Underground Fighters Trilogy Boxed Set

by Aislinn Kearns

  He outlined his idea to her, and she looked at him skeptically. “We just walk in there, no weapons or anything? McCready has plenty of those, and more manpower.”

  “The only people he’d trust right now are Spider and Weston, and Spider is either dead or severely injured. I think we have a chance against McCready and Weston, particularly if we can disarm them.”

  Kat gave him a long look. “I guess we don’t have much of a choice.”

  “Right. Now we need to find a ride.”

  Ten minutes later they were on their way to the warehouse in a taxi driven by a yawning driver. When he’d pulled up to the hotel, he’d given Wyatt and Kat one look and almost sped away. It wasn’t until Wyatt paid up front—plus generous tip—that he agreed to take the two poorly-dressed people to the dodgy district on the other side of town.

  “Are you sure this is a good plan?” Kat whispered to him as they neared the warehouse.

  Wyatt studied her. No, he wasn’t sure. And if it was up to him, he’d leave Kat back at the hotel and go alone, keep her safe. She already meant so much to him in such a short time, and he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her.

  But she felt the same about her sister. Kat would never live with the guilt if Larissa died. Wyatt placed her feelings above his own, for now and forever.

  He wished they had time to talk before they walked into that warehouse tonight. There was every chance Wyatt wouldn’t walk out again, and he wanted Kat to know how he felt in case the worst happened. But the back seat of a taxi with a curious driver wasn’t the time for these kinds of conversations—the ones where he asked if there was a place for him in her life, after all this was over.

  He wanted that, more than anything. He’d been torn about what to do once his mission was finished. But now he knew—he wanted to start a life with Kat. Maybe even a family, if it came to that. When she’d said earlier she’d wanted him to come inside her, a switch had been flipped in him. The thought of him planting a child in her gave him a sense of peace and happiness he hadn’t had in a long time. And he hoped they’d get that chance after tonight.

  Unable to say all the words itching to tumble from him, Wyatt just smiled. “We can do this.”

  She managed a smile in return, and again Wyatt was struck by her courage. His heart squeezed. They’d both survive tonight. They had to.

  The driver disappeared as soon as they exited the car, leaving them alone in the empty lot in front of the familiar warehouse.

  “I’ve always hated this place,” Kat spat.

  Wyatt sent her a grin. “I have some good memories here.”

  Her face softened, and Wyatt leaned down to kiss her. He tried not to make it a goodbye kiss, unwilling to believe they wouldn’t make it out of this alive. But some of his worries and fear must have leeched through, because Kat gave him a quizzical look.

  “I’ll take McCready, you get the girls to safety, okay?” he said to distract her. “If Weston is there, stay out of his way as much as you can.”

  Again, the urge to protect her, keep her safe, welled up in him, but he had no choice but to let her in that warehouse even if his every instinct protested against it.

  “Let’s go.” He took her hand as they crossed the parking lot and opened the door cut from the corrugated iron that made up the walls of the warehouse.

  The second they stepped into the pitch black space, a deafening gunshot roared through the air. Wyatt dived left, Kat to the right, their hands ripping apart. A shot sounded again as Wyatt scrambled forward, his ears ringing from the sound.

  Another gunshot, and another. Wyatt kept scrambling forward as holes formed in the corrugated iron behind him, allowing moonlight to stream in. He spared a thought for Kat, hoping she wasn’t also the target of the gunfire. His plan was to distract McCready, and it worked sooner than he’d expected.

  His eyes were adjusting, allowing him to see a vague shape standing near the centre of the warehouse, where the cage was usually set up for the fights. Only this time there was no ring, no spectators. Just McCready in his usual immaculate suit.

  Wyatt braced himself for another burst of gunfire and changed direction. McCready let off a few more shots and Wyatt winced from the sound. But then a click echoed through the empty space. McCready was out of bullets.

  Wyatt didn’t stop moving, assuming the man had other weapons. He sprinted further away from the open door, into the darkness at the back of the warehouse, knowing it would help hide him.

