Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance

by Simone Scarlet MMA

  Travis gulped dryly.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  Red pursed his lips, trying to look reassuring despite Travis’ apparent skepticism.

  “Maybe if I knew you were gonna lose that fight,” he purred, “I could make some bets beforehand. Make a nice tidy sum.”

  He leaned even closer to Travis, head practically in his lap.

  “And if I did that, I could make sure you and your young lady over there were very well taken care of.”

  It took Travis a moment to respond.

  “Are you… Are you asking me to throw the fight?”

  “Woah, woah,” Red looked around nervously, to see if anybody had heard Travis’s accusation. “Nobody’s sayin’ that.” Then, as soon as he’d reassured himself nobody had overheard, Red leaned in and admitted: “But, yes.”

  Travis made to stand up, and balled his hands into fists.

  “Why, you son of a…”

  “Woah, woah,” for the first time since we’d known him, Red looked genuinely nervous. He held up his hands, and pleaded: “Calm down, big fella. We’re just shootin’ the shit.”

  Travis didn’t move to calm down. In fact, he looked a hair’s breadth away from actually planting one of those big fists right into Red’s face.

  “Red,” I leaned over and hissed at the stunned-looking redhead, “I’d backtrack on that suggestion. It ain’t smart for more reasons than the two you’re looking at right now.”

  And those two ‘reasons’ were Travis’ tightly coiled fists.

  “Travis is a last-minute fill-in, and he’s coming in off the back of two losses,” I tried to talk quickly – to diffuse this situation before it got any uglier. “You aren’t going to make a dime betting against him.”

  Travis turned and looked at me – that angry mask turning to a puppy-dog expression of betrayal.

  “I’m sorry, hun,” I looked up and shrugged self-consciously. “But it’s the truth.”

  And, bless his heart, Travis was smart enough to accept that.

  “Okay,” Red injected, looking warily back and forth between me and Travis. “So we’re decided. Nobody’s throwin’ the fight.” He waited until Travis uncurled his fists, and eased himself back down into the chair.

  “So level with me, Trigger,” Red demanded. “If y’ain’t gonna lose to him – what are the chances that you can win?”

  And that’s when I saw the light in Travis’ eyes that I’d once fell in love with.

  My towering lover grabbed his beer, and took a swig. And then he turned to Red and growled:

  “This might be my last chance to make it in the MMA League - so you bet your ass I’m gonna win.”

  “It’s not my ass I’m bettin’,” Red warned. With a wry smile, he purred: “If you say you can win, I believe ya. Shit, I saw you choke Roy out like a little bitch just last night.”

  Roy, who was just a few feet away, manning the VIP rope, cringed when he heard that.

  “But here’s the thing,” Red leaned in towards Travis, and demanded: “Are you willin’ to bet your ass on that? ‘Cos if you are, I’ve got a deal for you.”

  This was the shit after school specials were written about. It’s the situation that had led to Walt getting his hands busted. But Travis sat there, and listened, as Red continued:

  “If you think you can really beat this guy, let’s put some skin in the game. The four grand your old man owes me.”

  Red clicked his fingers at the waitress, demanding another beer.

  “How ‘bout you bet that?”

  Travis blinked.

  I couldn’t say I blamed him. I was pretty stunned at the suggest myself.

  “I mean, I’d have to check the odds,” Red continued, as if he’d suggested nothing more extreme than buying a lottery ticket. “But I reckon I could double your money, if you do what you claim you’re gonna.”

  Travis gulped.

  A moment earlier, he was ready to crush Red’s nose like a ripe tomato. Now he looked genuinely nervous.

  “A-and if I don’t?”

  Red snorted.

  Turning to Travis, he purred:

  “And if you don’t win, you lose that four grand – and your old man’s debt becomes your debt.”

  Travis paused. His handsome face was a mask, as he contemplated what Red was suggesting.

  If he won, he’d write off his dad’s debt, and double his money.

