Linc (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel Book 3) (8 page)

Then I walked in her dorm room and caught her with another fuckin’ guy. The doctor told her she wasn't supposed to be havin’ sex so soon after the delivery, especially not with some random asshole! That was it, the final straw. All the pent up emotions erupted from me as I pulled the fucker out of her bed and beat the livin’ shit out of him. I didn't even care to know his name. He represented everythin’ I had lost; my girlfriend, my son, my entire fuckin’ life. I blamed it all on him. He was the reason why Abby didn't want to be with me. He was the reason she didn't want to have my child. And yeah, I was fuckin’ infuriated with her too for cheatin’ on me when I needed her. I was still grievin’ over the son we would never have, and she was in bed fuckin’ around with some other guy. But I would never lay a finger on Abby. Instead, I took out all my rage at her on the unknown asshole until campus security guards pulled me from his limp, bloody body.

I was put in handcuffs, taken away to the police station and charged with felony assault inflicting serious bodily injuries. The guy, Charlie Bowers, I later found out the fucker's name, was in a medically-induced coma for brain swellin’ over the next forty-eight hours, but thankfully woke up with no permanent injuries, just a broken jaw, nose and collarbone. My parents hired an attorney and bonded me out of jail later that week.

When the district attorney heard the whole story she deemed it a Post-Traumatic Stress response to losin’ my son, and agreed to dismiss the charge against me if I would pay for all of the medical bills, not have any contact whatsoever with Abby or Charlie, and stay out of legal trouble for a year. One year later the charge was dismissed, and my attorney petitioned for an expunction of the police and court records. All of it disappeared like it never happened. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been signed to fight for the IFC.

“
Zelda to the front. You have a guest.
” It's like déjà vu when Jude's voice blares over the gym's speaker system.

Why is Abby back again today?
Fuck
. I’m not ready to face her again.

I pick up the office phone and push the extension for the front desk, hopin’ Jude is still hangin’ around. It suddenly occurs to me that we really need to find a replacement for Stephanie, our summer receptionist that we lost two weeks ago when she went back to school.

“Yo?” Jude answers right away.

“Tell her, uh, that I’m busy and I’ll, um, call her later.” I speak softly when I give him the order so that she won't be able to hear me if she’s standin’ close.

“Definitely not a
her
,” he drawls.

“Oh. There's a guy here to see me?” I ask, even though it’s obvious.

“Uh-huh. A big one with some badass ink. And since he’s standing right the fuck in front of me, he knows we’re talking about him, dipshit.” 

“Who the hell is it?” I ask in confusion.

“Who the hell are you?” Jude asks him, then to me, he says, “Name's Mason. He said his sister sent him with a, ah, painting.”

“Holy fuck.” 

“He said, ‘
holy fuck
,’” Jude unhelpfully repeats.

“I’ll be right up,” I tell him then hang up the phone and head for the door.

A tall, muscular guy with brown, messy hair and tats all the way down his arm is standin’ in front of the counter, so I know he's got to be the visitor who Jude called me to the front for. He doesn't notice my approach because he's too busy scopin’ out the gym and the guys workin’ out, some grapplin’ on the mats, two in the cage, a row of six heavyweights going through drills on the long bags with one of the boxin’ coaches. His wide-eyed expression looks impressed.  

"Hey, ah, so you're here to see me?" I ask when I'm next to him.

He spins around to face me. "Linc Abrams! I’ll be damned," he says with a widenin’ smile. "I thought she was shitting me."

"Um, yeah, how's it going?" I ask, offerin’ him a fist bump, which he hits.

"This place is like MMA heaven," he mutters. "Expect there are no ring girls in bikinis."

"Yeah, it sort of is." I laugh. Fightin’ in this buildin’ for the past seven years, I think of it as home. Even if the name changed from
Evolution
to
Havoc
, it's still the same, just new and improved with my and Jude's recent renovations. The guys are like my family since I spend most of my days and nights here.