  But no more gunshots came. Wyatt paused in his run, cocking his ear in McCready’s direction, but there was no sound of a cocking gun or a reloading pistol.

  “Was that it?” Wyatt sneered. “One gun?”

  McCready growled in the darkness. “Your cop friends came with a warrant and seized everything for evidence. All my files, all my weapons. They found all my stashes, all my backups. You’ve RUINED EVERYTHING,” McCready roared from the darkness.

  Wyatt grinned. Judge Connor had obviously wanted that evidence out of McCready’s hands as soon as possible. He didn’t know whether it would stay in police hands, either, or mysteriously disappear as a thank you, but it didn’t matter. McCready was finished.

  The lights flickered on overhead, and Wyatt winced at the sudden flood. He blinked, forcing his eyes to adjust. Weston was standing by the light switch. Ruthie and a woman who could only be Larissa were both tied up against the far wall, Kat crouched next to them with her hands on their restraints.

  Wyatt immediately turned his attention back to McCready so the man wouldn’t notice Kat freeing the hostages.

  “In that case, we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way,” he said. He slowly moved toward McCready, in case the man’s lack of weapons was a trick. But no new gun appeared.

  He stopped a few feet from McCready, where the edge of the cage would be, and held his hands up in front of his chest, ready. McCready sent him a savage smile.

  “I’d be happy to.” He peeled off his jacket and flung it to the dusty warehouse floor. Next, came the pristine white shirt, revealing a thin white tank top and his bulging arm muscles covered in tattoos. He was stripping away the trappings of wealth and respectability he’d clearly fought so hard for, revealing the brutal man he really was.

  Wyatt waited rather than attacking. His goal here was to delay, not to actually beat McCready. He strained his ears for the sound of sirens, a police car, anything, but nothing sounded beyond the warehouse walls.

  McCready rolled his shoulders, preparing like the fighter he was and tried so hard not to be. Wyatt readied himself, watching McCready carefully. The man was known for encouraging dirty tricks in the ring with his fighters, and Wyatt wouldn’t put it past him to do the same here.

  The first blow swung out of nowhere, and Wyatt ducked, driving his fist into McCready’s chest. But the man barely reacted, grunting before swinging his elbow back and catching Wyatt on the back of his head. Wyatt stumbled to his knees, coming down hard on the concrete. His head swum.

  Wyatt didn’t even have a second to recover before McCready had him in a headlock. Wyatt’s lungs burned, unable to suck in air. He was shocked at McCready’s skill. The man should be out of shape, out of practise. Instead, he was as quick and deadly as if he’d been stepping into the ring for years.

  He couldn’t allow McCready to drop him so quickly. His one job was to delay, and that wouldn’t happen if McCready killed him inside a minute. His vision blurred from lack of oxygen.

  Wyatt’s gaze found Kat and the sight of her gave him strength. He drove an elbow into McCready’s stomach. The man flinched but didn’t loosen his grip.

  Wyatt reached back with both hands and grasped McCready’s skull. Then he drove his thumbs directly into the man’s eye sockets.

  McCready yelled in pain and his arm around Wyatt’s throat loosened. Wyatt sucked in a deep breath and threw himself forward out of McCready’s reach. He blindly kicked back for good measure, connecting with McCready, but not sure where. />
  Movement caught his eye ahead of him. Wyatt froze for a moment. Weston was barrelling towards Kat, fury etched across his features.

  “Look out!” Wyatt called. It was the only warning he could give before McCready grasped him from behind and pulled him back into the fight.

  Kat glanced up from the knot on Ruthie’s hands as Wyatt called out in warning. Their eyes met. She was just in time to see McCready wrap a hand around Wyatt’s throat and drag him backwards. A warning died on her lips. It would do no good.

  Then, a shadow loomed over her. Kat had a second to register it was Weston, death in his gaze, before he picked her up with both hands and threw her as far as he could. She landed with a jarring thud and skidded across the filthy floor, a graze already stinging along her bare skin.

  Weston followed her, his long strides eating up the distance between them. “You killed Spider,” he growled. “You’re going to pay.”

