Read Inked Fighter: Complete Collection (MMA MC New Adult Romance) Online
Authors: E. E. Griffin
“Of course you weren’t. You were being strong.”
“I don’t know. But that’s what I did. I love Rose with every fiber of my being. The day I told Jessy about the baby, he got into the crash. I asked him to come over all day, but he kept telling me he was busy. He was acting strange. Finally, I just said it over the phone. He got on the road to come see me.
“That’s when it happened. He swerved into the wrong lane, then ran off the road into the tree. They did a toxicology report that showed he had high levels of narcotics in his blood. His mother blamed me. He’d texted her right before he left, saying he was a father. She’s never forgiven me. She doesn’t even acknowledge Rose is her granddaughter.”
“I’m so sorry, Claire, that’s terrible. Some people are just awful.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s better not having her in my life if she wants to be that way. I honestly don’t need the drama. Enough about me. What about these high-paying clients of yours? Who are they?”
He was silent for a moment and finally heaved a sigh. “They are rich old hippies who own a place up in the hills east of town. They’ve got this compound where they host big parties. I’m one of the attractions. I tattoo their guests, and they pay me a salary. It’s a sweet deal.”
“So you’re staying with them.”
“Yeah. I’m staying with them.”
“It sounds like a nice opportunity. Will you go back to LA soon?”
“I’m not sure. They want me to stay for a while.”
“Then you can spend more time in the woods. That should be nice.”
“I can spend more time with you.” He leaned toward me, his lips just inches away. I could feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. Right before his lips connected, I sat up.
“We should probably get back now.” My heart surged and my body rebelled, but I couldn’t let him kiss me. I felt like a reject. I had some serious issues. It was just a kiss.
“Just wait until the sun sets.”
We sat up on the blanket and watched the blazing sun dip behind the fog-covered hills. Light filtered through the mist, casting long streams of illumination over the valley in gradients of orange and red. Pink and yellow radiated through the dimming sky. High above, I could see the first evening star blink in the velvet purple of night.
Table Of Contents
The morning after I dropped off Claire, I woke early to go find a place to work out. I’d gotten out of shape in the time I’d been here. Long hours of tattooing without working out was making me soft.
I went downstairs to see if I could find something decent to eat. There was nothing but crap in the fridge, but I found a box of oatmeal at the back of the cabinet and made myself a bowl.
The other guys woke up later and shuffled out to their various jobs. After I finished my breakfast, I went upstairs and used my smartphone to find a local gym. The address popped up on the screen, and I got ready to go.
As I was on my way out the front door carrying my gym bag, Martel’s SUV drove into the parking lot. Just as I pulled on my helmet, I heard him call my name. I took off the helmet and turned to face him. His eyes were hidden behind wire-frame aviator sunglasses and his lips curved in a grin. The smell of exhaust fumes stung my nose.
“Damien, just the man I wanted to see.”
“Yeah.”
“Hop in, let’s go for a ride.”
“I was just about to go to the gym.”
“You can go after.”
I tucked my helmet inside the storage compartment of my bike and went around to the passenger door of Martel’s black Range Rover. The interior smelled new and had a polished sheen. Martel shut his door and turned the ignition. He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway.
“So what’s this all about?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
We drove in silence until we made it to town. He turned down the touristy little Main Street I’d visited with Claire and stopped in front of a vacant two-story shop building. It had a flat, square exterior with huge windows on the first and second floors. The cinderblock façade was painted brick red, and a blue awning covered the window.
“Come on,” he said.
I followed him from the car and through the front door of the empty shop. It smelled of fresh paint. The walls were crisp white. It had thick detailed crown molding around the entire ceiling and dark wood floors throughout. It was a nice little space of about five hundred square feet.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“What do I think of what?”
“The shop, idiot.”
“It’s nice. Why?”
“I just leased it. I think it would make a good tattoo shop. Don’t you?”
My mouth dropped open. He’d mentioned a tattoo shop, but I hadn’t expected this. The location, the building — it was much nicer than anything I’d imagined.