"Shit, sorry, I'm here because my sister sent me over to give this to you," he says, handin’ me the poster.  

Curious and unable to wait another second, I slide the rubber band down and then off to unroll it. It's a beautiful and serene painting; so much better than most of the weird geometrical shit I've seen hangin’ in museums. Despite her denial, she's really talented. The thing I can't figure out as my eyes sweep back and forth over the scene is when the fuck was she at my house? There's no doubt about it, this is the exact view of the lake from my front porch. Except for the random boy. The one that I'm trying not to think about too hard about since he looks so much like the pictures my parents have of me when I was little.

"She's pretty good, right?" The guy I completely forgot was standin’ in front of me says.

"Yeah she is. So, Eve Kelly is your sister?" I look up and ask him, tryin’ to find the resemblance. There may be a little in the chestnut color hair, but he's massive compared to her lean frame.

"
Eve
, right," he replies with an eye roll.

"Well, tell her I said thanks."

"Ah, sure thing. Totally worth the half hour drive just to meet you and see this place." 

Hold on. Did he just say half an hour drive? He's local?

"Does Eve live around here, too?" I ask.

"Uh-huh. We moved down to Durham from Ohio about four years ago."

No. Fuckin’. Way. She lives not only in my state but just half an hour away? Oh this is so not good. She really may need to get that restrainin’ order we joked about because I'm so desperate to see her again that I'm not above stalkin’.

Ever since Friday night when I met the real deal, the videos don't cut it anymore. There's somethin’...off, and whatever it is prevents me from gettin’ myself...off. Watchin’ the pornos I instantly go hard like always, but now I just can't fuckin’ finish. Maybe it's because I know she's an actual person who doesn't like to dance naked for men, so I can't imagine why she'd fuck them, or how shitty she must feel about doin’ it. Especially if she has to get high just to get through the tapin’. The fantasy is ruined because now I just want to see her and get my hands and mouth on the real woman.

Then there’s the whole Abby...issue…up in the air, but I can’t deny that I’d give anything to see Eve. To feel her body pressed against mine, kissin’ her until she comes for me again. 

"Will you tell your sister that I'd really like to see her again?"

"Which one, Mandy or Claire?" he asks. "Either way, you know I gotta warn you that I'll kick your ass if you hurt her, right?" I just stare at him with a raised eyebrow in confusion after his threat, one he could maybe even back up because of his sheer size. The only problem is I don't know who the fuck he's talkin’ about. "You don't know?" He laughs and shakes his head when I don’t respond. "Well, I guess to everyone else they look alike. Mandy is Eve Kelly, but Claire is the one who painted the picture."

Now I'm really fuckin’ confused. "I met Eve...
Mandy
, at a…club," I catch myself just before sayin’ strip club, "last Friday and she told me she paints." I look over the scene I'm still holdin’ and down on the bottom right corner there's a cursive signature that definitely has a capital E and K. "See," I point the letters out to him. He leans over for a closer look, his forehead wrinkled in confusion before he says, "Fuck man, I don't know. Claire asked me to bring it to you."

"Yeah, thanks for dropping it off," I say, wavin’ the confusion off. Reachin’ over to the counter, I grab a pen and one of the
Havoc
cards with my name on it, scribbling the cheesy words, "Almost as beautiful as you" on the back and offer it to him. "Here, will you just give this to her?"

"Sure, no problem," he says soundin’ somewhat distracted. Takin’ it without even readin’ it, he slips the card in the front of his jean pocket. "Damn. I would love to throw down in a place like this,” he says as he glances around again.

"Yeah, we've got some great coaches, and some up and comin’ guys."

"And Jude Malone was behind the fucking desk when I came in!"

I smile at his enthusiasm. "What team you fightin’ for now?" I ask.

He chuckles. "Team Mason Reed. All underground, off the grid."

Ah, so in other words he illegally fights guys in warehouses for a few hundred bucks a pop. That's a shitty way to live since there are no rules, no regulations and it's no holds barred. Anything goes. Hell, I'd have my hands full in one of those damn fights.

