Linc (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel Book 3)

by Hart, Lane

  "You fell asleep."

  "So?" she says, tilting her head to the side to look over at me.

  "So, do you want to drown?" I ask.

  Mandy looks down at her palms as she lifts them and lets the water run through her fingers. "If I did, I could finally escape this fucked up life."

  My chest constricts, hearing my little sister make such a flippant comment about something as serious as suicide. "Don't say that shit, Mandy. It's your life, and you are the only one who can make it better. We could get you into another rehab program. You could stop making the movies-"

  "And what would I do instead?" she asks. "Waitress for two dollars an hour plus tips?"

  "Hey, it may not be an ideal job, but at least I get to keep my dignity and self-respect when I go home at night," I reply defensively as I get to my feet and cross my arms over my chest.

  "I lost all of my dignity and self-respect a looong time ago," she says sadly. "Probably right around the time I let the world watch me suck a man's dick while getting fucked in the ass."

  I wince at her gross and way too explicit description. "You don't have to always be Eve Kelly. You can be Mandy Reed and do anything else you want," I tell her. Even as I say this I know it's not exactly true. People are always approaching me, thinking I'm her because we look so much alike and they've seen the pornos. Since it's not in fact me in the movies, I always act like I don't know what the hell they're talking about and simply walk away. Easier for me to do than her, I'm sure. It'll be hard for Mandy to get away from the image, but she can do it if she really wants to.

  …

  Tossing and turning with too many thoughts of money, a sexy man named after a video game character, and all of Mandy and Mason’s problems bouncing around inside my head, I don’t get much sleep that night. Instead I mostly lay there and listen to Mandy snoring, wishing our life had turned out differently and then feeling stupid knowing that wishing for things isn’t worth a shit.

  The next morning, Mandy and I check out of the hotel and I drive the two of us back to Durham. We could've easily made the half hour drive last night, but the strip club was paying for the shitty hotel that's nicer than our apartment, since they have no idea that Eve Kelly lives just a few miles away. We’ve been in North Carolina for a little over four years, ever since Mandy signed with Scarfone's porn production company whose headquarters is just out in the suburbs of the city.

  My sister is slightly more coherent today than she was last night. When we stop at the IHOP, I'm shocked after she actually eats most of her stack of pancakes and drinks straight orange juice with no alcohol for the first time probably since we were kids.

  In our small, rundown, two-bedroom apartment, I leave her alone and shut myself in my room, relieved that the whole ordeal at the club is over and done with, no one the wiser to our substitute porn star scheme. Even though I try to force myself to stop thinking about Linc Abrams, I can’t. Not only was he the hottest man I've ever laid eyes on, but in those few short minutes, he treated me better than anyone else ever has. And he thought I was a slutty porn star that fucked men on camera for money! That didn't seem to matter to him. Or maybe it did. Is that why he paid so much money for the private dance? Was he hoping to get more than a dance? No, I don't think so. If that's what he wanted, he would've been more aggressive and not so sweet.

  Now that he's on my mind I feel guilty; guilty for lying about who I am and guilty for accepting his ridiculous amount of money. Well, there's one small thing I can do to alleviate some of the guilt. I take my empty glass to the bathroom and fill it up with water, then sit down at the little wooden desk in the corner of my bedroom. Spreading the thick paper out in front of me, I tap the handle of the brush to my lips, trying to decide what to paint. Usually I just close my eyes and…see the scene. I haven't traveled much, mostly just from Ohio to North Carolina, and once to the beach, but my imagination usually pulls its own small piece of nature from somewhere and directs me on what to create.

  As expected, the perfect scene instantly unfolds in my mind; a calm, green tinged lake surrounded with weeping willows, their long, sad-looking limbs draped over the ripples that hit the muddy shore. With a sun…is the sun setting or rising? Definitely setting above the tree line, reflecting the orangish tint onto the surface of the water. There's a small dock with a little boy sitting alone, his bare feet dangling over the calm waves with a fishing pole in his hands. His back is to me, which is good because I'm terrible at painting people's faces. He has blond hair and is in need of a cut since it's curling up all cute around the collar of his army green t-shirt. There's something about him that's sad, but maybe that's just because the little guy is out there all alone.

