Reluctantly I turned to look back across the table at Roxy. Despite the air conditioning in that little café, I was sweating.
“Yeah, well, my dad wasn’t the only one who got hurt by those last two losses of mine.” I took a deep breath. “Listen, Roxy. I didn’t come back down to Texas just to see my old man. I did it ‘cos I didn’t have any place else to go.”
Roxy blinked those beautiful, blue eyes at me.
“What d’you mean?”
“I lost two fights in a row, Roxy,” I explained. “And that last one was against a bottom-tier fighter. I should’ve whipped ‘Bruiser’ easy.”
It was like spitting out broken glass, admitting this next truth.
“I’m done, Roxy. My career’s over.”
Roxy sat across the table from me, and she blinked.
“Are you for real?”
I snorted bitterly.
“Look, there ain’t nothing definite about it. I spoke to Dan Blanc, the guy in charge of the MMA League, and he keeps promisin’: ‘We’ll find you something.’”
I sipped my coffee.
“But I know how it goes. If you’re not winning, you ain’t running. There aren’t many fighters who’ve bounced back from two straight losses like me; and there isn’t another fighter they’re ready to square me off against.”
Roxy was silent for a second, chewing her bottom lip. She looked fucking adorable doing that, and it messed with my head.
“It feels pretty shitty,” I broke the silence. “When dad asked me to lend him that money, I felt like a fucking failure having to tell him ‘no.’”
I squeezed shut my eyes.
“Fuck, I remember all that cash I blew at parties in the city, The designer cowboy boots. Flyin’ first class to Vegas. Five grand was nothin’ back then.”
But now it was everything. The difference between whether or not my father’s legs got broken – or worse.
“I-I’m sorry,” Roxy reached over and laid her hand on mine. “Fuck, I’d lend him the money myself, but I’m not even sure I have enough to make rent this month.”
I pulled my hand away.
“Are you serious?”
Roxy took a ragged breath.
“What can I say? It’s this town, man. Ever since the oil business started movin’ up north, so have all the customers. I’m barely scraping by myself.”
“Wait… So you think you might have to close the school?”
I looked at Roxy and shuddered.
Not X-AMERICA. Not the karate school. That place was virtually my home to me – a hell of a lot more than the shit-box doublewide Dad and I had shared growing up.
“I-I don’t know what to do, Travis,” Roxy admitted, reaching over the grab my hand again. “I just can’t make things work anymore – and it’s killing me.
And I knew why.
Roxy’s dad had started X-AMERICA when he’d left the Navy. He and my dad had both served on the U.S.S. America – a truly beautiful aircraft carrier that had seen action in Vietnam and Desert Storm.
The karate center was named after the ship - because in the 1990s the U.S. Navy had sunk the beautiful old carrier under the ocean, in a bunch of ‘weapons trials’ to see how tough it would be to sink an aircraft carrier.
Roxy’s dad had protested outside the White House about that. Written letters to the President. Tried to do anything to convince them to save the old ship – turn it into a museum, or something.
But instead, it was a mile and a half under water, and his martial arts school bore the name instead.
X-AMERICA, as in ex-America.
“Dad would turn in his grave if he knew,” Roxy sighed, wiping her eye. “This place was everything to him. I feel like a fucking failure.” She snorted. “I feel like I’m doing to his old school what the Navy did to that stupid old boat.”
“Hey, don’t talk like that.” I curled my fingers around hers, and squeezed. “We’ll figure something out.”
But for the life of me, I didn’t know what.
Chapter Eighteen
Roxy
It was nine o’clock at night, and I was locking up X-AMERICA.
As I stood in the doorway, fiddling with the keys, I thought about what a waste the evening had been.
I’d had three local women turn up for the cardio kick-boxing class, and then old Jeff Howrey show up for the krav maga class that followed.
I loved old Jeff – he’d been a good friend of dad’s, and one of the school’s longest-standing customers – but I knew he was only coming to class out of loyalty now. Shit, I had to pull Joe Santos away from his mop and bucket to serve as a sparring partner, because I was too small for Jeff to tackle effectively.
