is the first match he's had in a while. I don't think he wants to kill Mr. Mason. He wants a definitive win."

  Okay. I don't know how true that is, but I'll take it. Any little encouragement is good enough.

  This only confirms my suspicion, though. They're setting Lee up. Ricky lured him into a show match against a guy who has never lost a fight. And I don't doubt for a single second that there is something dark at play behind the curtains. The deal Lee told me about... it doesn't sound like Ricky.

  Forgiving isn't in his nature. He wouldn't make a deal like that if there was a slightest possibility that he'd have to follow through. Why is Lee letting this happen?

  He would risk his life for me, I know that for a fact now, but not like this. I don't want him to die trying to save me. Anything is better than that.

  I am nearing the training area. Ricky enjoys MMA fights, he's a patron to quite a few of them. Carson, the guy Lee beat, was one of his. That much I knew. I've been down here before, but I always left the ringside quickly. I didn't enjoy watching something so violent.

  Dr. Morris leads me in. Even from afar, I can hear grunts of pain and shouts. Cursing, too. I recognize Lee's voice, but I'm surprised to see he's fighting Carson.

  It figures. Ricky would make sure he's got opponents to practice with.

  Both guys turn when they hear someone come in. Lee's eyes go wide at the sight of me and as for myself, I can't stop the smile. It comes naturally when I'm with him. I watch him standing there in the cage, sweaty and panting, licking his lips. I know the look in his eyes. It's desire, pure and simple.

  I watch him, but maybe for the first time as a fighter. Lee is strong and magnificently built; his muscles flex at the slightest movement. I like his wide shoulders and his powerful legs, and the naked pride with which he holds himself.

  Then I compare him to Sam in my mind and I almost shudder in fear. Dr. Morris thinks it's a fever and urges me to go back to my room. I insist on staying and watching Lee fight Carson. After a grunt from Victor, Dr. Morris says it's okay for a short while. Lee says nothing and they go on.

  I watch, trying to learn something. I don't know anything about MMA, but I'm going to have to learn. It's silly of me to think I can discover something Lee doesn't already know, but I feel so helpless right now. It would give me something to do at least.

  I'm willing to play Ricky's game for now. If there is even the smallest chance Lee could win, we're going to have to find it.

  As I sit there and watch the father of my child preparing for a fight he can't possibly win, sadness washes over me again. The despair, the longing, the love I didn't realize was there until I stand on the verge of losing it. I need Lee.

  He will fight Sam Unbroken, I don't think I can stop that. But maybe, if we're very lucky, he will be able to stop Sam.

  Lee

  Seeing Raina is like a lightning strike to the heart.

  She's up.

  That's a whole new batch of problems. Ricky made no secret of his intention to keep her against her will. Of course, I have no intention of leaving Raina to become one of those women kept in a basement. Literally, in this case. I'll die before I let her fade away here, under Ricky's club, never seeing sunlight again.

  I will get her out of here and she will be mine. This girl has somehow turned my world around in only a few weeks. When I'm not thinking about kicking Sam's ass, I'm thinking about her, and usually even Sam can't distract me from her. I welcome a good challenge, but stealing Ricky Gerrard's girl is on level I haven't experienced since the Marines.

  It makes her all the more desirable. Seeing her standing there by the ringside, it makes my blood boil. The weeks she's spent in solitary confinement have been shitty. Even my visits feel like going to the zoo. I can see the beautiful creature, but not touch.

  At least we have a reason to celebrate. With her back to Victor, she managed to quietly tell me our baby is still alive. I didn't think I had the father gene in me, but I was wrong. I felt pride at my child being able to survive like that, a true fighter.

  I will fight for them now.

  Ricky doesn't know it, but he should celebrate too. If Raina lost the baby, Ricky's death wouldn't have been pleasant.

  Her being up is a problem, though. If Ricky thinks she's well enough to move around, he might bring her to his room soon. I don't know how I could signal that to her. The thought of Ricky's hands on her... it's what motivates me to train harder than I ever have before.

  Sam's n
o joke, but I know who my real enemy is. With the fight coming closer, I need to make sure Ricky goes down along Sam. Or I lose Raina forever.

  * * *

  It feels like walking into a lion's den.

  I haven't taken two steps before I'm given weird looks. The place I'm at—it's not a facility people accidentally wander into. The guys staring at me are a bit confused. What I'm doing shouldn't be possible. I see hands going to guns and chairs shuffling. This will get ugly very soon.

  "I'm here to see Mr. Brandon," I say.

  "Yeah?" a guy in a leather jacket and a ponytail that would make any girl jealous asks. "You got an appointment?"

  I wonder where Jack Brandon gets these guys. The biker doesn't match the others, at least. Seems to be one of a kind. Street-level, probably not from around here. Not surprising; Jack Brandon has his dirty fingers in many cities. This one must be on vacation.

  "Nah, sweetheart," I say, staring him down. "But if I knew what a pretty secretary he has, I'd have called for sure."

  He lurches at me. The other guys in the bar stand up, but I see amusement on a few faces. Good. They might hesitate a second before gunning me down.

  I sidestep the biker easily and grab ahold of his jacket. I throw him straight into the pool table by the wall. He crashes to the floor with a curse, but is up in the next second. This time he comes slower, no longer charging like a bull. I'm not willing to wait. The longer I'm here, the less funny these guys think I am.

  I edge a few steps closer, dodging his clumsy blows. The cage has spoiled me. I take no pleasure in kicking his ass. It feels like taking candy from a baby. I grab his wrist when he comes to land me a right hook and twist it behind his back. He bends almost in two, cursing me to hell and back.

  "You going to be nice now, sweetheart?" I ask. "Or else I'll send you home with a dislocated shoulder."

  "Enough," one of the other guys says.

  He looks more like the man I need to talk to. Tall and broad, serious eyes, not even a hint of a smile on his lips. Hair combed neatly over his head. Yeah, better. A lieutenant.