  When I finally finish and hang the twelve by sixteen picture on the clothesline strung across my room to dry it's dark outside my bedroom window and my shoulders ache from being hunched over the desk for so long. Overall, I think it's one of my better scenes. So...peaceful, capturing nature's simplistic beauty in a profound and sentimental way, at least that’s how it makes me feel. Just like the other paintings hanging around my room, it's nothing fancy and nothing technical since I've never had anything more than art classes in high school, but it's the best I can do and I enjoy painting more than anything. Now to figure out how to get it to Linc once it has time to dry.

  I remember that he mentioned something to me about a place called Havoc, so I type the word into Google on my phone since I don’t have a computer. Two results come up, one location in Maryland and one in Cary, North Carolina. It has to be the second one so I jot down the address on a scrap of paper.

  A part of me really wants to deliver it to him in person just to see him again, but on the other hand, there's no reason to remind myself how incredible he looks or how incredibly sweet he is. Or how he has a magic touch that can light up my body like the Fourth of July. I'm not who he thinks I am, and a guy like him wouldn't want a nobody like me. Especially not after he finds out I lied to him.

  Chapter Five

  Linc

  "Seriously, Kyle, how many licks will it take before you listen to me? You’ve gotta keep your hands up!" I tell the eighteen-year-old lightweight fighter after his sparrin’ partner, Luke, nails him in the face yet again. While I miss trainin’, coachin’ isn’t all that bad. Well, except for when these bastards ignore the shit I tell them every fuckin’ day.

  "Zelda to the front desk. You've got a visitor."

  Jude's voice over the intercom grabs my attention. Since I know the jackass is referrin’ to me, I leave the trainin’ room and head through the main floor of the gym to the front. There's no one on the visitor side of the desk except for a petite brunette, delicate lookin’ in a pink tunic and tight jeans that show off a nice, perky ass. I’m surprised Senn hasn’t moved in on her yet knowin’ his penchant for round butts. Seein’ her long braid that reaches down to the middle of her waist I can’t help but think the same thing every man probably thinks to himself when he sees a woman's braid - That bad boy would be perfect to wrap around my fist and yank hard, pullin’ her mouth to mine when I'm fuckin’ her from behind.

  Holy fuck!

  For the first time in...forever, my dick is actually springin’ up in my jeans for a real live woman who isn’t a porn star. Well, I assume this girl isn’t into fuckin’ men on camera, but I don’t know a damn thing about her. Yet. At least not until she turns around and faces me. My Vans suddenly become glued to the fuckin’ gym floor.

  “Abby?” I ask stupidly, although I know it’s her even after all these years. How could I ever forget the beautiful face of the girl who was my first...everything? The one person I loved more than was probably healthy, and she had to go and stomp on my broken heart after she had shredded it.

  “Hey, Linc.” Abby Merchant, my high school sweetheart, smiles as her brown, puppy dog, eyes examine me from head to toe. I can’t help but do the same. There’s not much about her that’s changed in five years, which sucks. Dammit, why couldn't she have, I dunno,
put on a couple hundred pounds, or turned ugly to match the evil inside of her? Her brown hair is obviously longer, and she looks a little curvier, which is good since she barely had any meat on her bones when we dated. I used to always worry that I would break her when I fucked her tiny, sexy, and always eager little body. And Goddamn it. The Cock Ness Monster is makin’ it clear that he definitely remembers all those times we were together and clearly missed her. Traitor.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, steppin’ behind the front desk, puttin’ a buffer between us to hide my arousal. She doesn’t deserve the reaction my body automatically has for her.

  She leans her elbows on the counter, intentionally givin’ me a better view of her cleavage. I hate myself for the quick glance against my will that my eyes steal of those luscious tits. The first titties I sucked on long enough to leave hickies all over them just because I liked markin’ her as mine. I even made her come that way the first few times my mouth made it to second base.

  “I just stopped by to see you,” she says softly. “It’s been awhile, and a bunch of our class from Cary High decided to come back this weekend to catch up at the homecoming game.”