As I locked up, I was trying to do the calculations in my head, and work out how much money I’d made that evening.
I’d hung around at the karate center for an extra four hours after the kids’ classes had ended, and paid Joe for cleaning and mopping the mats. Adding that all up together, given the four students who’d turned up, and I figured I’d made about ten bucks for all my hard work.
That wouldn’t even pay for the Sourdough Chicken Club and fries I intended to buy from Jack in the Box on my drive home.
Fuck.
I finished locking up, and turned to stare across the parking lot. It was empty except for Dad’s old Ford, sitting lonesome beneath the flickering street light.
But then I saw headlights, and heard the rumble of a powerful engine.
A car was pulling into the lot.
My heart immediately raced. Who the fuck was it? Was it those clowns from earlier?
I lifted my hand to my eyes, to shield my face from the bright glare of the headlights. Blinded, I couldn’t even tell what car had just rolled in – and that terrified me.
Dammit, why did I have to park my truck all the way across the parking lot? And be so dumb as to leave that Ruger .44 in the glove compartment?
I started to cross the lot, but the car came roaring forward, and blocked my path.
I skidded to a halt, and my hands balled into fists. Dammit, it if was those Cadillac-driving creeps from earlier, I’d make sure I gave ‘em at least as good as Travis had.
Except as soon as the vehicle passed me, the lights got out of my eyes, and I could see it clearly.
And I breathed a huge sigh of relief.
Walt’s old Chevy S-10 slewed to a halt in front of me, and it was Travis who roared out of the open window, “Evenin’ pretty lady.”
Thank fuck. It was just him.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Travis?” Trying to pretend my nerves weren’t still shot, I sauntered over to the rumbling truck and bent my head through the open window. “You tryin’ to scare me, or something?”
Travis leaned back in the old velour seats, and grinned at me.
“Hop in. I figured we’d take a ride.”
I snorted.
“Smooth,” I told him, “but I’ve got to get home. And my days of parking out on Riverside with you are over, buddy.”
Travis’ infuriatingly sexy lips curled as he listened to that.
“We ain’t going to Make-Out Point, sugar,” he warned. “I want to check out Ol’ Smokeys. That bar you told me about.”
Suddenly, that thrill of fear from earlier returned.
“Are you kiddin’ me?” I demanded. “Red Callahan’s bar? The dude who busted up your dad’s hands?”
“Yeah,” Travis nodded. “I think ol’ Red and I need to have words.”
I remembered how scared I’d been, when those thugs had blocked me on the highway earlier. What they’d been intending to do, I didn’t want to think about – and I sure as hell didn’t want to go chasing after them, either.
It was as if Travis could read my mind.
“Look, I don’t have five grand. Pops sure as hell doesn’t. So I’m goin’ to drive on over to Ol’ Smokeys, talk to this Red fella myself, and see if we can’t cut a deal.”
Travis’ easy smile evapor
ated, as he told me, “I ain’t leaving town knowing those Cadillac-drivin’ assholes are looking to break my daddy’s legs.”
I looked across the cab at Travis, and saw the determination in his lean, handsome face.
I knew I couldn’t talk him out of it. Shit, I didn’t even know if I wanted to. As far as shitty plans went, this was the best one I could have hoped for.
But I didn’t like it. Going after the man who broke your father’s hands – even to ‘cut a deal’ with them – seemed about as smart as poking a hornet’s nest with a stick.
‘If something’s trouble, you’re better off just leavin’ it the hell alone.’ Dad had always warned.
I just wish I’d listened to him.
“Okay, wise-ass,” I growled at Travis. “That sounds like the dumbest plan in Christendom. But what does it have to do with me?”
“I need you to show me where the damn place is,” Travis demanded. “And to keep me out of trouble when I get there.”
I stood there, leaning against the old truck, and considered my options.
