Linc (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel Book 3)

by Hart, Lane

  "No shit?" he asks, facin’ me again with an excited and boyish grin.

  "How old are you and what weight do you fight at?"

  "Nineteen and middle or light heavyweight."

  "Which one is closer to your natural weight?" I ask. Guys who starve themselves because they think lower weight classes are easier are idiots. It only makes them weak and sluggish when they're always strugglin’ to keep their weight down.

  "I stay at one-ninety-five so it's no problem to go either way."

  "Then I want to see you at both to figure out where you're better."

  "I've got a fight tomorrow night in Durham if you want to check it out," he offers, soundin’ hesitant but hopeful with a smile so similar to Eve or Mandy's that I have no choice but to agree. And thinkin’ of her, I ask, "Will your sister be there?"

  "Claire usually shows, but it's hit or miss with Mandy." Good enough for me. I feel like an addict needin’ just one more chance to see her in the flesh, to touch one little inch of her beautiful body again and then I’ ll quit.

  "Yo, Senn," I call over to the light heavyweight across the gym floor, where he's takin’ a break from grapplin’ practice.

  "What's up?" Senn asks with his approach, smoothin’ his long, dark hair back to retie it in a rubber band. I don't know why he doesn't just cut the shit off instead of havin’ to fool with it always gettin’ in the way.

  "Wanna go with me to see this kid's underground fight tomorrow night in Durham?" I ask him. Senn started the same way, takin’ beatings before trainin’ with us, so I want him to see if he thinks this guy has any potential once he steps in a cage professionally and has to adhere to all the IFC rules. Really, I just need an unbiased opinion since I want to sign him up just because of who his sister is.

  "Shit yeah I'll go. I miss the good ole days of rag tag brutality," he says with a wide grin. Now almost toe to toe, the two men are nearly the same exact size, height and weight wise. I could easily see them as a helluva good matchup for trainin’ partners. Senn, who is quickly makin’ his way up the world rankings, has left so many of our guys banged up that he has trouble gettin’ anyone to spar with him or go a few rounds in the cage. Maybe it’ll work out for the best so Mason can give Senn the counterpart he needs to train harder, and Senn can give Mason the coachin’ and techniques the kid probably desperately needs. "Senn Duncan," he introduces himself to the boy, offerin’ him a handshake that he takes.

  "Seneca," I cough in correction just to annoy him.

  "Shut the fuck up, Lincoln."

  "Mason Reed," the kid says, lookin’ back and forth between us with an amused grin. "But you can call me Mace for short, since that seems to be ya'lls MO around here."

  "All right, Mace, where are we goin’ tomorrow night?" I ask, guessin’ it's gonna be in the shitty part of town.

  "Four-seventy-one Wake Place. Fights start at nine and I'm the last one of the night."

  Yep, that's a rundown neighborhood where everyone packs a switchblade or heat. I don't like the idea of his sister hangin’ around such a dangerous place, which is yet another reason for me to go.

  "We'll see what you've got then," I tell him with another fist bump.

  "Awesome," he replies, headin’ for the door. "Thanks, guys. Really appreciate it."

  "So why do you give a shit about a random street fighter?" Senn asks after Mace walks out. He comes around and looks over my shoulder, down at the paper in my hands. "Oh shit, who painted your lake?"

  "He's Eve Kelly's brother," I tell him. "And she did the painting."

  "A porn star and a painter? That’s fucking nuts." He chuckles. "So she's been spendin’ time at your place, huh?"

  "That's what I don't get. She's never been to my house, at least not that I know of."

  "Huh," he replies. "Maybe all lakes look alike."

  "Maybe," I agree, even though it's unlikely that there's one this damn identical to mine.

  Is it too much to ask that a sexy porn star is stalkin’ me? Yeah, thought so. Too bad. I'd love to have her over to show her my house and take her out on the lake. Maybe fuck her on my party boat. Have her ride me in the hot tub. Eat her out on top of my kitchen table. Goddamn it. Now I've got to go home, so I can ease the pressure from my achin’ cock. Not with the DVDs, either. Fuck that, I can't even think about goin’ there. Tonight I'm pretty sure it won't take anything but a few seconds of those fantasies and I'll surely erupt. After I say goodbye to everyone, I take my painting and climb in my truck, tellin’ the Cock Ness Monster he's gonna have to wait. I refuse to pull over to the side of the road to put my hand down my pants.