  “He was trying to kill us!” Kat protested, levering herself to her feet. The protest fell on deaf ears.

  “You need to die for your betrayal.” He reached her and bent down. Fear pounded through her, making her mind freeze in panic. His large hand closed around her throat, cutting off her air. He lifted her until she was level with his face, her feet dangling.

  Kat would have screamed but no sound could come out. Her lungs burned.

  She kicked out, her foot connecting with Weston’s groin. He doubled over, dropping her, and Kat landed hard again. She’d be sore tomorrow. For now, though, she only had to get out of Weston’s reach. She scooted backwards, then twisted to get her feet under her.

  Weston had recovered quickly and was already advancing on her again. Kat’s heart pounded in her chest. She couldn’t escape him. But all she had to do was delay. As long as she made it out alive, she’d be okay.

  But the cops should have been here by now. What the fuck was taking them so long?

  Weston reached for her again. A small figure flew up from behind and wrapped herself around Weston’s back. It was Ruthie, he hands still bound with fabric, but she was using that to her advantage, pulling the rope against Weston’s throat.

  Kat scrambled to her feet and backed away, hoping Ruthie could take care of herself for a moment.

  Weston choked and shook himself, trying to throw her off, but Ruthie held on tight. Seconds later, Larissa appeared, like a smaller version of Kat. She’d put on weight since Kat had seen her last, which she was glad for. She looked healthier than ever, always having been a painfully thin teenager.

  Larissa kicked Weston in the knee as Ruthie strangled him. His knee buckled but he stayed upright. One of his hands gripped Ruthie’s hair behind him, while the other reached for Larissa.

  Larissa darted out of the way, but Weston used his grip on Ruthie’s hair to throw her over his shoulder. She yelled in pain, landing hard.

  Kat ducked into the storage room off the main warehouse space. Weston’s lumbering footsteps sounded behind her.

  She looked around quickly for a weapon, switching on the light. The familiar room was revealed as the light flickered on. This is where they kept the folding chairs and the cage when the fights were finished. She and the other girls had often had the duty of setting up and tidying the place before and after the fights.

  Weston’s footsteps were closer, so she grabbed the first thing at hand—a folding chair. She turned and swung it with all her might, catching Weston across the face. His face registered surprise for a moment before it shifted to anger. Kat didn’t wait for him to move again. She stepped back and swung the chair back the other way. The blow was weaker this time, coming from her left side, but it was still enough to daze him.

  Weston let out a yell as he stumbled to the side, swinging blindly. Cuts had opened on his face, and blood was trickling from the wounds.

  Kat backed away, holding the chair up like a shield. Her arms were starting to tire. What would it take to drop him? She knew he had to be used to hits to the head since bare-knuckle fighting was his profession, but this was ridiculous.

  Well, she’d simply have to hit him harder.

  She kept backing away, but she was running out of room. Finally, Weston stood next to the rows upon rows of folding chairs leaning against the wall. Kat raised the chair and took an almighty swing in Weston’s direction. He stretched out his hand to block the blow, but the momentum of her swing sent him tumbling into the rows of chairs with a bang.

  Twisted metal slid out from beneath him, sending him to the floor with a crash. Chairs fell on top of him, burying him under a pile of black metal.

  Weston wasn’t out cold, she could still see him squirming to get out from under the pile. She needed a way to keep him down.

  Ruthie and Larissa barrelled into the room. They were holding the fabric that had been used to bind their hands and feet. Kat grinned.

  Perfect.

  She took the fabric from them and turned back to the still struggling Weston. He’d managed to clear some of the chairs, but he was still trapped.

  “You girls sit on him, and I’ll tie him up.”

  Ruthie and Larissa hastily obeyed, scrambling over the chairs until they were seated on the ones pinning Weston. Kat hurriedly tied him up, straining to hold down his flailing arms and legs until he was finally subdued.

  “You girls watch him until the cops come,” she instructed Ruthie and Larissa.

  They glanced at each other, smiled, then nodded.

  Kat eyed them for a moment, then turned to go back to Wyatt, hoping he was still alive.

