Caged Love: MMA Contemporary Suspense (Book Two)

by Thunderbolt, Liberty

  Caged Love

  © 2015 by Zac Robinson

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, places, characters, and events are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is coincidental. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the written permission from the author.

  Caged Love

  MMA Contemporary Suspense

  (Book Two)

  Liberty Thunderbolt

  Zac Robinson

  Chapter One

  Seven Months before UCC 132

  Bretten stood in the darkness of the gym’s boxing ring. It was the middle of his first week at Whit’s and the group had just returned from a movie. The mini-break in the middle of what had already become a monotonous grind had helped him clear his mind. He wanted the moment of peace to continue so he made his way across the alley and climbed into the ring.

  The gym was cool and he let his eyes close as he slid his bare feet along the rough canvas. He took in air through his nose until it sank into his belly before releasing it slowly through his mouth. He felt every ache in his tired body, but as he relaxed the pain slipped to the edges of his awareness.

  Without opening his eyes he raised his hands into a fighting position and began to throw slow combinations. His knuckles cut through the cool air and he fell into an easy rhythm. The fly ball, the one he’d dropped in the final game of the NCAA World Series almost half a year ago, flashed through his thoughts. That moment felt like a low point in his life, but it was the following day when it all came crashing down.

  He remembered how his mom sounded when she told him the horrible news. His brother had been murdered. Bretten realized he was squeezing his eyes shut and his punches had picked up speed.

  He wanted to let it all go. All the sadness that had propelled him to this very ring bubbled to the surface and tears threatened the corners of his eyes. He inhaled even deeper and shifted his stance. Hook, cross, hook…hook, cross, hook…his hands whooshed through the darkness.

  “Are you defeating lions?”

  Bretten jumped and opened his eyes. He turned to find Brooke standing just inside of the ropes. The red security lights along the back wall illuminated the side of her face. She was beautiful.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she added.

  “No, uh, it’s okay. I was just clearing my head.”

  “Believe me, I understand. Do you want to talk about it?”

  Bretten ran his hand over his dark hair. “I’m not sure.”

  “This is a tough business,” she said softly. “It’s good to let it all go sometimes.”

  Bretten looked down at his hands and opened and closed his fists. “It’s not that. I was just thinking about my brother.”

  There was a moment of stillness and the shadows seemed to push Bretten and Brooke closer together. “What about him?” she coaxed.

  Again he opened and closed his hands. “I’ve only told one other person this…”

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

  “He was…murdered.” The word stung his throat and he swallowed hard. “It was six months ago and I still have a hard time even believing it.”

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” She was now in front of him and her arms found his waist. “I had no idea.”

  “It’s okay. It’s probably why I’m here right now.”

  He raised his arms and wrapped them around her shoulders until his fingers interlocked behind her back. She leaned into him, her cheek pressed to his chest. Their breathing rose and fell as one and they remained in the embrace for a long time, two lost souls touching each other in an effort to become one.

  She leaned back and tilted her chin upward. Bretten found himself falling into her big green eyes. “I think you’re where you are supposed to be,” Brooke whispered.

  Bretten totally agreed as he let his chin fall until their lips were aligned. “You are so amazing, so beautiful.” He leaned into her, his hands falling to the small of her back. Their lips brushed, hers were soft and warm. His heartache shattered for the briefest of moments and his hardened body relaxed against her.

  Their lips pressed together harder and she let out a soft sigh. She could not believe that she was doing this, but the truth was that she wanted it badly, and needed it.

  Their kiss deepened and they held each other tighter. Brooke shifted herself against him and squeezed. His body was so hard and strong. She loved the way it felt against her. She slid her hand down his back and under his t-shirt. Fingers spread; she rubbed the hot skin of the small of his back and was rewarded with Bretten’s hands sliding the back of her shirt upward.

  The sensation sent shockwaves through her body and she wanted him right then and there in the boxing ring.

  A slamming door brought them out of the embrace. “I’m sorry, Bretten. I shouldn’t have done that.” She pulled away.

  “No, it’s totally okay. I wanted it.”

  “Me too, that’s what scares me.” She began to back away. “Will you be okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine, just want a couple more minutes.”

  “Okay, we can talk more about your brother whenever you want.”

  “Sure,” he offered a sad smile.

  Brooke ducked through the ropes and faded into the darkness.

  Bretten stood in the red glow with his emotions tangled in a knotted mess.

  Across the alley Tristan slammed the back door of the house and stormed up to his room.

  Chapter Two

  It had been a frustrating stretch for Detective Mitch Westingham. It was six in the morning and he was driving north on Nellis, away from the triple homicide at the airport toward another case near Nellis Air Force Base. He took the long way and ran through his recent troubles in finding a link between Nick Maris and Raydell Richardson, the two young men murdered in the desert to the south.

  He’d of course checked every damn financial record he could. Neither man had a lot. Raydell made decent money as a construction worker, but seemed to deliver some of each paycheck to the casinos. Not so much to cause serious alarm, but Westingham asked his friends if he’d had any money trouble or borrowed from anybody. None of them thought so.