  “Well, now you’ve seen me,” I say curtly, gesturin’ to myself with my arms spread wide.

  “H-how have you been?” she asks hestiantly. Reachin’ for her braid, she pulls it over her shoulder and nervously strokes her fingers over her hair. Hell, she's probably doin’ it on purpose, tryin’ to remind me of all those times I pulled on that shit while I was balls deep inside her. Too late, my dick's already took a detour down that memory lane, thank you very much.

  “I’ve been great,” I reply, refusin’ to ask her the same question, even just to be polite. Sure, I know I’m being rude to her, but I’m all out of fucks to give. I used up the last one when I caught her cheatin’ on me just days after she gave birth to our stillborn son.

  “Good, I'm glad,” she says, lowerin’ her eyes at my tone. That’s when I notice she has a few new freckles across her nose and cheeks, more than she did five years ago, and fuck me if they aren’t adorable. She probably painted the bastards on before she came over since she knows how much I loved kissin’ the old ones. Bitch.

  “So, is that it? Because I’ve got a lot of shit I need to do,” I tell her. It comes out just as harsh as I intended, as I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Yeah. It's just...I wanted to tell you I’m sorry,” she looks up and says quickly with sad, watery eyes before ramblin’ on. “I know my apology is way too late in coming and that you probably still hate me. I’ve just been thinking about you a lot lately, and saw that you were hurt a few weeks ago, so I wanted to make sure you were okay before—”

  “Yep, I’m fuckin’ fine,” I respond. I’m growin’ more frustrated by the minute as my blood pressure rises until there’s a steady poundin’ going on inside my head.

  Her moisture filled eyes blink up at me several times, but that ploy doesn’t work on me anymore. When she opens her mouth to say somethin’ else, I clench my jaw to prevent myself from yellin’ all the shit at her that I've kept bottled up for five long years. Then Abby's gaze lowers to my neck. Her hand reaches across the counter and lifts the ball chain necklace from underneath the front of my shirt before I can stop her.

  “You still wear it,” she whispers softly. A tear escapes and streaks down the incredible actress’s cheek as she runs her fingers over the three memorial charms my mom gave me five years ago, a small baby blue heart, silver angel wings, and a tear drop shaped pendant with “Thomas” and “12-24-09” engraved in it.

  “I didn’t know there was an expiration date for mournin’ our son,” I reply snidely, takin’ a step back out of her reach so that she has to let go. Once she does, I tuck the necklace back under my tee where it stays unless I’m trainin’.

  “Do you still blame me? Because the doctor said-”

  “Abby, just stop!” I hold up a hand and interrupt her. “This isn’t the time or place to talk about this shit even if I wanted to, which I don’t. It’s over and done. Now, will you please leave so I can get back to work?” My blood pressure is through the fuckin’ roof, roarin’ in my ears. My head may actually explode. I need to get away from her. From the memories, from the reminders. And it pisses me off that I still want her after everything she did. My traitorous body wants to feel her underneath it again, like in the good ole days. Fuck that. Never again. I’d rather die alone, jerkin’ my cock to porn than be with the heartless woman standin’ in front of me.

  “Okay,” she says with a nod, and I steel my spine when more tears come pourin’ down her face. I will not cave. Hell no, I won’t, even if a woman’s tears are Kryptonite to my soul. “I just wanted to see you one last time, and apologize...before it’s too late…”

  “It’s already too late,” I reply coldly.

  “No,” she says shakin’ her head and swipin’ her hand underneath each eye to wipe away the tears. “That’s not...what I meant. What I mean is…”

  “What, Abby? Just say it!” I yell in exasperation, literally reachin’ up and pullin’ on two handfuls of my own hair

  “I have leukemia,” she says barely above a whisper, successfully landin’ the very first knockout punch of my life.

  Chapter Six

  Claire

  I rap my knuckles three times on Mason’s door with one hand and hold the rolled up painting in my other while I wait for my little brother to answer. I know he’s home. His baby, a royal purple, 1966 Mustang convertible with shiny rims and white leather interior is sitting in the parking lot. Although, I can't actually see it since there’s a car cover draped over it. Seriously, my brother is obsessed with that freaking car. I get it, though. We’ve never really had much growing up and he worked hard to restore the old car himself with his own money. Not that I really know where he got the money since he’s never had a day job. Don’t ask, don’t tell sometimes really is the best policy.