  Chapter 20

  Blood trickled from multiple cuts on Wyatt’s face, including a split lip. Bruises bloomed across his body. Exhaustion had crept in ten minutes ago, and the breath sawed in his chest.

  Wyatt wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. Where the fuck was Darrell?

  McCready didn’t look much better than Wyatt, equally battered and bruised. Wyatt had given him a savage beating, but the bastard was still standing. It gave Wyatt a measure of satisfaction, but it wasn’t enough.

  “You’re finished, McCready,” he spat. The two of them were circling each other, waiting for the next chance to strike.

  McCready snarled. “You’re the one who’ll be dead.”

  Wyatt lashed out with a combination of quick punches, landing one after another on McCready’s chest. McCready took a swing at him, the fist glancing off Wyatt’s already sensitive cheekbone.

  They both stepped back for a breather.

  “Where’d you fight?” Wyatt asked.

  “In the back streets. Then Golan found me, took me to his gym, where I learned to box properly. I nearly made it to the Olympics.” Pride puffed McCready’s chest.

  “Did they kick you off the team?” Wyatt guessed.

  McCready bared his teeth and Wyatt knew he’d struck a nerve.

  “They always had it out for me. The poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks. Those smug, rich bastards were afraid of me.”

  “Then you became one of them,” Wyatt panted, avoiding a kick from McCready by inches.

  “And I used them, took their money and their pride. I owned those men. Senators and CEOs alike. I controlled their every move.”

  “Did that make you feel like a big man?” Wyatt mocked.

  McCready growled. “They deserved what they got.”

  Wyatt didn’t point out the men McCready had blackmailed and destroyed were not the same ones who had kicked him off the Olympics team. McCready didn’t seem in the mood to listen.

  “Well—”

  Wyatt’s words were cut off by a brutal blow to the face he hadn’t seen coming. He staggered back. Unable to keep himself upright, he fell hard, his head cracking against the concrete.

  McCready was on him in an instant, pounding his fists into Wyatt’s face and neck. Wyatt held his forearms up to protect his head from blows, but McCready found the openings.

  Wyatt twisted, attempting to buck him off, but McCready was in a frenzy now.
r />   “Die, you bastard,” McCready hissed.

  The fists disappeared, and Wyatt blinked. What was happening? One eye had swollen over and blood was trickling into the other, blurring his vision. McCready reached into his trouser pocket, and Wyatt saw a glimpse of brass before he groaned. McCready’s favourite trick. He should have known.

  Wyatt knocked McCready’s hand away, but the blow to the head must have weakened him because it barely made a difference.

  McCready leaned forward. “You won’t make it out of here alive,” he hissed.

  He raised his fist, and Wyatt braced himself for the blow. It came seconds later, shattering his cheek in an explosion of pain.

  He cried out. McCready raised his fist again. Wyatt knew this is it. He should have told Kat how he felt outside the warehouse. He shouldn’t have been so afraid. Because now he’d die and she’d never know he’d fallen in love with her.

  Her voice called his name in the distance, panic laced through. He wanted to reassure her, but he couldn’t find the breath.

  His vision clouded.

  This was it. Kat filled his thoughts, and Wyatt was glad that if he leaving this earth, it was on a road paved with her.

  McCready’s fist descended. Wyatt’s vision blacked out before it connected, heightening his other senses.

  A blast roared. Wyatt waited for McCready’s fist to connect, but it didn’t. Instead, his weight toppled off Wyatt.

  Two more blasts sounded, closer this time. Gunshots? His hazy brain couldn’t be sure.

  All Wyatt knew was that he wasn’t dead.

  “Kat?” he whispered.

  “I’m here.” Her voice was a healing balm to his body and his soul. He couldn’t even feel the pain anymore, only numbness. Soft hands lifted his head and placed it in a lap—hers. She stroked her hand gently through his hair.

  “I love you,” he murmured, afraid he wouldn’t get another chance.

  “I love you,” she whispered back. Something splashed on his face. He forced his eyes open to see her hunched over him, tears spilling from her eyes.