Travis was a smart guy. He’d find the place if I gave him directions. Shit, the bar was on the old Bluewater Highway and it wasn’t as if you could get lost on that five-mile stretch of coastal road.
But as attractive as the idea of crawling back home to bed sounded, I knew I couldn’t let him go on his own.
I didn’t know much about this Red Callahan guy – but I knew enough to know that Ol’ Smokey’s was trouble.
The sheriff avoided it. The bikers flocked to it. The sound of gunshots and screams echoed across the bay from Smokey’s every night.
Reaching down, I swung open the door to the old Chevy, and clambered into the passenger seat.
“Head south on the 332,” I told him, as Travis let in the clutch. “and for fuck’s sake, let’s try to stay out of trouble.”
Travis grinned at me, and knocked the rumbling old truck into gear.
He didn’t need to say it. I already knew.
He wasn’t very good at staying out of trouble.
Chapter Nineteen
Travis
For a second there, it was almost like old times again.
The sun was dipping down across the horizon. The cicadas were strumming their chorus. And there were me and Roxy, in dad’s old truck, roaring down TX-332 with the windows open.
I glanced across the cab towards her, and couldn’t help but smile.
Roxy had folded her legs up on the bench seat. She was leaning out of the window, the warm wind in her face. She looked beautiful, and sexy.
God, how I’d missed her.
But this wasn’t a date, like it had been the last time we’d taken a ride together in dad’s old Chevy. We weren’t about to head out for a burger at the Jetty Shack, and then fool around under the stars, on a blanket on the beach.
We were both grownups now; and tonight was serious business.
“Cross over the water to Surfside Beach,” Roxy ordered, as the highway took us through the flatlands heading towards the water. “Hang a left before you go into town.”
At the lights, TX-332 took a ninety-degree turn east, and soon we were powering along the highway – lined on either side by stubby palm trees, and the occasional house or business built on stilts; to protect it against the inevitable swells of the Gulf of Mexico.
We saw Ol’ Smokey’s about a mile out from the bar itself. Neon lights lit up the dusk sky, and the sound of music and roaring motorcycles soon cut through the chirping song of the cicadas.
As we bore down on the bar, Roxy reached over and squeezed my hand.
“Maybe we should have taken my truck,” she murmured, squeezing my fingers. “I’ve got the gun in the glove compartment.”
I just tightened my grip on the steering wheel. I might have lost my last two fights in the octagon, but I still knew the only weapons I needed were the big, heavy fists at the end of my powerful arms.
Ol’ Smokey’s was another building on stilts, raised up ten or twelve feet from the dirt parking lot.
Music blared through the open windows, and neon signs advertised Miller and Budweiser. The parking lot itself was filled with dozens of Harley Davidsons and Triumph motorcycles, plus old pick-up trucks, hot rods and muscle cars.
I pulled dad’s truck to a halt at the edge of the parking lot, and Roxy and I hefted open the creaking doors.
“Wow,” Roxy peered up at the looming two-story building. “I’ve heard about this place – never made it here, though.”
What sounded like a cover band reverberated through the windows. They were playing that old Allman Brothers number Jessica – and they weren’t half bad.
I reached over and grabbed Roxy’s hand, and we crossed the parking lot.
At the bottom of the wooden stairs, some bouncer in a black suit was checking IDs. For a minute, my stomach flipped as I wondered if it would be one of the same black-suited goons who’d been roughing up my pop earlier.
But, as it turned out, it was just yet another thug on Red’s payroll.
That being said, as we approached the stairs Roxy jabbed her elbow into my ribs and pointed across the lot.
Parked between the stilts of the towering building was a familiar-looking black Caddy – the old one that had been parked outside Dad’s doublewide, and cut Roxy off on the bridge.
Whoever those three goons had been, they were inside.
“Yo, I need to see ID.”
The bouncer at the bottom of the stairs didn’t even give us a once-over as he scanned our driver’s licenses and stepped out of the way. A moment later, Roxy and I were climbing the creaking wooden steps into the bar.
