Reckless: A Bad Boy MMA Fighter Romance (Warrior Zone Fighters Book 3)

by Tia Lewis

  Opening the door, I walked into the bright, yet spacious living room area, throwing my purse on the table in the foyer as I stepped out of the high heels that were killing my feet. I wasn’t much for wearing heels, yet I had hoped it would make me appear more official to the fighter today. That was my second strike out. I fell into the overstuffed chair that faced the windows and sighed, rubbing my head. Paul Watts was not just a heartthrob that I enjoyed ogling when I had the chance. He was going to be my main attraction in the charity event I was putting together. It had been my idea, after going and seeing the exhibition match a few months ago with some friends. The excitement, the sights, and sounds, it was everything. While the idea of two guys beating up each other might not sound like a great charitable idea, I was looking to capitalize on the crowd that the exhibition match brought on. Plus, my slogan, fight out cancer, was a perfect compliment. It was going to be a different idea, a unique idea that would be far different than the dinners and galas that the foundation usually put on.

  There was one problem, however, that arose when I tried to snag at least one of the fighters from the local MMA gym. Two of them had turned me down gently, stating that they had some personal business to attend to. I couldn’t fault the fact that one was getting married today and the other would be shortly. The other, Benji Lomns, was currently training for some big match and couldn’t devote the time. That only left Paul Watts, who clearly wouldn’t give me the time of day to even discuss it.

  I leaned back in the chair, resting my hands on my stomach as I looked up at the white coffered ceiling above my head. I hadn’t really expected him to jump at the chance. Most people didn’t. But they were at least willing to hear me out before they turned me down. My cell phone rang, and I pushed out of the chair to fish it out of my purse, biting my lip when I saw who it was. “Hello?”

  “Sarah,” my father’s voice sounded from the other end. “So? Did you get him?”

  I sighed inwardly, wishing I hadn’t told him I was going to ask today. “No father, I didn’t.”

  “That’s a shame,” he answered, the sound of the wind whistling in the background. “Well don’t give up. Gildens never back down from a challenge.”

  He didn’t understand what kind of challenge I was facing. “Of course. I’m not going to.” I couldn’t. The invitations were due to be finalized next week. If I couldn’t get a high-profile fighter, then there was nothing to promote and no reason for anyone to come. The fighters over at the Warrior Zone had proven to be a good draw for crowds, and without advertising a familiar name, I would be sunk. Besides, there was another reason I wanted to snag a good fighter. My brother had started taking up MMA lessons nearly a year ago and for some reason, he wanted to show off his talents in the cage.

  “That’s my girl,” he said. “I got to go. Your mother and I are flying to the Hamptons for a get-together. We should be back by tomorrow.”

  “Safe travels,” I said cheerfully before he ended the call. Even though he didn’t sound disappointed, I hated to disappoint him. All of the Gilden children were overachievers, myself included. With such a successful father, we had to be. Not that our parents were pushy by any means. It just came naturally. But Jarred was the worst, especially with this MMA fighting deal. When I had come up with the idea, he had made a bet with me that he could win the match. If he didn’t, he was going to donate a great chunk of money to the charity. It was a win-win for me. I just had to find an opponent that could guarantee a win and he wasn’t willing to even consider it.

  I walked into the kitchen and over to the fridge, opening the door with a frown. I had been working so hard on attempting to get this event off the ground that I had forgone any type of grocery shopping. I literally didn’t even have a bottle of wine in there. What a sad state of affairs. Shutting the door, I moved toward the steps, eager to get out of this confining dress. Then, I would go get something to eat.

  Thirty Minutes Later…

  I picked up the tray of sushi from the cooler, sniffing at it to ensure that it still smelled okay. I looked ridiculous, but the last thing I wanted was some type of food poisoning. It smelled okay, so I added it to my mishmash of items in my basket, hating the fact that I had come to the market on an empty stomach. So far I had decided to make brownies, cold cut sandwiches, a frozen pizza, and now sushi. Lord knows what else I was going to pick up before I got out of here. At least I had my bottle, or two, of wine.

  Turning around, I bumped into someone with my basket, rattling my bottles of wine in the process. “I am so sorry,” I started, looking up with a small smile before my mouth dropped open.

  “Oh hell,” Paul Watts breathed, his grin sliding off his handsome face as he stared down at me. Boy, he was really tall this close up, his nostrils flaring in anger. “Are you following me everywhere?”

  “I-I wasn’t following you,” I forced out, holding up the basket between us. “I eat as well.”

  He arched a brow. “You really expect me to believe that.”

  I gave a little shrug, the action reminding me that I was in my lounging clothes, my hair pulled up in a ponytail and not a stitch of makeup on. Great. Not the way I wanted to make an impression. “It’s the truth.”

  He ran a hand through his dark hair, causing it to stand up on its end and I looked down, peering into his basket. A few frozen pizzas and a six pack of beer. He was having the same kind of night I was. “Party for one?” I joked, looking back up at him.