  Comin’ down my driveway it becomes clear that my plan is gonna have to be postponed, since I apparently have company. A small, red BMW sits all alone right next to where I usually park. Noticin’ the interior's empty, I look up on the wraparound front porch and finally spot her.

  Abby.

  "Hey," she says when I walk up, lookin’ cozy as she slouches in one of my wicker patio chairs. "Sorry to just stop by, but I just wanted to get out of the house."

  "How did you know where I lived?" I ask. The words come out more caustic than I intended, but I work real hard to keep this place off of the fuckin’ map. It's why I bought two hundred acres of land and have No Trespassing signs all the way from the start of the long, windin’ driveway up to my house. Over the years, the paparazzi attention has gotten worse as MMA has grown in popularity, and those fuckers hounded the shit out of me and Sadie over the summer after my and Jude's fight. Therefore, I try not to make it easy for anyone to know where I live.

  Abby's eyes lower to her hands in her lap before she answers. "Your mom."

  Sonofabitch. Ratted out by my own damn mother. She could've fuckin’ warned me. We’re gonna have to have a talk.

  I take a seat in one of the other patio chairs, makin’ it clear that I'm not gonna invite her in. We can talk out here and then she can leave. There. That's me compromisin’. I can still keep my distance from her until I get my head straight, but not be a complete dick to her and tell her to leave.

  "It's so nice out here. Quiet. Peaceful," she says as she takes in the view.

  "Yeah." It was, before a ghost from my past decided to plop her ass right back down in my life again. A life that I once thought would end with her and our son in a place like this. I built a house out this way because I thought it would be perfect for a family someday. I didn’t want a bachelor pad in the city, I wanted a place to call home. Yeah, it’s felt pretty fuckin’ empty for the past few years except when Sadie stayed with me for a couple of weeks healin’ her temporarily broken heart.

  After the fallout with Abby, there was no doubt that I still wanted what we lost. I can keep accumulating money faster than I’ll ever be able to spend it, but at the end of the day, what I want is a wife and kids to share my life with, and that’s somethin’ money can’t buy. There’s no amount of material things that could ever take the place of a happy family like the one I grew up in, and the type of future I see for myself: weekends out on the lake, fishin’, and just relaxin’. Spendin’ the summers hangin’ out around the pool. A huge yard for playin’ football, baseball or chasin’ dogs, cats or whatever the fuck crazy animals my kids easily talk me into buyin’ them. Those plans are all great and nice, but to get there I’ve not only got to find someone who wants the same things. I have to be willin’ to take the chance that it may or may not end up slippin’ through my fingers again, just when I think I have it all, leavin’ me emptier than before. I’m not sure I’m capable of handlin’ that sort of devastation again. Especially not with the same woman who was responsible for the first loss.

  "Are you coming to the homecoming game Friday?" Abby asks, and I'm thankful it's random chitchat she goes with instead of heavy shit.

  "Probably not." I hate thinkin’ about high school. Three of those four years were filled with nothin’ but memories of everything Abby and I did together with our mutual friends: the parties, dances, football and bask
etball games, proms, and sneakin’ around to make out in each other’s cars or in our parents' basements.

  "I wish you would at least think about coming. Katie said Jason and Ryan are gonna be there. How long has it been since you've seen either of them?" she asks, tryin’ to tempt me.

  "Too long," I respond, since I honestly don't know the last time I saw my childhood best friends. Everyone seemed to go their own way after we graduated. They went to college and I've constantly been trainin’ in the gym. We used to see each other when everyone gathered back in town for holidays, but now most are startin’ to settle down, gettin’ married and havin’ kids, so they hardly ever have time to keep in touch. Lucky bastards.

  "So you'll think about it?" Abby asks. The girl is obviously still a persistent little thing until she gets her way.

  "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'll go," I tell her.

  "Okay, good," she says with a blindin’ smile that I have to quickly look away from. Otherwise, it'll threaten to block out all the darkness that still lurks from our past.

