Don’t You Dare: A Bad Boy MMA Fighter Romance

by Claire St. Rose

  Gloria listened to the painful conversation from her darkened corner as she put the story together in her head. The way he kept calling her “mama” and promising that life would be much better without the bastard was endearing and sincere, nothing like she had ever heard before. But he was smarter than Gloria had given him credit for. Although he protested and insisted, he stopped short at telling the woman on the other line exactly where he was or what he was doing to stay afloat. That would have been too much information, and after living with that for so long, he knew he could not trust his mom to keep his secret from his irate father.

  When Gloria discovered who he was, she did something she had never done before with one of her potential clients: she took pity on him. Instead of blackmailing him for money, she gave him a place to stay in the basement of her apartment. He paid her off by playing in the band at her regular shows and occasionally running errands for her when she needed a bit more information. His innocent good looks had made him invaluable to her.

  That night, the both of them had extra work to do. While Gloria did a bit of recon in search of new clients, Jordan was to collect her payments via envelopes. It was their typical Saturday night routine, and Jordan was pretty confident in how best to go about playing repo man to her spy games. He had done this plenty of times in the past, and Gloria had total faith in his ability to get the job done safely and efficiently.

  As soon as the two finished packing up with the rest of the backing band, Jordan took his place at the corner of the bar, sipping a beer his fake ID had bought him. Gloria, instead, made rounds. Her routine was to sit with a friendly customer or two, shooting the breeze about whatever was on their mind, while she scanned the room looking for marks.

  The first table she sat at was occupied by Prince and Carol. They were a rough and tumble kind of couple. Riding, drinking, and general misbehavior had aged them horribly. But they were kind and always eager to let Gloria join them at their empty seats. After all, no one else was really interested in talking to the two washed-off road junkies. But Gloria took pity. They weren’t worth much to her in terms of secrets or plots, but they did make a good excuse to linger.

  Tonight, they were talking about the two rival motorcycle gangs that had seemed to pop up overnight. The Road Devils had always been around, lurking in the shadows. The members were thinning though under new leadership, at least according to Prince who had what he called “connections.” Now Prince was worried about the younger gang, the Black Horsemen, who were creating hell for other riders who were not affiliated or who refused to pledge some kind of loyalty. Carol lamented how long it had been since she was able to ride with Prince out of fear they would come after the couple.

  Gloria rolled her eyes. She had heard of the Black Horsemen and she certainly knew of the Road Devils, but she sincerely doubted that either would be finding anything attractive about Prince and Carol. Still, the couple continued on, making plans for how they could go on their yearly retreat up to Fort Bennett for their annual shows and parades. Gloria tuned them out when they began talking early morning escape routes that would keep them far away from the club’s headquarters.

  Instead, she took a moment to survey what was happening around her. Kiddy corner from her seat was a table of young men, all in their early twenties. Bar flies, girls who purposefully hit men up for free drinks and a ride home, were perched on each of the three men’s knees. Their arms draped around their necks as they rocked back and forth in insincere laughter. Gloria could not spot one wedding ring in the group and their ability to fall for such an easy trick meant they probably had nothing worth selling.

  Directly behind Gloria was Calvin Smith. He was always an interesting character. She knew he had secrets, but he was not the one to share it or give them away, even with a bit of liquor or a flash of her bare, silk stocking leg. Still, tonight she listened to him as he took a call on his black cell.

  His mouth covered the receiver, but Gloria was sitting so close to him, she could still make out the muffled sound of his voice as he urgently said, “You best not be lying to me, Junior. You either did it or you didn’t. I ain’t coming all the way up to Jackson ‘less it’s for a good cause.” The voice on the other line sounded desperate, at least from what Gloria could make out. A young voice was talking fast and cursing up a storm. Something was going down.

  Calvin cut the young man off to ask, “Why in the fuck would you do somethin’ so stupid? You wanna get yourself killed? Make your momma bury her baby boy? How many fuckin’ times have I told you not to get messed up in them clubs? How many times? Christ. They gonna find out—and they gonna come for you. But they ain’t gonna find you, so they gonna come for us. You want that on your conscience?”

  There was another pause, another sound of almost cries. Calvin’s body broke down as he slumped into his chair. Gloria could see the veins in the back of his neck pulsating with stress and anxiety. She hated to see a father like this. Her own daddy would have died if she had gotten herself mixed up in something as big and as dangerous as a motorcycle club. But she also knew that her dad would have reacted the same way as Calvin’s. He would have fought through hell to get his baby out of danger.

  Calvin sighed, out of energy to lecture any further. After asking where he could find his son, he replied, “Okay. I’ll meet you at the Jackson bus depot tonight at two. Don’t bring much, or they’ll think you ran. Just grab some clothes and your money. Leave your bike; we’ll figure out what to do with it later.”

  Ripples of excitement sent Gloria over the edge. She loved the thrill of finding out new information. And by the way Calvin talked, spitting anger and fire at his son, she knew he was about to become a gold mine. No one would just let that secret get out. She just needed a bit more information.

