by HJ Bellus
JAG
Diablo Throne MMA
Book two
By H.J. Bellus
JAG
Copyright © 2018 by H.J. Bellus.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: April 2018
Crave Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
http://www.cravepublishing.net/
Formatting: Crave Publishing, LLC
ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-351-1
ISBN-10: 1-64034-351-2
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
To all the fighters who believe in family, Johnny Cash, and SpongeBob.
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
Epilogue
GET (5) FREE READS EVERY FRIDAY!
Prologue
8 Years Old
My ears hurt as Mom’s and Dad’s screams echo around the tiny apartment. My tummy rumbles and aches in the hollow. I look down the hallway both ways before darting to the kitchen. Everything is empty. The light in the fridge dims, but I can make out a case of Dad’s favorite beer. A silver wrapper on the counter gets my attention. I reach for it to see a solo Pop-Tart in it. I grab it and sprint back to my room.
I get cozy in the back of my closet before taking the food out of the package. It’s gone before I realize, and my tummy still aches and groans for more. I pick the crumbs off the floor and on my knees until they all disappear.
Booms. Cracks. Screams. I cover my ears, all thoughts of being hungry long forgotten. I swear I can smell her blood from my hiding spot. It goes on forever until there’s only silence lingering around us. I don’t move. I never do. I close my eyes and pray in my head that he would die. I want him gone forever. Mom isn’t much better, but she never hurts me with her balled-up fists, only her open hands.
“José! Get the hell out here, boy.” Feet stomp down the hall.
My heart thunders with each beat. My lips tremble and chin quivers as I rapidly blink, praying so hard he won’t find me. The cracking of the door crashing into the wall startles me. I press my back further into the wall, wishing I’d magically fade away. It never works.
“You dumb little fucker!” The door to the closet flies open.
A red-faced monster with bulging veins in his neck stares back at me for a tick before hoisting me up to him by the collar of my shirt. I hate his smell. Evil, alcohol, and my worst nightmare; it’s the scent that makes me sick every single time.
“I’m so goddamn tired of you and your momma ruining everything. All I ever do is fucking work and come home to this shit hole.” He shakes me. “I’m so fucking tired of it, José.”
I know better than to talk or try to smooth anything over, so I take every single thing the devil has to hand over. I’m flying through the air. When my back hits the hardwood floor, all the air leaves my body as my spine rattles my teeth. It’s just the beginning. A fist full of knuckles connects to my ribs, then my chest, and finally my collarbone. He stumbles on his feet, swaying back and forth. The alcohol I hate so much is about to become my savior. My dad crumbles to the floor. His head bounces off the wood, and he’s passed out for the night.
I scramble to my feet and run. I don’t bother to check on my mom since she’ll claim it was all my fault in the morning. It’s still daylight out. God, I can’t wait for school to start again. At least then I’ll have eight safe hours away from my home. I race down the street until my legs wobble. I slow down but don’t stop. I’ll never be able to get far enough away.
“Hey there.” A large hand lands on top of my shoulder, making me wince. “Where you going in such a hurry?”
I look up and then cower back when the giant comes into view.
“Papí.” A new voice chimes in.
I look to the side to see a little girl holding the giant’s other hand. She’s really pretty with curls and a yellow dress.
“You okay, son?” The man kneels down in front of me.
My eyes go wide, and I nod my head.
“Are you sure?” He gazes at my neck.
I look down to see my shirt collar tugged to the side and a bruise already forming. I nod faster, suddenly scared out of my little head.
The kind eyes of the man soothe me even though he’s two times the size of my dad. I should be scared, but there’s something special about him.
“My daughter, Layla, and I are going for dinner. Would you like to join us?”
I shake my head.
“What’s your name, son?”
I shake my head again.
He turns to his daughter and talks to her in Spanish. I know enough to pick up on the gist of it.
“Go upstairs and get tamales from Abuela.”
The little girl nods and races off with her yellow skirt flowing in the breeze. She’s so careless like the other kids at school. I’ve never known what that feels like. The man eases himself down on the sidewalk. His large sneakers rest on the pavement. He waves his hand for me to sit down. So I do.
“My name is Dexter, little man. Lots of people call me Boss.” He gives me a downward sideways glance. “I fight for a living. The good kind of fighting.”
I scoot away from him, panicked all of a sudden.
“I use my fist in a good way. It’s all disciplined.”
I nod and continue to listen to the man talk about what he does for a living. Before long, the little girl comes back with a Ziploc bag of tamales. Boss doesn’t hesitate pulling open the bag and handing me one. I have it unwrapped and eaten before he starts on his. He hands me another, along with a cold Coca-Cola. The three of us sit and eat until the sun goes down. And I never went back home that night. Before he took me to a safe place and promised my dad would go to jail, I found a piece of paper to write a note to the Boss.