  The rattling sound of the chain being undone tells me he’s finally awake, even though it’s almost noon. He pulls the door open, but only a few inches. “Fine, girly, I’ll take a box of thin mints and peanut butter patties if you’ll just leave me the hell alone,” Mason answers with a grin, pushing his messy, long on top, russet-colored hair out of his face. His golden-green eyes look groggy, but thankfully not bloodshot. Wearing only a pair of...ugh, blue boxer briefs, his thick, black tribal tattoos that start at his shoulder and come down to his hand are on full display. I swear my "little" brother grows a few inches every time I see him. He's huge, well over six feet tall now and probably close to two hundred pounds. I assume he gets the height from his father, since we had different dads.

  “You better not answer the door for girl scouts dressed like that,” I warn him.

  “Of course not, sis. I only answer the door dressed like this for those old lady, religious nuts. You know, Jehovah’s whatevers.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t,” I groan at the mental image.

  He chuckles in response. “Sure did. She shouted, ‘Jesus Christ,’ slapped a wrinkly hand to her chest, and then asked if she could anoint my body.”

  “You are so going to hell,” I tell him with an amused smile, shaking my head in disapproval.

  “Nuh-uh,” he mutters like a three-year-old child. “She told me there’s no such thing, so ha! I can do whatever I like,” he croons the alternate lyrics to T.I.'s rap song. The boy has a lyrical response for every freaking thing, and if there's not one, he'll make up his own using a catchy tune. It's probably my and Mandy’s fault for raising him on the local radio station, 102 JAMZ. Without cable or Internet, the radio was pretty much our only source of entertainment, and the two of us always liked something with a hot beat to dance to. Even though my best moves resembled a robot having seizures, Mandy could shake everything our mother gave her in ways that made all teenage boys within a ten-mile radius pant.

  I roll my eyes in exasperation at my brother, because he's left me standing on hi
s porch. “So are you gonna let me in or what?” I ask in a huff, glancing past his shoulder into the dark apartment.

  “No!" he exclaims, stepping forward to use his big body to block the gap. "I mean, you really don’t wanna walk in on…this. Take my word, sis.” He looks back into the apartment and then faces me again, rubbing a hand over his dark, shaggy jaw while flashing a wicked grin. At least there’s no swelling or black eyes on his handsome face today. “Sorry, but I've got company.”

  “Should’ve known,” I mutter with an eye roll. My brother, the ladies’ man. At least he doesn’t have any mini-Mason’s running around. Yet. That I know of. Shit. “Just promise me that you’re being…you know, safe.”

  “Don’t worry, sis. Believe it or not, I still remember the extremely awkward talk we had when I was fifteen.” He holds up his tattooed hand and starts counting out on his fingers. “Don’t go chasing any waterfalls. Stick to the rivers and the lakes I’m used to. Three letters took him to his final resting place. Ya’ll don’t hear me.” He closes his eyes and dances to the TLC tune obviously playing in his head, rolling his shoulders and hips with the three raised fingers in the air.

  “Right,” I snort, hoping he’s actually being responsible. “Anyway, I came by to ask you a favor.”

  “Sure. Whatcha need?” he asks, expression now serious and attentive. He may be a little...unhinged, but no matter how small or big, Mandy and I know we can always count on Mason when we need him.

  “Uh.” I glance down at the rolled up paper in my hands, and one last time, try to decide if I should deliver it myself, even though that would obviously be a stupid waste of time since I’m not who he thinks I am. If I tell Linc the truth, he'll be pissed that we conned him out of so much money. If I lie...God, I hate lying. I refuse to keep this charade up just because I'm lonely and he's...gorgeous, incredible, sweet, and amazing. So many great adjectives describe him, but it's time to put on my big girl panties and admit he and I were doomed to fail from the deceptive start. Decision made, I ask Mason, “By chance, are you going to Cary anytime soon?”