"Then you should definitely consider joinin’
Havoc
. Our fees start at two hundred and go up to five hundred a month for one-on-one with the entire coachin’ staff. If you're good, after you win a few fights you could possibly get signed by the IFC and they'll start coverin’ all of your trainin’ costs."

"I can maybe save up and try it out in a few months," he replies as his face falls. It’s obvious by his tone that it won't ever happen. Trainin’ is expensive for guys without huge wins, and sometimes all a person needs is the right trainin’ to turn into a world champion.

"Look, if you can prove to me you've got some decent skills in the cage, we could probably work somethin’ out. I'm actually half owner of this
Havoc
, so..."

"No shit?" he asks, facin’ me again with an excited and boyish grin.

"How old are you and what weight do you fight at?"

"Nineteen and middle or light heavyweight." 

"Which one is closer to your natural weight?" I ask. Guys who starve themselves because they think lower weight classes are easier are idiots. It only makes them weak and sluggish when they're always strugglin’ to keep their weight down.

"I stay at one-ninety-five so it's no problem to go either way."

"Then I want to see you at both to figure out where you're better." 

"I've got a fight tomorrow night in Durham if you want to check it out," he offers, soundin’ hesitant but hopeful with a smile so similar to Eve or Mandy's that I have no choice but to agree. And thinkin’ of her, I ask, "Will your sister be there?" 

"Claire usually shows, but it's hit or miss with Mandy." Good enough for me. I feel like an addict needin’ just one more chance to see her in the flesh, to touch one little inch of her beautiful body again and then I’ ll quit.

"Yo, Senn," I call over to the light heavyweight across the gym floor, where he's takin’ a break from grapplin’ practice.

"What's up?" Senn asks with his approach, smoothin’ his long, dark hair back to retie it in a rubber band. I don't know why he doesn't just cut the shit off instead of havin’ to fool with it always gettin’ in the way.

"Wanna go with me to see this kid's underground fight tomorrow night in Durham?" I ask him. Senn started the same way, takin’ beatings before trainin’ with us, so I want him to see if he thinks this guy has any potential once he steps in a cage professionally and has to adhere to all the IFC rules. Really, I just need an unbiased opinion since I want to sign him up just because of who his sister is.

"Shit yeah I'll go. I miss the good ole days of rag tag brutality," he says with a wide grin. Now almost toe to toe, the two men are nearly the same exact size, height and weight wise. I could easily see them as a helluva good matchup for trainin’ partners. Senn, who is quickly makin’ his way up the world rankings, has left so many of our guys banged up that he has trouble gettin’ anyone to spar with him or go a few rounds in the cage. Maybe it’ll work out for the best so Mason can give Senn the counterpart he needs to train harder, and Senn can give Mason the coachin’ and techniques the kid probably desperately needs. "Senn Duncan," he introduces himself to the boy, offerin’ him a handshake that he takes.

"
Seneca
," I cough in correction just to annoy him.

"Shut the fuck up,
Lincoln
."

"Mason Reed," the kid says, lookin’ back and forth between us with an amused grin. "But you can call me Mace for short, since that seems to be ya'lls MO around here."  

"All right, Mace, where are we goin’ tomorrow night?" I ask, guessin’ it's gonna be in the shitty part of town.

"Four-seventy-one Wake Place. Fights start at nine and I'm the last one of the night."   

Yep, that's a rundown neighborhood where everyone packs a switchblade or heat. I don't like the idea of his sister hangin’ around such a dangerous place, which is yet another reason for me to go.

"We'll see what you've got then," I tell him with another fist bump.

"Awesome," he replies, headin’ for the door. "Thanks, guys. Really appreciate it."

"So why do you give a shit about a random street fighter?" Senn asks after Mace walks out. He comes around and looks over my shoulder, down at the paper in my hands. "Oh shit, who painted your lake?"