Boss,
Thank you for the fode. Thank you for talkin to me. I will only fight for good to.
Jag
PS- I like my nu name.
***
13 Years Old
I know what being scared feels like. I’ve been there time after time, and what I’m experiencing now is so much worse. I’ve let down everyone who believes in me, and that’s more painful than anything my parents inflicted. Boss got me out of there and into a good foster home, and now it’s going to all go away.
My head bounces on the wall behind me once, twice, and three times. I let my eyes flutter shut and remember the day Boss told me I’d jab my way back to life and be someone. It was the same day he fed me tamales and t
ook pity on a boy he didn’t even know from a stranger on the street. He nicknamed me Jab like a punch that night, but I couldn’t spell it right and signed the note Jag, and it’s stuck ever since.
The door to the suffocating interrogation room bursts open, and Boss steps in. My heart sinks when I see his scrunched eyebrows and worry lines across his forehead. He clenches his fists, and his neck tightens in strain.
“I’m sorry, Boss. I’m so sorry.”
Boss places his palms on the top of the green metal table in front of me, getting in my face. “Don’t be telling me sorry, boy. You best better be fixing to pull your head out of your ass.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jag, I love you like a son, and this is your last chance. Hope your stunt of robbing a convenience store with a group of assholes was worth it. One more chance when you get out of juvie. Show up at the gym the minute you get out.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be there.” I stand up from the chair and without thinking wrap my arms around his neck. Boss doesn’t hesitate before he wraps me up in a hug. Thought my life changed the day he saved me, but I was so very wrong. This is the moment.
Chapter 1
Jag
This dive bar must be the place where we all go to shed our demons. Wasn’t too long ago I sat here with Layla nursing her hurt while stifling my own. I snort as I take a seat. Not too long ago, hell, it’s been three and a half years. Life was great the way it was going until it wasn’t.
“What can I get ya?”
I look up to a familiar face and find myself attempting a grin.
“Sunni? You work here?”
“No, just thought I’d play dress up and sneak behind the bar.”
I shake my head at her dry sense of humor. “Knew you were a wild cat behind your waitress uniform.”
“Jackass.” She tosses a cocktail napkin toward me. It flutters until it lands on the worn bar top. “What’s your poison?”
“Tequila. The whole bottle.”
“Let’s start off with a couple of shots.” She winks at me and is off.
“Top shelf,” I holler after her.
She waves me off and goes about her business. My spine relaxes after a day from hell in the gym. Seems I’ve been beating myself up more than anything else. Can’t connect a fucking upper hook to save my life.
I glance around, seeing no one I know, then focus my gaze behind the bar. Sunni, the sweet waitress from my favorite diner, sways as she pours my shots. Shit, I look forward to seeing her every night I don’t feel like cooking. She’s the perfect amount of everything. Doesn’t talk too much, doesn’t act star struck around me, and knows when I want to be left the hell alone. Doesn’t hurt she’s downright fucking gorgeous in a simple man’s type of way.
Caramel curls sway along her back, leading down to her sweet juicy ass. She’s not in her waitress uniform tonight. I get a sense this is more the real Sunni. She’s so the cut-off jean shorts, tight tank, and flip-flops type of girl. Her persona is carefree and outgoing, but the darkness that lingers in her brilliant blue eyes tells me otherwise. My dick stirs to life watching her work behind the bar.
I sneak my hand down the front of my gym pants and give it a good squeeze. I’ve never had this reaction to Sunni. It’s no secret I’m a manwhore to the core. But with her, it’s been more of a friend relationship, the listening ear that doesn’t judge when I need one. I bite down on my bottom lip, squeezing the base of my cock one more time before pulling my hand out. Jesus, this tequila better do the trick.
“Here you go, Rocky.” Sunni grins at me as she slides the shots over.
I shake my head. “I’ve told you I don’t box.”
“Potato, potahto.” She waves her hand. “It’s all the same in my book.”
I jerk my chin. “You have no idea.”
The first shot goes down with a hissing burn. I refuse to chase it with anything and slam the second. The magic liquid loosens up the taut knot in the middle of my spine.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask, slamming down the shot glass.
Sunni quirks up an eyebrow. “Longer than the diner.”
“Damn.” I slink back in the barstool and slide over the shot glasses.
“You know what that tells me, Rocky?” Sunni rests her elbows on the bar and leans in.
Her ample cleavage spills out the top of her tight tank, her soft curls float over her shoulders, and a coconut scent punches me straight in the gut. I blink a few times, confused as fuck as to why I’ve never seen Sunni in this light. I know it’s not the tequila, at least not yet.