“Yeah. It would be awesome, but why the hell would you do this for me?”
“I told you, kid. I promised your old man.”
I turned around the room again and shook my head. If Martel wanted to set me up in this place, why the hell not? I knew it was going to come at a price, but I’d deal with that later.
“There’s a small apartment upstairs. That’s yours too. Can’t be bringing that nice girl of yours to the clubhouse, now, can you?”
“I’d never bring her there,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.
He threw his hands in the air in a defensive gesture, his strong arms bulging under his black t-shirt. “Point taken. Now, about the shop. Get me a list of everything you need to get set up. I’ll have it ordered and installed ASAP. In the meantime, the apartment is already furnished, if you want to move in.”
I glared at him. My face felt like a scowling mask. Part of me didn’t want to be associated with his club at all. Something in me still felt loyal to my dad. I had to give Martel a chance.
“Here are the keys to the upstairs apartment. You can get up there around the back.”
“Great.”
“Now, the gym is right down the street and around the corner from here. I can have someone come pick you up in an hour or so.”
“Give me two. I’m out of shape. Thanks to you.”
“Grow up, kid.”
We walked outside. He locked up the shop and handed me the keys. I grabbed my gym bag from the car, and he gave me a grin and a wave as he drove away in his SUV. I took another look at the shop. The obligation was coming. I knew it. Nothing in life came free.
I went to the gym and signed up for a full membership with what was left in my bank account. The front-desk girl with the short shorts and fake breasts showed me around the gym. It was well equipped for a small town — weights, treadmills, sauna, punching bags. It had everything I needed except a ring and a sparring partner.
She left me at the locker room entrance, and I went inside to change. I spent the first hour doing cardio. I’d become soft in the last weeks, and my stamina was low. The second hour I spend lifting free weights. The feeling of my muscles contracting and burning as I curled my biceps, and the smell of sweat as my heart pounded, gave me an intense comfort.
After my workout, I showered and changed into my street clothes. I went back to the shop and texted Martel to let him know his boy could pick me up.
Upstairs in the apartment, I found the same crisp white walls and architectural details as in the shop below. There was a black leather couch, a flat screen, and an oak coffee table in the living room. The bedroom had a king-sized four-poster bed with a new comforter and sheets. The kitchen was already equipped with pots and pans, plates and utensils. There was even a juicer and a blender on the counter.
A text buzzed on my phone, and I headed down the hallway stairs and out the back door into the private parking lot. I found Bill sitting in a tan Honda Civic. I almost laughed when I saw him. He glared at me through the window.
Without a word, I slid into the front seat of his car. He wasn’t wearing his vest or leathers. He wore a short-sleeved, collared shirt and khaki pants.
“Nice outfit,” I said. I couldn’t help it.
“Shut up, fucker. I manage the pizzeria. I have to look professional at work.”
“Okay, none of my business.”
“So Martel finally told you about your dad?”
“What? You knew?”
“Everyone knows.”
“So what now? Are we cool?”
“Hey, I don’t mess with the president’s family. I was just doing my job.”
“We aren’t family.”
“If you say so.”
“So we’re cool now?”
“We’re cool.”
After Damien dropped me off at home, I crept into my room. Trying not to wake Rose, I got into bed. I couldn’t sleep, and I tossed and turned late into the night. All I could think about was Damien.
Losing Jessy and having Rose had a serious effect on me. I’d never be the same because of it. If I’d stayed at school, who knows what would have happened or who I would have become? There was no going back now.
I could hear Rose breathing in her crib. Turning on my side, I stared at her in the darkness. All I could do was try to find some kind of happiness in the life that I had.
I was filled with so much worry and sadness, I felt numb. Regan’s verbal bashing left a dent in my confidence. My mind reeled with all the possible worst-case scenarios in my life.
In the morning, I was snapped out of a deep sleep by Rose’s sharp cry. Shooting up in bed, I looked over to see her standing in her crib, her face red and streaked with tears. I went to her and pulled her from the crib. Soothing her, I bounced her in my arms and kissed her head. She must have had a bad dream.