  Westingham also showed them photos of Nick Maris, hoping maybe one of them had seen Maris and Richardson together. Again, nothing.

  He showed Richardson’s photo to the guys at Maris’ old gym and his co-workers at the club. None of them knew Raydell and none of them had ever seen Nick and Raydell together or heard Nick mention his name.

  As he drove and thought, Westingham glanced out the window. Parts of Nellis seemed run down, like everybody thought it would be best just to forget about it. Other parts hosted modern strip malls with nice stores. With the cases piling up, including the recent triple homicide, and no connections between Maris and Richardson, Westingham feared he might have to forget about finding both men’s killers.

  He’d held onto the case longer than he probably should have and his interest was reignited when he saw Richardson’s murder, but now it appeared to be a fruitless effort, all too often they were.

  He needed a break that would make it all fall into place. Of course that was what he often needed, and as he pulled off of North Nellis onto Judson Avenue he glanced in the mirror and shook his head. “Sometimes they get away,” he said in a half-hearted Bogart voice.

  Chapter Three

  McCarran International Airport, named for Senator Pat McCarran, a man w
ho advocated for air travel back in the 1940s, presents an odd dichotomy. New arrivals and departing tourists cross paths so physically close to one another, yet their perspectives and attitudes are oceans apart.

  One group’s collective imaginations dance with possibilities, their faces painted with excitement and anticipation as they dream of hitting it big, while the others have been hardened by the city’s harsh reality. Their possibilities have sunk to near zero. Once they slip their last pocketful of quarters into one of the thirteen hundred hungry slot machines that call the airport home, and longingly watch two of the three seven’s stop on their line, the possibilities cease altogether. It is back to their real life, back to their frustrating jobs, their big mortgages, and their monotonous existence.

  Bear ambled through this pathetic crowd with an air of righteous pity. They could never understand the city like him. They were kids in an adult world. He felt bad for them, but suspected they didn’t feel bad for themselves. It was the life they had chosen.

  He was tired because he left Marshall’s just seven hours earlier, a little after midnight. He was celebrating a hell of a week. The Celtics and Mavs both covered easy. He won a couple more bets, paid off Mr. Smith, and treated himself to a nice steak dinner. And to top it off, he made a quick trip to San Jose where another one of his up-and-coming fighters kicked some ass.

  All this success was great, but as Bear told Marshall last night, it made him too busy. Yet here he was heading through the gate at McCarran off to hopefully sign a couple more guys.

  He squished into his seat on the Southwest airlines flight bound for Oklahoma City. He nonchalantly perused his fellow passengers knowing that none of them had as good of week as him. They were on their way home and he was on his way to improving upon his good fortune. He also noted that none of the ladies were dressed in anything remotely revealing. He silently cursed the airline for their past decisions to not let women who were too scantily clad fly with them.

  He pulled out a newspaper and thought about his buddy, Marshall. He’d told him last night things were going great, but he’d rather just hit the damn lottery. Marshall thought Bear was living an exciting life, bouncing all over the country and involved in a tough sport. But deep down Bear knew that wasn’t what kept him going. It was the money. The opportunity was there and he wanted a fucking truckload of money so he wouldn’t have to deal with all the shit he had to deal with.

  The flight lifted past the pyramid-shaped Luxor Hotel and Casino and climbed out over the Nevada Desert, the very same desert that played host to Eck and Dean on more than a couple of occasions. Right now, the two weren’t fortunate enough to be heading out of Las Vegas, Mr. Smith needed them to pay someone a visit.

  Chapter Four

  Harold Winstatt sat behind his desk in his small, smartly decorated office knowing he should concentrate on his work.

  Instead, he was on the phone with his old college roommate, Jerry Hill. The two remained friends through the years, and Harold felt like Jerry was the only person willing to listen. “You know Jerry, four years ago, during my first week here, one evening Sherry and Amanda showed up with Chinese food and spent two hours making my office livable. God let’s see, Amanda was only eleven years old. I know you remember that I’m not much of the interior decorator.”

  “That’s the truth Harold,” Jerry said. He knew Harold hated being called Harry. He once told Jerry that he made everyone start calling him Harold in the fourth grade. “I remember that sickening orange couch you bought for the apartment, ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Harold listened and looked around his cozy office until his eyes settled on his favorite picture of his wife and daughter. “Jerry I don’t know when I’m going to see Sherry and Amanda again. It’s been two months since they left. Our little four bedroom house seems huge. I used to love Henderson, but now I hate driving home.”

  “Have you talked to them recently? Have you asked her to come back?”

  “I’ve mentioned it, but apparently everything is going great at her mom and dad’s. Her mother never did like me so she is probably doing everything she can to keep them there. If you ask me the old lady is smothering, and besides it is too damn hot in Phoenix.”

  “So I take it that means the response wasn’t what you wanted to hear?”