“What?” I indulge her question.
“That you are not a drinker and don’t belong here.” She reaches out, covering my hand with hers.
“You might be right.”
“Need to talk?” She squeezes my hand.
“That shit makes it worse. I’ll take a couple more shots.”
Sunni cringes but recovers quickly. “The customer is always right.”
Her words are stifled, letting me know she wants to say so much more but doesn’t. Just like the first time I study her sweet, plump ass as she pours the shots. This time she glides a longneck bottle of beer over the bar with the shots.
I lean forward in question. Sunni picks up on it.
“After these two, you are going to sip on a beer.”
“Really?” I chuckle. “Not in the right frame of mind to sip on anything tonight, baby doll.”
Chapter 2
Sunni
He’s a goddamn mess. It’s taken me all night to process the fact. Jag, the man who is always confident, sure-fire cocky, and has a joke loaded on the tip of his tongue, is a downright sloppy-ass mess. He doesn’t know it, but I’ve looked up to him over the last six months when he frequents my section at the diner. I’ve idolized his confident and robust mannerism. He was bringing me back to life without even realizing it. Not to mention the fact he’s been the star of several of my fantasies.
“Time to go, Jag.” I tap his shoulder and toss the bleach-scented bar rag on the countertop.
He rolls his head to the side, his forehead pressed into his arm resting on the bar. “I don’t want to go home. I hate home. He’ll be there taunting me. I can smell him now.”
Jag opens his mouth once the last word is out and belches a loud resounding noise that vibrates off the walls of the empty bar. Who in the hell is he talking about? And more importantly, what has this vibrant man so destroyed? I’m no stranger to the game and know we all have demons we keep locked away deep in our closets. It seems Jag’s has come out to play.
“I’m locking up, Jag. You have to go.” I shake his shoulder again when his eyes flutter shut.
“I can’t go home.”
Jesus. I stomp my foot, frustrated beyond belief. I can’t leave him here. And I sure in the hell can’t move him. Jag isn’t a super tall guy, but the thing is every inch of him is solid muscle from his arms to his legs. He’s a good six inches taller than me. More than likely I wouldn’t be able to lift his damn arm up in the air.
I run my finger along the hem of his dark Henley, debating what to do. The side profile of his face rests in peace with all his features slack and relaxed. His olive tan shines brightly under the dim bar lights. Jag is not only a confident and kind man but is the prettiest man I’ve ever had the privilege to see.
My heart aches, missing the familiar smile he always has plastered on. It’s one of those full megawatt ones that has the power to achieve world peace. It brightened my days at the diner every single time he’d waltz in. I find my fingers brushing back a lock of hair covering his forehead. His sides are shaved with long, messy hair on the top. It’s usually styled or pulled back with a headband. Not tonight. His hair matches his mood.
“What’s going on, my friend?” I lean down and kiss his cheek.
It takes me just under five minutes to go outside and pull my car around the front and juggle locking the doors and flicking off the lights.
“
Let’s go, big guy.” I tug on his arm and am shocked when he raises his head and tries to stand.
His cellphone tumbles to the floor. It lights up when it bounces off the hardwood floor. Notifications run up and down the screen. The sight of them comforts me because they mean Jag has people behind him.
He sways into me then sways the other way. I tug on his arm with all my might to right him. Jag slams right back into my side, damn near taking me out. His phone in my hand begins singing out “Like a Virgin” by Madonna.
I hate betraying his privacy. I’m desperate and unable to move this beast of a man. I manage to slide the answer button and get the phone to my ear.
“Hello,” I pant into the phone while juggling Jag.
“The hell? Who is this? Where is Jag? Put his ugly ass on the phone now.”
“Waywa,” Jag chants.
“Um, this is Sunni. I have Jag, and he’s drunk. Really, really drunk.”
“Where are you?”
I give the woman on the other line the bar name and address. She ends the call before saying another word. I’m assuming she’s coming here to get him. I hate to admit it, but my heart squeezes in pain at the thought of him having a girlfriend. I shake the thought away as fast as it assaulted me.
“Ten more steps and you can sit down, Jag.” I squeeze his arm in mine, giving him silent encouragement. “You’ve got this.”
“I’s got a dick.” He stumbles out of my arms.
I dart around him and open my passenger side door, so all he has to do is flop down.
“Look.”
I turn to see Jag with his pants down, waving his dick at me.
“Jag,” I hiss. “Pull your pants up.”
“I love doing this. Makes me chuckle every single damn time.” He grabs the base of his long shaft and begins whirling it. Soon it’s flying in a continuous circling motion while Jag laughs his ass off.