  Paul’s gaze narrowed and he took a step back. “Just leave me the hell alone.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but he was already stalking the other way, tension evident in his shoulders. Nice, broad shoulders outlined in a nice, tight t-shirt that showed off his bulging arms. I wasn’t even going to mention his butt in those oh so sinfully sculpted jeans. Why did he have to look so darn good? Why did he have to be so stubborn? Turning away, I bit my lip. I had to find some reason to make him want to do the charity event other than out of the goodness of his heart.

  3

  Paul

  “No, no what the hell are you thinking? That is not fighting. That is let’s see what I hit with my flailing arms.”

  I stormed up the steps to the cage and walked inside, looking at the fighter on the other side. He was just some young kid thinking that he could waltz into the gym and somehow be magically transformed into a MMA fighter, but that was far from the truth. It took skill; it took dedication, it took time.

  The fighter spit out his mouthpiece into his hand, his eyes hard as he looked at me. “What? I did exactly what you said.”

  I exploded with laughter, causing the other fighter that had so graciously stepped into the cage with this clown to chuckle. “Are you fucking serious? You really think I told you to do that?”

  The kid looked away, not as brave as he had been earlier. I could see that he was embarrassed, probably pissed off that he was the laughingstock of the cage at the moment. But he needed this kind of treatment if he was going to be worth anything later on. “Get back to it, or you can grab your shit and get out of here.”

  The other fighter nodded, and I stalked out of the cage, walking down the stairs. My head was pounding, due to lack of sleep and the fact I hadn’t been sleeping really well the last few nights. What I wouldn’t give for a sandy beach and an endless cooler of ice cold beers. I needed a fucking break.

  The sound of fighting commenced behind me as I grabbed my water bottle and chugged the cool liquid, letting it wash down my parched throat. I needed a round or two in the cage myself to blow off some steam, feeling as if I were a caged animal about to break free. Some of it had to do with that chick who was following me around, showing up at every turn just as she had at the damn market last night. Any other man would be flattered, but not me. I didn’t like it. I was a loner now, one that if it weren't for this gym, would probably be holed up in my apartment, away from everyone else in the world.

  But there was another reason I was pissed off, and it had to do with a t
ext I got just an hour before this joker showed up.

  Throwing my bottle down on the floor, I turned back to the action, watching with a critical eye. There had been a time that I was on the other side of that cage, someone watching my every move. It seemed like such a fucking long time ago that I was that young and full of piss, thinking I was going to be the champion of the MMA circuit. I got there, once, and it was the damn best feeling in the world but what comes up must come down, and I had come down hard. The problem with the sport that I fucking loved is that there was always someone there to take your place, some young kid twice as fast and able to take the punches and kicks without flinching. All fighters went through it. This wasn’t some team sport where you could rely on your teammates to get you through. It was you and you only and when you went down, well so did your career. I had worked damn hard to be in that spotlight for just a moment in my life, damn hard and had nothing but a dusty old belt to show for it.

  The kid took the other fighter down and yelled out, bristling my nerves as I walked back to the stairs. Damn. I was going to have to show this kid a thing or two about humility. What was wrong with people these days?

  Hours Later…

  I shouldered my bag as I walked up to the stairs, ignoring the trash that had gathered in the stairwell. At one time, this side of town was full of families looking to make a life for themselves, kids running in the streets well past dark, but now you couldn’t walk up the damn stairs without stepping on a beer bottle or other trash that I would rather not even say was there. The sound of police sirens was a constant and more than once during the day the sound of gunshots filled the air. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but it was going downhill fast.

  Pushing open the door to the third floor, I adjusted the groceries in my hand as I walked the threadbare carpet to the fourth door on the right, beating on the door with my fist.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me ma, open the damn door.”

  I heard the rapid succession of the locks being thrown before the door opened just a crack, her bloodshot eye peeping out before she opened it the rest of the way. “Paulie, I’m so glad to see you.”

  She stepped out of my way so I could walk into the apartment, not stopping until I had reached the counter so I could put the bags down, my hands burning from the cut of the plastic. “I brought food and Matt’s meds.”

  “And?” she asked as I started removing the items and placing them on the counter. “Did you bring anything for me?”

  I sighed. “Food ma. I brought you food.”

  “That’s no fun,” she said with a little laugh. I rolled my eyes and continued with my task, knowing exactly what she meant. My ma had expensive tastes and she fully expected me to do the same for her. I couldn’t. Hell, I wasn’t going to. She had gotten herself into that mess, messing around with some rich dude who had a wife and kids. Ma used to be a looker back the day, though the years had taken a toll on her. No longer was she the striking blonde in the pictures she kept in her bedroom, her hair dull and her eyes lifeless except some days, like today. I imagined she had one of those mood swing issues, but she took care of Matt and lived off the money she was given to keep quiet whoever my fucker of a father was. I never asked and she never volunteered the information.

  Ma helped me put the rest of the groceries away before grabbing two cans of soda from the fridge, passing one over to me. “How’s Matt?”

  She shrugged, running her finger around the rim of her can. “About the same. Pain comes and goes, but he was able to finish his school work this week. Maybe he can go to school next week.”

