Bad Boy Brawler (Alpha Bad Boy Book 3)
Read Bad Boy Brawler (Alpha Bad Boy Book 3) Online
Authors: Sloane Howell
Contents
Bad Boy Brawler
(Novella #3 in the Alpha Bad Boy Series)
by Sloane Howell
Bad Boy Brawler
Copyright © Sloane Howell
Stock Photo courtesy of Shutterstock.com
Cover Design by Sloane Howell
All rights reserved
This ebook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher and author.
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Novellas In This Series (these are standalones that can be read in any order):
Bad Boy Revelation
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Bad Boy Prospect
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click here)
Novels:
The Matriarch Trilogy:
Book # 1: The Matriarch: An Erotic Superhero Romance
Books # 2 and 3: Coming in 2016
Short Stories and Novellas:
The Panty Whisperer Series:
The Panty Whisperer: Volumes 1 - 5
The Panty Whisperer: Volume 6
The Payne Capital Series:
Payne Capital
INTRO
“I’m Bob Gamble coming back to you live with Chuck Kimbrell in Dallas, Texas, and it’s time for the main event of Ultra MMA 157. The arena is sold out at capacity. Twenty-two thousand people on their feet as we look down to Mark Bradbury making his way to the octagon. Chuck, he looks focused and determined as ever after finally getting his title shot.”
“Yeah Bob, that’s correct, people call him The Grinder, a name he well deserves for his ground and pound style tactics in the octagon. At six-one two-twenty he has long legs and arms that he ties opponents up with. His striking game has been on point as of late though, drastically improving since his first two fights.”
“And this should get interesting, Chuck, as Mark bounces around awaiting on his opponent. And there they go. The lights have dimmed and there goes the music. Hells Bells by ACDC and you know what that means.”
“Indeed, Bob, the tension is palpable as the crowd awaits Devyn O’Dare aka Moses. Why Moses you ask? Because crowds part for him like the Red Sea and he delivers his opponents to God. This man is a freak of nature at six-two two-forty. He destroys people. We don’t even know if he has a ground game because he’s never needed one. He’s knocked out every opponent he’s faced, and he’s done it quick. All coming in the first round.”
“Yes, and here comes O’Dare into view as the crowd lets out a deafening roar. He’s stalking toward the octagon with his hood on as usual, and he looks laser sharp and focused.”
“Bob, look at Bradbury, he already looks nervous and for good reason. He’s been talking a lot of trash this week and at the weigh in. As always, O’Dare was stone silent. He lets his fists talk for him. And boy, do they send a—”
“Sorry to cut you off Chuck, but we are almost ready to start this bout. It’s for the heavyweight title, and O’Dare strips his robe off. He’s a machine, nothing but tattoos and muscle. He is built like a freight train folks and he looks ready to storm the center of the mat. O’Dare is a bit of a mystery, staying out of the media as much as possible. He came on the scene a year ago and has left nothing but bodies in his wake.”
“That’s right, Bob. Little is known about O’Dare other than he hails from here in Dallas and this home crowd loves him, along with the rest of the country.”
“The referee calls them to the center and explains the rules as we go live down below.”
“I want a clean fight. Tap gloves and go to your corners.”
“Chuck, O’Dare snubs the glove tapping as usual and walks to his corner. He makes a quick cross with his gloves and turns around, in fighting position. Bradbury looks displeased with O’Dare’s insult. Tapping gloves is a custom in the world of MMA, meant to show respect to your opponent. The referee signals for the fight to begin. O’Dare roars out of the corner and both fighters stop a few feet from each other and circle, keeping their distance just out of striking range. Bradbury swings and misses, O’Dare dodging him easily as they circle back up. Bradbury swings again. Ohhh my word, O’Dare dodges the strike and lands a foot to the side of Bradbury’s face and belts out a roar. We are all of eleven seconds into this match and the crowd is on their feet. Bradbury is face down on the mat and not moving. This thing is over, Chuck! Done! Bradbury’s corner rushes out to check on him as O’Dare crashes through the gate and stalks up the runway as usual, looking straight ahead like a possessed demon.”
“Yeah, Bob, he’s not much for sticking around. He made quick work of Bradbury as we watch the replay. Oh my, he’s going to need to be checked out. That’s just brutal to watch. That’ll churn your stomach.”
“And there you have it folks, the title remains safe with O’Dare. Still undefeated heavyweight champ at a record of seven wins, no losses, all by knockout. We have to go to a brief commercial break, but standby for the post fight activities.”