Through the door, the air was thick with cigar smoke. The place lived up to the name of Ol’ Smokey’s.
The band was hammering through Smoke on the Water now, and a crowd of bikers and sketchy characters were sprawled out at the wooden tables circling the makeshift stage.
The bar was packed with more bikers and scary-looking dudes – but I wasn’t exactly un-intimidating myself. People got out of my way as I led Roxy through the crowd, and shouldered our way up to the bar.
“Whaddya want?” a surly looking bartender snapped at me.
“I’m looking for somebody,” I replied, yelling over the sound of the bar. “A guy called Red?”
The bartender paused, and cocked his head on one side. Then, as if he’d listened to my question, and instantly dismissed it, he demanded, “Nah. Whaddya want to drink?”
I glanced over at Roxy uncertainly, and she shrugged. I guess we’d have to find this ‘Red’ character on our own.
“Two Coronas,” I snapped, and handed over my final twenty-dollar bill to the bartender. A moment later, Roxy and I were escaping the crush of the bar, ice-cold bottles in our hands.
“So?” Roxy demanded, breathing hotly into my ear over the sound of the music. “Where do we start?”
But I didn’t reply. I was looking back over at the bar – to where the bartender was standing.
He was talking to one of the black-suited dudes, and pointing in our direction.
He clearly hadn’t ignored the question – he just wanted to make sure that it was Red who found us, not the other way around.
Chapter Twenty
Roxy
“Yo!” The burly bouncer loomed over even Travis, as he crossed the crowded bar to find us. “I heard you’re lookin’ for Red, right?”
Travis and I turned to look at this stranger as he approached.
He was fat, but tall. Sunburned skin and a shaved head made him look kind of pig-like; but I still wouldn’t have liked to have gotten the wrong side of him.
“Yeah,” Travis sipped his beer, and barked at the new arrival. “That’s right. We’re looking Red Callahan.”
The hog-like bouncer snorted, showing off his crooked teeth.
“Well, you’re in luck, hoss. He found you.”
With a jerk of his head, the bouncer indicated that we should follow him. I re
ached over to curl my fingers around Travis’ hand, and followed him through the crowd.
The bouncer led us past the band, to a corner of the bar with a raised dais, overlooking all the action. It was blocked off by a red rope, and instead of the wooden tables and chairs, there were ratty leather sofas and coffee tables behind the barrier.
Sitting on the sofa, sprawled with his cowboy boots on the coffee table, was somebody I instantly guessed was ‘Red’.
He was a burly looking dude in a cowboy hat and Brooks & Dunn t-shirt, with a bushy red beard and beads and jewelry hanging around his bullish neck.
Sitting either side of him on the couch were two skinny girls in tank-tops and daisy dukes. They looked bored – and, if I was honest, kind of strung out. I’d gone to school with their types – they’d been hot little pieces of ass at 16, but were worn thin by the time they hit their mid-twenties; and had to resort to liaising with sleazebags like this ‘Red’ character.
The bouncer pulled back the rope, and welcomed us into this unofficial ‘VIP section.’ As Travis stepped up, the guy on the couch shouldered the two girls aside and hauled himself upright – offering his hand, and flashing a crooked grin.
“Well, as I live and breathe,” the redhead grinned. “If it ain’t the prodigal son. Travis Oates, home at last.”
Travis loomed menacingly over the bushy-bearded redhead, but the cowboy didn’t seem to be intimidated. He snorted as Travis refused the offered hand, and instead flopped back down on the sofa and gestured to two empty leather chairs either side.
“Take a pew, friends. Let’s parlay.”
Travis didn’t move. He just stood, looming over this stranger, and demanded, “Are you Red?”
Pushing back the brim of his cowboy hat, the redhead grinned, and nodded.
“Guilty as charged. That’s me.”
Travis narrowed his eyes.
“I heard what you did to my father,” he growled, and his hands balled up into fists.
The bouncer behind us took a menacing step forward, but Red just waved his away with his hand.
Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 6