  I sighed and rubbed my hand over my face. My brother was fourteen years younger than me and ten times smarter. He could be anything in life, a lawyer, a doctor, but there was one thing holding him back, and it was a doozy. “He’s in his room?”

  She nodded, and I grabbed my can, taking it down the hall to the bedroom at the end. The door was open, and for a moment I watched my brother as he listened to those expensive ass headphones I got him for his birthday, his gaze watching the world pass by outside his window. He looked like a normal kid, but we all knew differently. Matt had CNS Lymphoma, diagnosed just six months ago when he found a lump under his arm during a sports physical. I still remember the day Ma called me to say that my brother had cancer and what the treatment was to keep him alive and on this earth. The treatments were expensive, keeping the cancer at bay so that Matt could lead a semi-normal life and his prognosis was good for the future if he survived the next year or two that was. There had been multiple rounds of CT scans and MRIs to ensure that there was no spread and we had gotten extremely lucky so far.

  I rapped on the door as I walked in, watching as he turned and gave me a grin, removing his headphones. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I said. “How are you feeling?”

  He laid the headphones on the bed, killing the music. “I’m good, probably gonna go back to school next week.”

  “That’s good, real good. You taking your treatments?”

  “Like a champ,” he grinned, flexing his muscles. “Soon, I’ll be training with you in that gym of yours.”

  I grinned, leaning up against the doorframe. “Yeah, that’ll be good, man, real good. I’m keeping your gloves broken in for you.”

  My brother balled up his fists and punched a few times in the air. “I’ll be better than you Paulie. I might even beat you at your own game.”

  I chuckled, glad that he was in high spirits today. Cancer fucking sucked for anyone, but for a kid, it sucked big time. Because he was on treatment right now, he was unable to play in any kind of sport and Ma kept him cooped up like he was some type of freak. There had been a time he had asked to move in with me, but I knew he was better here, with ma. It was hard to see him like this. Despite our age difference, we were close. “Your meds are in the kitchen. Don’t forget to take them.”

  Matt rolled his eyes. “I won’t. Geez, Paulie, I’m not five anymore.”

  I reached over and ruffled his hair. No, he wasn’t five anymore, but I still thought of him as the snot-nosed kid who followed his older brother around incessantly after pop died. I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. “I know man. I’ll see you later, okay? I love ya.”

  “Love ya, too.”

  I walked out of the bedroom and found Ma sitting on the worn couch, the drink still in her hands and tears streaming down her cheeks. See? Mood swings. “The treatments,” she said softly as I walked in. “They’re expensive Paul. Real expensive and the bills, they ain’t stopping.”

  “I know,” I sighed, cracking my knuckles. I wanted to tell her to call the sperm donor and tell him to pony up the funds. He had been a willing partner at some time. But instead he had tucked us away like we were some dirty little secret. Fuck him. I didn’t need his help. I could support this family on my own.

  “I’m doing the best I can ma. I told you to send them to me instead and I would take care of them.”

  She looked up, her eyes filled with worry. “I can’t lose him.”

  I shook my head. “We ain’t gonna lose him.” I didn’t want to think about it. “I’ll get the money, don’t worry.” I didn’t know how or where, but I was going to get the money.

  4

  Sarah

  I really shouldn’t be doing this. The sound of a police siren wailed in the distance, and I shivered, knowing at any moment someone was going to see me and I would be thrown into jail. I had never been in jail, never been close to one, and definitely did not want to see the look on my parents’ faces when they had to bail me out. It would ruin them. Sarah, the good one, now in the slammer. I could see the headlines now.

  Shaking out of my thoughts, I worked on the lock with the tools I had been given long ago when my brother and I thought it would be cool to learn how to pick locks. It was a stupid phase, and for weeks we went around the house, attempting to open all the locks with these stupid tools. We had never been successful, and I hadn’t thought about them
until today when an idea struck. Okay, well it was a stupid idea, I get that. But I needed something to get Paul Watts to agree to help me out and honestly, I wasn’t too keen on breaking into his apartment. I didn’t exactly know what I was going to find to help me here either, but it was better than what I had right now. I was running out of time, and if I didn’t get him to agree in the next two days, I was sunk. I couldn’t let the charities down that were going to benefit from this money on top of the extra money that I was going to get from Jarred’s bet. I just couldn’t.

  Biting my lip, I inserted the pick again, praying that I would hear that click on the door that would make this worth my time and effort. My hands shook a little, and I ignored it, concentrating on that lock and afraid that if I blinked, I would miss something. My contacts felt like they were stuck to my eyeballs from the concentration of my sight on that darn lock and I wished I had worn my glasses. I was a bit self-conscious about my glasses, the rest of my family having perfect eyesight. Well, my glasses weren’t my only self-conscious part of me, but I had learned to live with the body I was given. That and I had learned to like, not love mind you, the personal trainer that attempted to whip me into shape every week. Bless his heart, he tried.

  The door opened so suddenly I didn’t have time to do anything else but fall back onto my butt, right into a puddle, the water seeping into my black jeans as I looked up at the person that was going to put me in jail tonight. With a wet butt.

  “Shit. Not you again. What the fuck are you doing?”