No Fear
Book 2 in the No Regrets Series
By: Heather Allen
No Fear
Copyright © 2014 by Heather Allen. All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: November 2014
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1503048928
ISBN-10: 1503048926
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
For my Mom
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Prologue
His fist slams into my jaw, spewing blood across the white mat. My eyes follow the red stain and time slows. My lips fall open and my eyes narrow to slits, trying to focus. The crowd beyond the metal moves—their movements methodical, hands pushed into the air, mouths gaping open—but no sound escapes. Something is wrong. Everything registers in my head, but I can’t move. My feet finally stagger forward, twisting each muscle as my stomach pulls taut in response. A few disoriented steps and my hands move, their forward motion not right, slowing. A few more movements and I’m falling, the red smear getting closer as my body slams into the mat, vibrations flowing into every muscle. Warm pressure from behind closes in, forcing my chest further into the floor. An arm encircles my neck and everything slows. I’m unable to react and panic courses through me. My hips and back buck to dispel my opponent, but it’s too late. The strain on my neck tightens. Black spots form in my vision and, for the first time, I consider letting the oxygen escape, letting the fight leave me, giving up. But there’s more at stake than just me. Other people, people who are important, will pay if I allow it. My hand rises with a last breath, coming down in a forced slap against the mat. The sound echoes, even as the man leaves my back. My limp body remains, broken and spent.
The referee announces Jesus Reyes as the winner, causing me to wince. I really have given everything up. I want to stay in this spot, disappear into the mat, and become nothing. A hand on my back reminds me, though, that it’s not an option. A second hand grasps my arm, encouraging me to stand. I follow his lead, numb to everything. My legs wobble as I gain my footing.
Jackson tightens his fingers on my arm, pulling me out of the cage. The toothpick in his mouth shifts and he leans in, encouraging, “Come on Grey, walk; it’s not the end of the world.”
I frown at his words, unable to form any of my own. But it is the end, as far as I’m concerned. The loss is one I did all I could do to prevent. Up to this point, I’ve done everything they’ve asked of me but Jesus Reyes. I shake my head remembering the practice matches at the gym, which seem like so long ago. I am able to defeat him, but I didn’t. I pussied out and let him win. I’m nothing now.
“Grey, come on buddy. We gotta get you looked at. How are you feeling?” Jackson’s tone seems worried. I glance over, trying to focus, but my mind won’t allow a single thing to stay.
I follow him through the crowd as hands reach out, occasionally touching my damp skin. Voices yell about autographs. I know I should stop and keep up appearances, but I’ve given up. I don’t want to face this anymore.
Jackson pushes my body forward and follows me. He speaks quietly. “Grey, don’t do this. I know that look; whatever you have to do, keep a hold of something and don’t give up.” For the first time, his actual words register. We’re crossing into the hall parallel to the arena. His words from the cage come back. “It’s not the end of the world.” Those are not words Jax would ever say to me. He would slam me up and down for not trying harder. He’d use every curse word in the book to harass me for being a pussy.
My feet stop as I turn to glare at him. He holds a rag up to my nose. Up until this point, I hadn’t noticed it has a steady stream of blood leaving it. As I swipe it from his hand, his eyes divert to the other end of the hall. I’m about to give him shit for not hassling me, but a voice calls out from the other end. It’s the voice that symbolizes the best and worst times in my life. It causes my heart rate to speed up with dread and anticipation all rolled together.
I follow Jackson’s gaze. Mollie is walking toward us, wearing a grey pencil skirt with a cream blouse, unbuttoned low enough to let you know she has power over everything you do. Her two-inch heels click on the tile floor as she closes the distance, and her red hair bounces with each step. Following close behind are two of Luciano’s henchmen. They hover, making sure she’s safe. That used to be my job. I wanted to keep her safe. Every cell of my being screams at me to turn the other way, but Jackson’s words flow into my head: don’t give up. And I realize that he must know. Somehow, he knows. I told every one of them not to let him in on it, but he knows. Somehow. And I’m pissed. I did everything I could to keep him out of this.
My eyes narrow as she approaches, and the anger grows. My arms cross in defiance as my mouth forms a tight line. Her voice is all business. “Greylan, that was quite the show. We weren’t quite sure you would honor the contract. It’s a good thing Jesus was able to remind you.” A small quake in her voice ends her statement. I hear it only because I know her so well. But the determined expression on her face says otherwise. My blood boils with the implication that I’d go back on the deal with her father. I wanted to win this one, to prove to at least myself that I’m still capable of winning, but he had other plans and forced the loss.