  “Nope, Amanda has adjusted to her new school. She even made the soccer team. I used to love watching her play soccer. Now with each passing day it seems I’m closer to being permanently alone. I can’t stand the silence and I haven’t been out to Lake Mead since Sherry and Amanda left. It’s been real hard on me, almost unbearable.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that buddy. I don’t really know what to say except hang in there. Things always end up working out one way or another.”

  Harold could sense his friend was tired of hearing his sob story. Usually he went on to tell the rest, but decided against it. “So how’s your job? Family?”

  The men talked about Jerry’s much more stable life for a few minutes and then his old friend had to head to a meeting. Harold hung up the phone, closed his eyes, and pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He let out a long breath and then opened his eyes.

  He hoped his work would magically disappear while they were closed. No such luck. He shuffled through the stack of papers and tried to get at them, but all he could think about was the abruptness of his crash. He was unable to tell the rest of his story to Jerry, but nothing stopped his thoughts, and he went through his recent fiasco of a life in detail.

  Just a year ago everything was fine. He just received a raise, as did a few of his co-workers, and they decided to have a barbeque to celebrate their good fortune. Eventually the men ended up around the table playing Texas Hold ‘em. Harold did not know how to play poker, but he caught on quick and left the friendly game as the night’s big winner with nineteen dollars.

  He couldn’t get Texas Hold ‘em out of his head. He researched it, learned the finer points, and soon was staying up late and playing online. He won some and lost some, but the money was secondary to the thrill of competing. Then he entered into the office’s March Madness basketball pool and incredibly picked three of the final four teams. Before the championship game he knew he’d pocketed two hundred and fifty dollars. Not a bad haul just for picking basketball games.

  Once again his prowess for gambling with his office buddies led to more serious wagers, first more basketball, then a little baseball, football, and finally boxing. He won and lost and Sherry became worried. Betting had taken over his life. And Harold kept most of his bigger bets away from his wife. Before long he thought nothing of dropping one thousand or even two thousand dollars on a sporting event.

  Then that horrible weekend happened. It started on a Thursday and lasted until Sunday. Harold was already thirteen hundred dollars in the hole. Then nothing went right. He was so close on the first three games, a missed field goal, a late touchdown, and a team winning by six when the spread was seven, inches separated him from success. He had a thousand dollars on each game and considered quitting while down a little over four thousand. But kept at it the next day, confident he’d bounce back. He didn’t. Four more losses ripped him apart to the tune of another four thousand. Now he was in serious trouble. He had the money, but had already sold some stocks in order to place the bets. He feared that chunk of change was gone forever...unless he won it all back.

  He knew in his bones the hapless Raiders would be unable to stay within seven and a half points of the Chargers and plunked down a nauseating eight thousand on the Chargers to cover the spread. Two fumbles and an interception led to a shocking half time score. The Raiders were up 17-7.

  His family was shopping, oblivious to Harold’s nightmare. He prayed for a comeback, and was answered. The Chargers scored two quick touchdowns to take a four point lead into the fourth quarter. The Raiders kicked a field goal, 21-20. All he needed was one more touchdown by the Chargers. The eight points would be just enough to save his life. The Ch
argers marched down the field. With only one minute and eleven seconds left they faced a third and goal at the nine yard line. Harold begged, “Please, please, please don’t play it safe, go for the touchdown.”

  He knew a field goal would essentially mean doom. The Chargers played it safe and ran the ball up the middle, but their star running back broke through the line, dodged two tacklers and dove into the end zone. They made the extra point to take a 28-20 lead with only fifty-eight seconds remaining.

  Harold was exhausted. He collapsed on his couch and watched the Chargers kick off to the Raiders. The return man spun out of one tackle and broke another. Harold watched in horror as the disgusting man raced up the sideline. The kicker finally pushed him out of bounds. Forty-five seconds remained and the Raiders needed to go only thirty yards to crush Harold.

  Now he prayed for the Chargers defense, but this time received no answer. On the last play of the game the Raiders scored a touchdown. They went for two points in hopes of forcing overtime, and missed. The awful reality set in. He’d somehow managed to lose seventeen thousand dollars in four days!

  He couldn’t come clean with Sherry. She’d never understand that he was actually good at picking games. It was just one atrocious weekend. He knew if he bet a little smarter, designed a stringent system, he could recoup his losses, and besides life had to go on. Amanda’s orthodontist was not cheap, he couldn’t cancel the family trip over Christmas vacation, and only a month before the weekend massacre Harold surprised Sherry with a new SUV for her birthday. She loved it, but it came at a steep price and was certainly not cheap to maintain. He made good money, but had created a lifestyle that stretched it to its limit.

  Harold worked relentlessly to come up with an effective betting system. He read books, considered strategies, and focused on clawing himself out of the hole. He even returned to the online poker games. His debt dropped to fourteen thousand, then rose to eighteen, settled at sixteen for a while, and then reached its original number. Obviously he needed more money if he planned to continue living his double life of a middle-aged hard working family man and an avid gambler.