I got us both dressed and took her downstairs to eat breakfast. No one was up yet. Zoe had Tuesdays off and liked to sleep in when she had the chance. I had no idea if Regan was home or not.
I put Rose in her high chair, put on a pot of coffee, and made breakfast. Sitting down next to Rose while she ate her banana, I sipped the creamy coffee in my cup. The rich nutty aroma filled my fuzzy senses, helping me wake.
My freshly dyed fabric lay folded at the end of the table. I rubbed my temples and made a mental plan to get some sewing done. My record was five dresses in one day. My average was around three.
After I poured myself another cup of coffee, I let Rose toddle around in the living room. I cleaned off the table and spread out my fabric. Zoe came downstairs with messy hair, rubbing her face.
“Morning,” she said, moving to the coffee pot. I greeted her and continued placing my pattern pieces over the pink and purple fabric.
“Do you need anything?” she asked as she moved to the living room to turn on the TV to a morning news show.
“Not really, just maybe keep Rose occupied so she doesn’t destroy anything.” Rose stood in front of the computer desk, her hand reaching for the mouse. “I really need to get some work done. Emily is paying me up front now and wants as many dresses as I can make.”
“Wow, that’s awesome.” Zoe ran to pull Rose from the computer and redirected her to her toys. Rose picked up a doll and chucked it across the room. The motion made Bradly jump from his bed at the end of the living room and charge toward the doll. I grabbed the stuffed rabbit, opened the front door, and ushered him outside.
“Yeah, but the only problem is, how many dresses can I make? My best average is three a day. Even if I could keep that up, it would still only come out to ninety dollars.”
“It’s more than I make a day,” she said, sipping her coffee and eyeing Rose. Rose tipped a box of blocks on the floor, sending them crashing to the ground. “You should put your work on that craft website, Etsy, we talked about. I bet you could sell a lot, cut out the middle man.”
“Maybe; I just can’t get organized.” I looked at Rose, and raised an eyebrow at Zoe. Rose threw a block at the old, boxy television. I made an exasperated noise in the back of my throat. “Everything takes time and money. Two things I don’t have.”
“Why don’t I help you with that?”
“With what? Etsy? I guess. If you feel like it.”
“Sure, it’s no biggie. Our TV sucks anyway.” She clicked the remote, turning the channel to cartoons. Rose squealed and stood up in front of the television to dance to the “Elmo’s World” song. Zoe sat in front of the ancient computer that sprawled over an even more ancient desk at the far end of the living room.
I’d been meaning to get onto Etsy for ages. I just never had the time or patience to deal with it. Our Internet connection was a joke. Every time I sat down to learn how to get my dresses on the website, there was always some catastrophe to manage.
“This looks totally easy,” Zoe said over her shoulder.
“Okay, computer genius, don’t brag.” I chuckled at her while I cut pattern pieces, and she clicked away at the keyboard.
After a few hours, I had a dress cut out and most of the major seams sewn. I went upstairs to put Rose down for her morning nap. When I came downstairs, Zoe asked me what I wanted to call my craft store. I felt totally stumped. I hadn’t even thought about my business name. I wasn’t even operating legally yet.
While I sewed the sleeves to the bodice, I mulled over a name. I wanted it to represent my life and who and where I was. “Call it Clemency by Claire Parker.” It meant mercy, something I needed very badly.
“Clemency, huh? That sounds kind of cool.”
I finished the seams for my first dress and got ready to sew the zipper when I saw the mailman out the dining room window. I needed a break, so I hopped up from my chair and trotted out to the front yard with Bradly panting at my heels. He gave the departing mailman a few token barks.
I pulled the mail from the box and flipped through the letters. It was mostly overdue bills, which didn’t help my mood. I flipped over a letter from Social Services and ripped it open. They had denied our reapplication for food stamps. I turned the letter over in my hands, examining it for clues.
“Fuck!” I shouted, standing in the open door.
“What is it?” Zoe turned to look at me, a worried expression on her face.
“They cut our food stamps. It says we’ve passed our limit, and Regan needs to get a job.”