Jackson lunges forward, shocking me. My hands move faster than my brain can think, and I’m pulling him into my chest. He pushes forward again, but my grip tightens. I’m stronger than he is, but his rage over this thing is evident. His breathing heaves against me as he finally gives up. I look to Mollie, but a man in a black suit is in front, guarding her, his hand disappearing into his jacket at the waist.
I whisper into Jackson’s ear. “Buddy, it’s okay. Leave it alone. I won’t give up. I promise. I won’t give up.”
His body goes slack in my arms, and I move us to the holding room across the hall with ‘Pace’ in small letters fitted into the door. I have to remind myself more often to repeat this mantra in my head: no regrets, no regrets.
Chapter 1
Nirvana’s About a Girl plays throughout the room, waking me. I roll over with a smile because of Christina’s choice of song for her ring tone. I remember the day I was packing up the necessities I would need to m
ove to Vegas. She snagged my phone, stating that I needed a unique song that would always let me know she was calling. This one is definitely all Christina. As the song plays, my hand doesn’t move to get the phone. I’d rather not relive the events of last night so soon. Too many things go through my head these days. The last thing I need is a push from her. She is still in the dark about my contract with Luciano. I’d like to keep it that way.
The phone goes silent and Jackson pops into my head. He is heading back to Jersey today, but not before I can speak with him. I already know what he’ll tell me, but I need to find out if it was Mollie who told him about my contract with her father. I’m pretty sure it was. Once I verify that, I’ll deal with the damage that’s been done. There are only three people I need to protect from all of this; if he knows about my deal, it means he’s in deeper than I want him to be, and some hard decisions need to be made.
As the sun peeks over the horizon, I walk into the hotel where Jackson is staying, my keys in hand, tired from little sleep the night before. The building itself is old, maybe one of the very first on the strip, bricked on the outside. But the interior has been given a face lift. Sleek dark counters line one wall. A fountain of sorts flows over glass tiles on the adjacent wall.
Jackson walks out of the elevator, his suitcase trailing behind, as I walk into the lobby, which is fitted in oversized leather bench seats. His face is drawn in a tight line—I’m sure a result of the previous night. He is dressed in his usual black tank top over loose jeans and boots. He smiles halfheartedly when he spots me, his gold teeth flashing, before his expression turns sour again. And just like that I know what I have to do. Others have had to live with the effects of my bad decisions too many times. I won’t do that to my trainer. He was there when I had no one else. Now I have to cut him loose to keep him safe.
“Hey Jax. How’d you sleep?’
“What kind of fuckin’ question is that?” Abrupt words escape. This is more like Jackson. He scans the lobby before landing his gaze back on me in a glare.
“Dude, I think we need to talk.”
He eyes me for a moment longer before nodding. I walk across the lobby to the small restaurant, decorated in smooth metals. The entire wall behind the bar is covered in tiny glass pebbles. Half of the tables are loaded with couples or single people—many I’m sure who haven’t been to bed yet—probably gambling the night away, losing everything. Not quite that far off from where I am at the moment. I took a gamble and lost. Another bad choice I have to face. A hostess leads us to a small table in the back corner. Seconds later, a waitress approaches and asks for our drink order.
Jackson says, “I don’t suppose a whiskey would be a good idea right now.”
The blonde, her tits rising above a sequined tank top with a skimpy black skirt, smiles. “Sugar, I can get you whatever you want.” She winks, causing Jackson’s deep laugh to surface.
I realize this is going to be harder than I thought. He shakes his head, mumbling, “Just get me a water. I have a long flight with plenty of time to drown my sorrows.”
I order a water as well and tell her to give us a minute to decide on breakfast.
As she leaves, Jackson looks pointedly at me, removes the toothpick that never leaves his mouth, and states, “Pace, you better start explaining.”
My head hangs on hearing his words. Although I knew, I still held out hope that he was still in the dark.
“Who told you?” My tone is firm.
“Does it matter? I know, and all that matters is what we do from here. Actually, I’m pretty pissed that you let it go on this long without telling me. I coulda helped you decide what to do. Partnering with the mob is a shit deal. You never shoulda signed that contract.”
I shake my head, my mind made up. “No, Jax. It’s bad enough that you know about my crappy situation. I can’t let you be a part of it.”
His stare narrows. “What are you sayin’?”
“I gotta let you go. I can’t train with you anymore.” His expression changes. I know he’s trying to stay strong, but disappointment is evident, and I’m pissed I put it there.
“Fuck no, Grey, not when you’re ass deep in this shit. You need me now more than you ever did. I’m pretty fuckin’ sure you don’t have anybody else.”
The waitress walks up with the waters. She seems reluctant, but I nod to her to put them on the table. Her voice wavers, probably hearing Jackson’s last words. “Umm, are you boys ready?”