  But if he lost…

  “Nah,” Travis responded. “That’s too much risk. I’m not down.” Looking at Red, he growled: “No offense, but I’m here to get my family out of debt – not further in hock to you.”

  Red chuckled good naturedly. He looked up as a waitress tottered over, and accepted the can of beer she handed him.

  “No offense taken,” the redhead grinned, as he slurped his second Miller Lite. “But just to be clear, I wasn’t askin’.”

  Travis paused again, his beer poised at his lips.

  “Listen, son,” Red continued. “I recognize an opportunity when I see one. And if you’re as good as you say you are, there’s money to be made bettin’ on you come Saturday. But I never bet on a man unless he’s got skin in the game. If he ain’t personally got something to lose, I can’t trust he’s got the heart to win.”

  Travis sat there silently, peering across the VIP section towards Red.

  “Are you for real?”

  Red slurped his beer.

  “Real as day,” he promised.

  “I’m not going to bet four grand I don’t even have yet.”

  “Well, then,” Red purred, “I guess I ain’t lettin’ you out of your delivery date. Money next week, or your old man’s takin’ a trip to the emergency room.”

  I watched as Travis’ face went pale.

  “It ain’t personal, son,” Red said soothingly. “It’s strictly business. But I got my bottom line to look after.”

  For a moment, Travis just sat there, stunned. But then an expression I’d seen before started creeping across his handsome face.

  Resolve.

  I felt my cheeks hurt, as I started smiling.

  Whenever I’d seen that look on Travis’ face, I knew good things were going to happen. He might have been a young, dumb lug. He might have walked out on me and my dad when we needed him the most. But when his back was to the wall, nobody fought harder, or dirtier, than Travis ‘Trigger’ Oates.

  “Fine,” he growled, reaching across the armchair and offering Red his hand. “If that’s the deal? I’ll take it.”

  Red actually looked stunned. The sudden turnaround – and the steely confidence in Travis’ eyes – was unsettling.

  “O-okay,” Red nervously offered his own hand. “It’s a deal then.”

  “Good,” Travis crushed Red’s hand in his own. “’Cause I’m gonna fly to London, and I’m gonna kick that motherfucker’s ass, and then I’m going to come back here and take my winnings from you with a smile on my goddamn face.”

  And at that, Red smiled too.

  He shook Travis’ hand.

  “I believe in you, son,” he purred – before warning: “But you’d better not let me down.”

  But Travis wasn’t listening any more, and I think I knew the reason why.

  He didn’t have anything to lose any more.

  Whether it was four grand, or forty grand, he didn’t have the cash to pay it – so why not take the gamble?

  His father, his fortune and his career all rested on the result of that fight in London. And now Travis had everything to fight for, I knew there was no man more determined, or dangerous.

  “C’mon, Roxy,” hoisting himself up from the chair, Travis reached for my hand. “We’ve got to go pack.”

  And, like that, Travis nodded goodbye, and led me out of the smoky old bar.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Travis

  I didn’t know whether I was happy or sad that it was raining when we touched down in London.

  I mean, shit – as Roxy and I
hauled our carry-on down the ramp at Heathrow airport, I thought it was kind of fitting that sheets of drizzle were frosting the airport windows. I mean, that’s one of the clichés you’re dyin’ to see when you come to England, right?

  But it also meant my first view of the first country I’d ever been to outside of America was grey, overcast, and drab.

  “Don’t worry,” Roxy squeezed my arm, as we approached the passport check. “It’s meant to clear up for the weekend.”

  It didn’t take long to get through customs, and a short while later we were rolling our bags out towards the carousels, with me wheeling around looking at the scenery.

  Shit, I’d been to a dozen airports in the United States – but everything here was different; not least of which the accents.

  “That’ll be two quid, love,” said the guy at the counter, when Roxy bought a bottle of water. “Cheerio.”

  They really said ‘cheerio’ in England? I thought that was just a joke!

  Once we cleared Arrivals, Roxy and I emerged out into cool, wet afternoon and peered up and down the road outside.

  Honk!

  The sound of the car horn nearly had me wet my britches.