“Great…” Zoe’s tone was sarcastic. She turned back to the computer and kept working on the website. “They already cut us down to almost nothing anyway. It doesn’t make a big difference at this point.”
“Even a hundred dollars makes the difference between a week of groceries and nothing.”
“I’ll bring more leftovers home from work. Don’t worry, Claire — you’re going to have an aneurysm.”
She was right. I was practically having a panic attack. I crumbled up the paper and threw it in the trash. I shut the door abruptly with a loud crash. Rose made a startled noise from upstairs.
Great.
I ran upstairs and brought her back down with me. After giving her some crackers and a sippy cup of juice, I put her in her playpen. She started crying and threw her toys on the ground. Exasperated, I put her on the floor and let her watch “Clifford the Big Red Dog” on TV. She crawled under the coffee table and pulled Bradly’s tail. He yelped and jumped on the couch. Rose made her way under the coffee table and climbed up on the couch to continue harassing the dog.
“Rose, be careful!” I ran over and set her back down on the floor. Zoe got off the computer and sat on the couch with Rose. Bradly nipped playfully as Rose batted at his face, yelling, “Doggie, doggie, doggie!”
With Zoe playing referee, I picked up my dress and stared at the line where the zipper should be. The last thing I needed was another financial burden. The mystery of the missing cash pounded in my head.
“Zoe. I want to tell you something, but I don’t want you to get freaked out.”
“You’re freaking me out just saying that.” She had her feet on the coffee table, watching public television cartoons. She wasn’t freaked out. Zoe didn’t panic easily.
“I had like three hundred bucks in cash from my dresses in my top drawer the other day, and the morning after Regan had that guy here, it disappeared.”
She turned to me, her mouth hanging open. “Mother fucker.”
“The worst part is that when I went into her room, I found a needle. It had drops of brown liquid in it.”
“No… Do you think Regan is using?”
“I don’t know, Zoe. I want to believe she isn’t. You know there’s a heroin problem in this town. That’s what Jessy was taking. She spends an awful lot of time out somewhere. Is she even here now? When is the last time you saw her? She mentioned she’d met Toby at The Clutch.”
“Ew. That place is gross,” Zoe said, scrunching up her nose.
“I know. I wouldn’t go there if you paid me.”
“She does act like a freak all the time now. She’s always hanging on some guy or other. It kind of weirds me out. I just thought it was because of her, you know, issues.”
“I don’t know for sure. I don’t know if she took the money or if she’s using. When I confronted her, she freaked out and said a bunch of horrible things to me. I swear it’s like she knows exactly what to say to hurt me. You know what I mean?”
“Uh, yeah! Regan has been a serious bitch since Mom died.”
“We can’t blame her, Zoe. She’s sick. I just wish she’d accept it and deal with it in a healthy way. If she admitted to her illness, she could get the help she needs — her meds, therapy, all that.”
“She won’t admit it. She thinks everyone else has the problem.”
I sighed and went back to my sewing. Regan used to teach piano lessons before Mom died. She had always been a prodigy. Mother paid for her music lessons from the time she was five. Regan even went to special camps throughout most of her childhood and teens. She had been accepted to a private music school in high school, but Mom couldn’t pay the tuition. I’d had to stand in the shadow of a sister who was a musical genius. Regan never made me feel like I was less because of it. She’d always been my hero.
She had her choice of colleges when she graduated high school. Instead of going to college, Regan decided to stay home and give piano lessons to kids. No one understood why. She said she didn’t want to deal with the pressure of college. Even before her illness became full-blown, there had been signs.
After we got her out of the psych hospital, a doctor explained to me that mental illnesses like bipolar disorder and schizophrenia tend to manifest in the late teens and early twenties. That was why Regan seemed to be normal growing up but then one day she snapped.
The change in her was abrupt and obvious. She had been a little odd before the shift, but afterwards she was a different person. It became impossible to have a normal conversation with her. Her behavior was chaotic and unpredictable. She could go from depressed in the morning to manic at night. Sometimes she spouted out her delusions or slung horrifying insults. It was as if the real Regan was gone.