I know I won’t be having a last meal with Jackson, after all. He’s too unpredictable. Already I regret this conversation. I’ll have to leave soon.
I glance over at her. “We need a little bit more time. Come back in a few minutes.” Hurriedly I add, “Please.”
She leaves and my eyes move to meet Jackson’s. I just need to get this over with.
“Jax, I’ve made my decision. You are half the country away. I need a trainer here anyway. It won’t work.”
“Oh, hell no, you can’t do that, Pace. I can’t just step away and you know it.” His eyes are fierce and I have to look away. This is one of the more difficult things I’ve had to do lately, ranking right up there with cutting Meyer and Mollie out of my life. But in truth, it isn’t possible, unfortunately.
I stand up, wanting to do anything not to prolong this conversation.
“I’m done, Jackson. I know you think I need you, but I don’t. I can handle this on my own. I’ve been doing it for a while now. Go back to Jersey and find a fighter you can take all the way to the top.” I don’t wait for a response. My body turns and I force each step in the other direction. I know he won’t follow and he won’t seek me out. This is the last time I’ll see Jackson, unless I take it all back with an apology. Apologies don’t come easily these days.
Chapter 2
Rage over what I’ve become surfaces, urging me in the direction of the gym. I’ve halfheartedly adopted a local place called Paradise Fighting since making Vegas my home nearly nine months ago. The drive is long, giving me enough time to come down a little from what I had just done to Jackson. I’ve pretty much kept to myself every time I’ve come here and, after last night, I doubt I’ll even get an acknowledgement of my presence. I’m close to the bottom in the rankings, which translates into very little respect in a place like this.
I pull up to a stand-alone brick building. The stone out front is painted graffiti-style with tropical plants and birds. All the other surrounding buildings bear similar characteristics, making them fit together oddly. I climb out of the truck and head into the gym. It’s busy. Pairs of fighters are sparring in all corners of the wide space. My feet move to a lone bag along one of the walls. Unfortunately, the owner of the gym, Frank Gavis, steps in my path before I can start taking my anger out on the bag. Well, he is part owner—I suspect the brawn of the duo that is Gavis and Williams.
“So dude, I saw your match last night.” My shoulders move back and I glare, clenching my fists. This guy has already given me all kinds of shit for losing other matches. Usually I just blow him off. Today is not a good day for him to be messing with me. His hands clasp one another in front of his short, bulky frame. Every time he’s around, I’m reminded of a very muscular Mario from the Mario Brothers video game from way back when. His bushy mustache is all wrong. I want to laugh every time I see the guy. I won’t justify whatever snide remark he’s ready to make with a response.
Instead, I attempt to move around him. He slides with my movement, pissing me off even more.
“Dude, you don’t want to mess with me.” It comes out as a growl almost. I’m not in the mood for this shit.
He looks around, his eyes swinging back to mine. An amused smile lifts at his mouth. I raise my fist to dispel it, because he’s making my rage return.
“Think you might have the wrong impression, dude. I’m not lookin’ to get into it with you.” He leans in, stating in hushed tones, “I seen you train and then in the cage. Somethin’s not computin’.”
I frown, e
ager for him to get to the point.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong; when you first came, I thought you’d be just another wanna be waitin’ for someone to pick you up. Thought you’d be gone soon after. But dude, that’s not what I’m seein’ now. You show a lot of strategy, you know what it’s about. Last night, you knew; it was like you let that dude beat your ass. You gave it to him.”
I’m shocked by his accusation, but I guess at some point someone might have put it all together. It’s surprising that it was this tool who figured it out. He’s not the sharpest crayon in the box.
“Frank, right?”
He nods, crossing his arms with a smirk, as if he had just solved the world hunger problem and was waiting for my explanation.
I feign ignorance. “Dude, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I tried last night but Reyes got the best of me.” Before he can disagree and prove his point any further, I skirt around him to the bag. It’s calling my name right now, wanting to get the worst fucking beating it’s ever had. I don’t look back and, lucky for him, he doesn’t follow.
My muscles chord with each hit, the adrenaline running wildly as I picture Mollie last night as professional and curt as she could be. Every time she comes near, I want to shake her and ask, “Why?” Why would she do such a shitty thing? I thought I loved her. I wanted to spend time with only her, no one else. She had fooled me in the worst way, making me believe that she was being attacked that night, over five years ago. I shake my head for the hundredth time as the scene from the alley surfaces. It was all a set-up. I killed a man so that they could gain control over my life. Who fucking does that? My hands move in succession with sheer force. The bag rocks with each hit, almost knocking into the wall behind as sweat breaks out over my back.
No Fear Page 1