  “Hey, scaredy-cat,” Roxy laughed, grabbing my arm. “It came from over there.” She pointed towards a sleek, white Jaguar coupé, purring down the wrong side of the road. “I think that’s him.”

  Our ride.

  The sleek sportscar pulled to a halt by the side of the road, and the driver’s door swung open – only it looked like the passenger door to me. Weird-ass British engineering, with everything on the wrong side of the damn car.

  Out clambered a towering young man in a sleek Navy blazer. With his square jaw and red-blond hair, I recognized him immediately.

  James ‘Bulldog’ MacDonald – guest commentator for the MMA event in London, and the interim heavyweight champion of the league.

  “Hello?” The handsome Brit waved his arm. “Travis Oates? Is that you?”

  Shit, of course it was. There can’t have been that many other 6’ 4” blond men clambering off a plane that morning - especially not with a “B-Port Exporters” t-shirt on.

  Roxy and I hauled our bags through the drizzle towards him.

  “Sorry about the weather,” MacDonald grinned at me, giving me a firm handshake as he took my bag. “It’ll clear up later, I hope.”

  I’d seen MacDonald fight a few times before, but this is the first time I’d met the man face-to-face. I was a good few inches taller than me, but he was a broad-shouldered, handsome bastard; and carried himself with a dangerous confidence.

  “And who might you be?” the Brit turned to Roxy, and peered down at her with a hungry look in his blue eyes. I immediately felt a stab of jealousy as he lifted her hand, and pressed his lips against it.

  Roxy’s cheeks flushed, and she giggled self-conciously.

  “This is Roxy Rockatansky,” I growled, waiting impatiently for this smooth-talking Brit to let her hand go. “She’s my…”

  I gulped.

  “…my trainer.”

  James MacDonald turned to me, and raised an eyebrow.

  “A lady trainer?” He shrugged his shoulders. “The press are going to love that.”

  I helped MacDonald around to the back of the car, and he crammed our two small suitcases into the trunk – or the ‘boot’ as they called it here.

  “Lucky you two pack light,” James grinned, as he slammed shut the lid. “When Dan Blanc asked me to pick you up, I don’t think he realized I drive a sportscar.”

  “Well, we appreciate it,” I still wasn’t sure what to make of this guy, but I put on my best southern charm regardless. “This is all something of a blur, comin’ to London like this.”

  “I bet it is,” MacDonald hoisted open the passenger door, and held it open for us. “Climb in – I’ll tell you what I know.”

  The first thing I noticed about the interior of that beautiful Jaguar wasn’t the leather interior – although that was pretty sweet.

  No, it was somebody else sat in one of the cramped 2+2 seats in the back – a tiny little black girl with huge eyes and one of the cutest smiles I’d ever seen.

  “Hey, there,” she grinned, as Roxy clambered into the back of the Jaguar beside her. “My name’s Toni. Hope you don’t mind me not getting out to greet you.” She touched her elegantly coiffered hair. “This goddamn drizzle does a number on my ‘do.”

  “Travis, Ms. Rockatansky,” James purred, gesturing towards the young woman, “might I introduce Toni Rome – my girlfriend.”

  “I know you,” Roxy grinned, as she clambered into the back seat. “I’ve got your last song on my phone.”

  And that’s when I recognized her.

  Toni Rome – a hip-hop superstar from Los Angeles, and one-time girlfriend of the disgraced league champion Hannibal ‘Baller’ Alexander. In fact, I was pretty sure she was the reason ol’ ‘Baller’ got suspended from the league; after fighting James MacDonald over her in a hotel lobby.

  I clambered into the passenger seat of the elegant sportscar, and a moment later we were tearing off down the road, with the powerful engine growling.

  “Dan Blanc couldn’t be here to pick you up, so he sent me,” James explained, as he guided the powerful car through traffic. “It’s all kind of last minute.” Glancing at me, as I nervously gripped the dashboard, James grinned: “Thanks for filling in.”