  When she gets to her feet, I sigh in relief, glad she's takin’ off before it gets even more awkward between us. Now that she's standin’, though, my eyes can't help but give her a once over, startin’ at the brown knee high boots and stoppin’ at her pink V-neck sweater. My cock's reaction is fuckin’ instantaneous. I barely suppress a muttered curse at the body part that is constantly betrayin’ me. He and I are not on the same goddamn page, which is really startin’ to piss me off.

  While I'm arguin’ with the annoyin’ swingin’, appendage I fail to realize Abby's intentions. She takes a step toward me, then her arms are wrappin’ around my neck, her cheek restin’ against my chest. I freeze under her unexpected touch and at the way her familiar floral scent assaults me.

  It's like fallin’ headfirst into the rabbit hole. I know it's dark and shitty down there, but at the same time it's like my heart doesn't have a choice in the matter. I get it, she's sick, which has to be really fuckin’ scary, and all she's askin’ for is a small piece of comfort. For me to hold her for just a few seconds, givin’ her the illusion that everythin’ is gonna to be all right.

  Bringin’ my hands up, I mold them both to the curve of her waist, not pushin’ her away or pullin’ her closer, they're just...there, makin’ physical contact.

  Until I hear her sniffles.

  Those damn Kryptonic tears burn like acid through my shirt and skin until they start eatin’ away at my heart. I wrap my arms around her back and hold her tight while she cries on me.

  "I miss you," she eventually says, so softly I pretend not to hear the words. I can't return the sentiment. Yeah, I missed her like crazy right after we broke up, but at the same time, I was so angry with her that I couldn't see straight. Eventually I got over it, or at least I funneled the emotions into hittin’ other men in the face, imaginin’ it was the same one from all those years ago who made me snap. The reminder of him and her in bed together has me relaxin’ my hold and lettin’ her go.

  "I guess I better head home," she says.

  "Yeah, um, see ya later," I tell her as she turns to go down the steps and I escape into my empty house.

  Chapter Seven

  Claire

  "Mandy, you ready?" I ask with a knock on her closed bedroom door.

  "Can't," she says through the wooden panel, just as I expected. "There's this thing...um, at Kim's, and I can't really miss it."

  "But you can miss your little brother's fight?" I snap back louder at her.

  "He fights like every week. I'll go to the next one," she replies. Sure she will.

  "Fine. Whatever. Just, please don't get fucked up tonight, okay?"

  "No fucking up," she repeats. "I promise." Worthless words.

  Nothing else to be done to change her mind, I get into my car and drive over to pick up my best friend Kylie, who still lives at home with her parents. I've barely shifted into park when the front door of the two-story brick house opens and she steps out with her purse. She's gone all out tonight, wearing a short black skirt, matching stiletto heels and a purple sweater that somehow doesn't clash with her red hair.

  "Ugh. Those people are going to drive me nuts," Kylie grumbles as soon as she sits down in the passenger seat.

  "What people?" I ask. "Your mom and dad?"

  "Uh-huh. They actually said they want me home by midnight, like I'm a teenager or some shit."

  "You can stay over and sleep on our couch if you want," I offer, since I figure it'll likely be after midnight before Mason's fight even starts.

  "Oh, thank God! I'll text my mom and tell her not to wait up," she says, pulling out her phone from her tiny sparkly purse. Tonight Kylie's bright hair is pulled back in a ponytail, which makes her elegant, porcelain features stand out even more. Poor girl will get a freaking sunburn just sitting inside next to a window on a sunny day. We ride in companionable silence for a while, as she types the text to her parents. "There," she says with an exhale. "So, what've you been up to?"

  "Same old, trying to keep my sister off drugs and brother out of jail. It's a full-time job babysitting those two. I've had to work double shifts the last three nights, which sucks, but I need the money. What about you?" I ask as I pull into the vacant lot where everyone parks on fight nights.

  "Besides my parents driving me nuts?" she asks. "Well, I'm flunking physics so that's wonderful, and I've been trying to finish a ten page paper that's due Friday for my public policy class, but you know me, I'm a procrastinator."