CARLY
“What do you got for me?”
I’m coming on my shift at the hospital and I’m late as usual. I couldn’t find a sitter and left my son James with Brock, my boyfriend that we are currently living with. My stomach is creeping up toward my throat. At six a.m. it’s too early for me to freak out. Tabby — the nurse I’m relieving — looks down at my trembling hand.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I just had to leave James with Brock and I’m a nervous wreck about it. I never do this.” I pause and collect myself. “Mom was supposed to watch him and she’s not picking up her phone. I knew better than to trust her. She promised me though. And James wanted Grandma to hang out with him. I was up all night looking at bills. Trying to figure everything out and I can barely hold my eyes open.”
I couldn’t call in to the hospital. They’re strict about their attendance policy and I just started working here a few months ago. I look around and let out a sigh as some techs push an elderly man down the hallway. The place is shiny and busy. Lights reflect off the tiled floors and everything is bright white. My heartbeat is pulsing into my temples.
“I’m sorry. I just worked a double. There’s no way they’ll let me cover for you. I feel horrible. I'd go check on James but I have to go to my parents' house for a bit this afternoon and they live way out in the country.” Tabby’s hand is on top of mine and her sweet nature gives me a slight bit of reprieve.
The worst sort of news stories keep replaying in my mind over and over. The horror stories I always hear about the boyfriend being left alone with a child and then bad things happen. These thoughts won’t leave my head. They just sit there and fester, until my brain churns out the worst case scenario on a loop.
“It’s fine.” I let out a huge sigh. “I'm sure they're fine. I'm just overreacting. I can do this. I just need to get busy. So what do you got?”
Her eyebrows waggle at me and I stare with my head cocked slightly to the side.
“Devyn O’Dare is in room 1008. You’ll be taking care of him.”
Weird. She says his name like I should know him. “Who?”
“C’mon, don’t play dumb.”
I feel like I should say something, but I have no clue what.
“The Ultra MMA fighter?” Tabby’s hands go to her hips and she keeps staring at me like I’m an alien.
“No clue. Sorry.”
“You really do live under a rock or something. He’s only the best fighter in the world.” She nudges me with her elbow. “He’s hot too.”
I reach in my pocket to text Brock to see if he knows who this guy is. “Oh no. No, no, this is a nightmare.”
“What is it?”
“I forgot my cell. This can’t be happening.”
“It’ll be fine. Just give them a call from the hospital phone after your rounds. The charts are all updated. You should be good to go. I’ve gotta run, but let me know if you need anything.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“No prob. I mean it.”
I stare at her petite frame as she walks away. Her hair is blonde and straightened to her shoulders and she can’t be taller than five-four. I’m not big by any means, and I feel like a giant around her.
Okay, you can do this. Just like she said. Finish up rounds and then call to check in. Everything will be fine.
I look over Mr. O’Dare’s chart before I walk into his room. Typical. Car accident, blood alcohol more than twice the legal limit, bumps and bruises but nothing serious. He was disoriented so we are holding him for observation. I inhale deeply and walk in the room.
Tabby wasn’t lying. He is definitely nice to look at, minus the bumps and bruises. His hair is dark and cut short, muscles bulging everywhere, and tattoos. My God, his tattoos are beautiful. His arms look like they’re constantly flexed, large biceps threatening to rip his hospital gown.
He’s staring straight at the wall like he’s trying to see what’s beyond it. Like he wants to be anywhere but here.
“Mr. O’Dare? I’m your new nurse, Carly.” He doesn’t make a sound as I erase Tabby’s name from the white board and write mine in its place. Nothing about his appearance changes other than his neck growing tense as I walk toward him. “How are you feeling?”
His eyes dart to mine and he adjusts slightly in the bed. They’re a gorgeous light green that don’t mesh with his angry stare and intimidating appearance. “Same.”
His voice is softer than I imagined it being, light on the ears. It throws me off for a second and I try to regain my focus. “Everything? Pain? Comfort level? Anything change?”
“Same.”
I sit there and gaze at him for several seconds too long. Our staring match is cut short when Dr. Bloomenthal bursts through the door. I catch a glimpse of what seems to be the entire hospital staff standing outside the room. My fingers dig into my palms as I ball my hands into fists. I doubt this guy wants a crowd of gawkers sitting outside his door all night and it grates on me.