  She turned her attention back to her seat companions. Prince and Carol were still yammering on about the damn retreat. Gloria cleared her throat as she leaned over and whispered to the two, “You two ever rode into Jackson?”

  “Yes ma’am. Cute town. Lots of good antiquing.” Carol was showing her age. No true biker would mention hitting up antique shops unless there were goods to be lifted.

  “Really,” Gloria played it coy. “I always thought Jackson was dangerous for bikers with the club and all... What’s their name again?”

  Prince thought about it, using his forefingers to tap against his head. After a moment he said, “Ya know, I’m not sure. I think that’s where the Black Horsemen got their start actually, but I haven’t heard much about any other gangs. You think they’re taking over Jackson?”

  “Dunno. Just a rumor, I guess.” Gloria made a match. No wonder Calvin was afraid. If Junior got mixed up in the Horsemen, he had every reason to be afraid. Gloria stood, turning towards Jordan who was sitting at the bar still, “Y’all excuse me a sec. I think I’m gonna go buy my guitar player a drink.”

  She walked off quickly as she took the seat nearest to Jordan and ordered a vodka tonic. His guitar bag, which was strapped to the side of his chair, was filling up quickly with envelopes.

  “How we doin’ tonight?” Gloria asked.

  “All right. Two to go. They’ve got half an hour to show. Usual suspects.” Jordan didn’t even glance at her. It was part of the act. They couldn’t look too involved or it would be suspicious to those not in the know.

  “Give it some time. They always show. In the meantime, I need you to help a gal out. Who do we know in the Black Horsemen? Anyone on the list?”

  Jordan looked down at his hands, racking his brain for names. “No one I know of, but Casey may know.” Casey was the bartender Jordan had had his eyes on for nearly a month now. She was a shameful gossip, terrible at secret keeping. Her ability to just spit out any information when asked gave Jordan the perfect opportunity to pay her a visit.

  “Go find out for me. See if she knows anything about Calvin’s boy, Junior. I think we may have come into something good.” With that, she took her drink and slipped off the stool. She made
her way to a leather booth in the corner as she watched Jordan flag down the perky redhead behind the bar and began chatting with her. She smiled brightly, almost naïvely at him.

  Gloria couldn’t help but remark at what a cute couple they would be if he had the balls to make a move. Plus, she knew bartenders made for the best sources. Drunks always talked when over-served.

  After a long moment, Jordan took the last sip of his drink and walked to Gloria’s booth. He had a devilish grin on his youthful face. “So it seems Calvin’s son has a dark side. He’s been with the Horsemen for a couple weeks now up in Jackson. What Casey knew sounded like he used to be a seller for the Devils and now they’re after him.”

  Gloria smiled brightly as she scooted out of the leather booth and walked towards the back door that led to the parking lot. She exclaimed, “I could kiss you right now…but I’ll let Casey do that.”

  The parking lot was as packed as the bar. Mostly black trucks, it was hard to guess just what Calvin was driving. So, she chose to stand against the building, within earshot of the people exiting or entering the front door. She couldn’t really miss him from her vantage point, and within minutes of her standing outside, he walked past her in a rush. She ran a bit to catch up with him as he took out the keys and fumbled to open the beat up doors on his pickup.

  She cleared her throat loudly enough to get his attention. As he looked her way, she said, “Headin’ to Jackson?”

  “How’d you know?” His eyes opened widely in recognition.

  Gloria casually leaned against the truck’s bed, “It’s my job to know. It’s your job to keep your boy safe. Can’t do that if the Devils know where he is and how to get to him.”

  “I’m goin’ t’ get him. He’ll be fine.”

  Gloria chuckled, letting her attitude shine over any fear she may have. “I wouldn’t be too sure, Calvin. Junior was a dealer. His head comes with a pretty price, especially since he’s poaching Devils’ clients.”

  A terrified gargle choked through Calvin’s grizzly voice, but he recovered quickly. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “He’ll be fine. He’s a good boy. Dumb, but good.”

  “I know that. You know that. But once the gangs know, it won’t mean shit what kind of boy he was.” She allowed him a moment to soak in the word was before continuing. “If you’re going to protect him, you best start by keeping your secrets closer to the chest. I can help you with that.”

  “Help me? How?”

  “You pay the price, and I’ll make sure no one gets word of Junior’s business. You have my word.” Gloria looked at him directly in the eye, a sign of trust.

  Without a second thought, he asked, “How much is it going to run me to keep your mouth shut?”

  “I feel for you. I know what it is like to have family messed up in the wrong crowd at the wrong time. How about two hundred a month? It’s a discount.”

  “A discount? You do this thing often?” He looked at her curiously. It was not often someone admitted to being in the kind of business she was in.

  “Let’s just say I know many things no one else does.” Gloria returned to the subject at hand, “If you agree, it’s simple. We decide on a time. You show up. Give your cash to my associates, and we move on. Secret stays safe, Junior stays safe.” She reached out her arm as a sign of a deal. “Do we have an agreement?”

  Calvin ran his hands through his greasy black hair nervously. Gloria had made him a proposition he couldn’t really afford to say no to. After all, she seemed so sure of herself, and she probably had connections to tell if he refused to play along. He nodded and took her hand in his. A deal was made.