  “Y-you’re welcome,” I gulped. Truth be told, I was pretty nervous sat up there in the front of the car.

  First off, I was on the wrong side of the damned vehicle. Secondly, James MacDonald drove like a racing driver – ducking and weaving through traffic as he roared down the wrong side of the highway.

  “So, what’s the story?” Roxy called from the back seat. “What happened? Why do you guys need us, anyway?”

  James cut down a gear, and sent the car rocketing past a lineup of waiting traffic.

  “One of the big fights tomorrow was meant to be between Frankie ‘Fury’ Slater, and Andy ‘The Hammer’ Mackey,” he explained. “They’re both up-and-coming on the fight scene. Whoever won was going to make the move stateside, we’re pretty sure.”

  While events like the London-based MMA fight were helping expand the circuit, the MMA League was still a largely American-centric organization – so getting put on the US circuit was considered by many foreign fighters to be ‘making it.’

  “Then the weirdest damn thing happens,” James continued. “Mackey was crossing the street the other day, and some damn car runs him down – like a bloody pancake.”

  Roxy’s eyes widened as she heard that.

  “Was it an… an accident?”

  James snorted dryly.

  “That’s what they’re saying, but nobody on the circuit believes it for a second. Frankie Slater’s old man is involved with the London mob. Most of us assume Mackey’s ‘accident’ was something to do with that.”

  I gulped as I heard that. I thought I’d left that kind of thing back in Freeport, with that crooked bastard Red.

  “So Dan needed somebody to fill in,” James continued. “And we thought of you.”

  But did they, though?

  I was silent as we powered down the freeway, and thought about the circumstances that had thrown this opportunity my way.

  I’d come off the back of two losses. My career in the MMA League was nearly over as a result.

  Why me? Why now?

  Fortunately, Roxy interrupted my thoughts.

  “So, what’s this Frankie character like?” She leaned over from the back seat. “There’s not much online about him.”

  James glanced up, to catch Roxy’s eye in the rear view mirror.

  “He’s tough, and his big,” he explained, which didn’t really tell us much more than we’d already gleaned from YouTube. “But there’s something even more important about him.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s ambitious.”

  “Just what do you mean by that?�
� I demanded. I mean, weren’t all of us MMA fighters ambitious? You didn’t exactly climb into the octagon unless you were hell-bent on winning.

  James snorted dryly.

  “You’ll find out for yourself,” he promised, “when you meet him tonight.”

  And that answer in itself was more ominous than anything he could have told us for real.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Roxy

  “Holy crap,” I gasped, as Travis held open the door to our hotel suite. “This is like something out of the Goddamn movies.”

  Our hotel, the Park Plaza, was right on the River Thames – literally overlooking Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament across the rippling green water.

  That would have been impressive enough, but the curved, glass walls and the beautiful, modern décor blew me away. I was the kind of girl who considered the Marriott to be a classy hotel chain.

  This was off the hook.

  “It’ll do,” Travis shrugged, as he tossed his bag onto the bed, and went to pull back the curtains.

  “Oh, I forgot,” I grinned, peering at him as he inspected the TV and mini bar. “You’re used to all this, aren’t you? The fancy hotels in Vegas and New York.”

  Travis paused, silhouetted by the mid-afternoon sun streaming through the window.

  “Maybe,” he admitted, giving me a wry and handsome grin. “But maybe I shouldn’t be taking it so lightly.” He surveyed the room with a little more reverence this time. “Shit, three days ago I thought this chapter of my life was closed.”

  I threw my own suitcase onto the bed, and crossed the room to wrap my arms around Travis’ waist.

  “I dunno,” I told him, pressing my head against the reassuringly bulk of his broad chest. “I’ve got a feeling this is just the start of something.”

  And maybe it was. Maybe if Travis won this fight, he’d be back in the league – and who knew where that might take him.

  Travis looked down at me, and reached up to stroke a stray curl from my cheek.

  “I’m gonna do my best, Roxy,” he promised. “Now we’d better get unpacked and ready. James is picking us up for the weigh-in at five.”