  "That you are," I agree. I've known the girl for several years now and she somehow can find a way to delay having to put off shit. It's ridiculous.

  "So have you met any cute guys at work?" Kylie asks me when I turn off the engine. I consider telling her about Linc, but decide against it since I don't want to admit that a few days ago I was strutting around on stage in a crowded strip club wearing basically nothing, pretending to be my sister. Kylie, like most normal people, strongly disapproves of Mandy's career in porn. To admit that I had any part in that industry would make her think I'm crazy. She does know I'm helping Mandy pay off Scarfone's debt, but I'm afraid she would say that I crossed a line I shouldn’t. So I keep my mouth shut about Linc, the amazing man I still can't stop thinking about. Or fantasizing about. Like when I was in the shower with my magical little blue bullet this morning, and the day before. Just thinking about the way his delicious kiss tasted and how incredible it felt to be pressed against his rock hard body, especially the lower half, his Cock Ness Monster, is all it takes to start the throbbing between my thighs. If a sexier man exists, I've never met him.

  "Um, no, there haven’t been any cute guys at work." There, that wasn't a complete lie. Most the clientele in the steakhouse I work at are married couples or couples on a date, so not many single guys. Even if there were, I know for a fact that none of them would hold a candle to Linc Abrams.

  "Too bad," Kylie replies. "Not many cute guys on campus, either. The majority are female students and married men."

  "Maybe you'll have better luck at State." Kylie is slowly getting her associates at the community college and saving up to transfer to the local university, which is why she still lives with her parents at the age of twenty-three. I have to say that I’m more than a little jealous. Going to college was never an option for me. I didn’t have stellar grades in high school because I had to work so much, and even if I had, there’s no way I could’ve afforded even community college. Still…it would’ve been nice to be a normal teenager and have nothing but school and boy drama to worry about. Instead of studying like all my friends, I was waitressing long hours, trying to make sure Mandy and Mason had something to eat and a roof over their heads. Now, they’re both adults, but my life still doesn’t feel like it’s my own.

  "Oh there will definitely be more guys at State," Kylie says with a sigh. "I fear my vagina might shrivel up and seal itself shut for good before I make it there."

  I snort in response. "Doubtful," I assure her. "
And weren't you just with that baseball player Ben, or Blake…some name that started with a B three weeks ago?"

  "Blake, and that didn't really count since it was over in like five minutes. That is a rule!" she tells me seriously after I laugh. "Like when you drop food on the floor, it doesn't count as dirty if it wasn't there for more than five seconds. Same with sex. If a man’s cock isn't in my pussy for more than five minutes, it just doesn't count. Five minute rule."

  "Does it still not count if he can make you come that quickly?" I ask, thinking about the kiss Linc and I shared against the wall. It wasn't even five minutes and I came without any sort of penetration. Twice.

  "Definitely. But what man do you know who can make a woman come in less than five minutes without using his tongue?"

  "Just one," I sigh in remembrance. My thighs press together tightly to relieve the building pressure as I recall the incredible orgasms.

  "Who is he and why haven't you ever told me about him?" Kylie asks indignantly.

  "Long time ago in Ohio," I hedge, wincing as I lie to my best friend. "You ready to head inside?" I ask to hopefully drop the topic. It only reminds me that despite how mind-blowing the experience with Linc had been, it was just a fleeting moment in time. One I'll never forget, which is both nice, and at the same time makes me pretty damn sad.

  Since it’s a dark and dangerous neighborhood, I decide to leave my purse in the car. I won't need money, and we get free admission because Mason is fighting. I only take my phone and keys, tucking them in my jean pocket when we step out of the car, and quickly make our way inside to try and avoid getting robbed. This is a shady neighborhood in the daytime, but at night...well, let's just say I wish I had some pepper spray.

  The fall wind whips through my thin, white angora sweater and ragged, five year old jeans, both from the consignment store. The only thing new, other than my undies, are the two year old camel colored boots I lucked up and found on half-price clearance during the spring.

  As soon as we cross the street to the front of the abandoned building that's been turned into another one of Scarfone's money makers I relax a little, seeing a big group of people. We're much less likely to be victimized with so many witnesses.