  “Let’s say next Saturday, then. Give you time to get your shit in order. Find me after my gig and we’ll go over the details. If you don’t show or don’t bring the cash, though, I have to warn you, it won’t be pretty for you, your son, or your family.”

  The thought of his son, his only boy, getting beaten—if not killed—at the hands of either gang returned his attention to the matters at hand. Calvin had only an hour to make it to the Jackson bus stop before someone else found out or it would be all for nothing. He had put his trust in Gloria to keep his world safe. And Calvin found it oddly comforting to be protected by the resident secret keeper.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Calvin Junior was not at the bus stop when his father finally made it, nor was he at his apartment above the tire store or wasting away time at his girlfriend’s home.

  Instead, Junior was strapped to a chair in the basement of an unknown person’s home. His arms were tied tightly behind his back as the ropes wrapped around the metal bars of the chair and tied across where his legs were spread. His white t-shirt was torn and his jeans had stains of fresh blood mixing in with the blue fibers. He was missing a tooth now, but he knew it would not be the only one he lost by the end of the night. How much he would have to pay in his own blood, he didn’t know—and the large, tattooed man standing over him was not about to tell him how much longer he had to endure. Through every blow, every punch, every loss of air, all he could do was pray that by the end of the night, he might be able to at least walk out of the garage—or crawl.

  His main captor screamed at him once more. It was a question. Junior could tell by the way the man looked at him with his brown eyes flaming like embers. But Junior could not hear him, let alone make out any of his shouts. His ear was badly bruised, and all of the sounds of the room were muffled from the heat and pressure of the latest blow.

  Now, he wasn’t sure how to answer. Any excuse as to why he couldn’t produce a response would get him more of the same beatings. A wrong answer could get him killed. He was not about to take a guess either. Instead, he looked up pleadingly and motioned with his shoulder towards his ear, hoping the man would take note of the blood trickling from it.

  Junior was in luck. Vinny Di Molto had caught sight of the blood and noticed the young man’s inability to give him straight answers. Any other enforcer would have been quick to punish, but Vinny was not that kind of guy. So instead, he spun Junior’s chair around so that his good ear now faced him. The other men in the room had no clue. They just thought it was part of Vinny’s game. “Who are the Devils gettin’ their stash from, kid?” Vinny repeated.

  Junior looked wide-eyed at him and then at the men assembled in the room. He knew each of them by name. Just a couple hours ago, he was chatting happily with them, getting ready for a night ride out to some bars in the neighboring towns. Now he was tied to a chair as the largest man he had ever met continued to pound away at his face and chest. Junior had no choice but to give them something, anything. He coughed, spat out blood, and talked through a raspy throat. “All—cough—all I know—is there’s this man—Giovanni—works in the limestone quarry—cough—in Kennison.”

  Vinny stood upright, pleased. “Go on,” he prodded.

  “Every Tuesday—no—cough cough—every Wednesday, the runners pick up a shipment stashed away in a truck. I think—cough—they meet at the quarry.

  “You think?” Vinny demanded.

  “I don’t know, man,” he said, “They just had me—cough cough—sellin’ it. I wasn’t involved in runnin’. I swear.”

  Vinny was satisfied with the answer. He could tell by the way Junior was steady in his details and careful in his response that he was telling all he knew. But the other members of the Black Horsemen looked on in disbelief. They obviously wanted more. The bearded man sitting on the beat up brown couch nodded at Vinny once more. It was his signal for Vinny to let him have it.

  His hand whipped back as he struck Junior in the head with the back of his hand. A large pop sound filled the room with the gruesome sound of flesh contacting flesh with such force. Junior had taken everything up to that point with such bravery, barely letting out some much as a yelp. But now, he screamed, protested, and jerked wildly in his chair against the ropes that bound him.

  The man in the chair nodded his head slowly towards Vinny as Vinny quickly followed his h
it to the face with a direct punch to his gut. Junior wretched forward as the air was pushed forcefully out of his lungs and into the space of the cool basement.

  “I need more from you, Junior! That ain’t all you know!” Vinny knelt by the man’s knees so that he could scream it into his face. Junior had to know more or he was going to have to kill him. And as much as Vinny had grown to think of this as just a passing part of his job, killing a young gun like Junior was not part of his M.O.

  Junior’s head spun as he attempted to gain composure once more. The sights of the room spun wildly before him. His brown eyes could no longer focus and the left remained sealed under the weight of the bruised eyelid. Tears had started to form in the crests as Junior begun to realize what his fate was going to be if he could not give Vinny something more than just the man at the quarry and the day of the pick up.

  “One day…” Junior staggered, struggling to catch his breath and to find the words that were stuck at the back of his throat. “One day, I heard the CO talking. He was sayin’ something about the runners goin’ to Jackson for a pickup. I didn’t get much more than that, but when I picked up the orders that night, the runners gave me a new kind of box. It wasn’t the same old cardboard shit—it was red, plastic. It had a label from a restaurant, some steak place.”