Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance (20 page)

Chapter Fifty Two

Travis

“Fuck, James,” I cried, as I burst in through the front door of ‘Bulldog’ MacDonald’s expensive Chelsea flat. “What the fuck do we
do
?”

James was waiting for me, dressed in a natty tweed suit he’d obviously picked out for commentary duties later than night.

But, right now, the upcoming fight was the last thing on our minds.

“I got the call a few moments after you did,” he hissed, slamming the door shut behind me. “Frank Slater, telling me you’d better
lose
tonight’s fight, or Toni’s going to suffer the same fate as Roxy.”

I wheeled around, heart pounding in my chest.

“So what do we do? Call the cops? Tell Dan Blanc?”

“We can’t do
anything
,” James held up his hand in a silent warning. “You heard what Frank said. If we go to the police, or tell the league…”

He mimed somebody getting their throat cut.

Deflated, I slumped against the wall in the hallway.

“So… so
what
? What do we do
now
?”

James checked his Rolex.

“We get ready, that’s all.” Looking up at me, the handsome Scotsman hissed: “Until we figure out a plan, we have to follow Frank’s instructions.” When he saw me wavering, MacDonald stepped forward and grabbed my arm. “Hey, it’s not just your girl at stake, okay? It’s
mine
, too. And, so help me, if you do something dumb to put her at risk, ‘Uncle’ Frank will be the
last
thing you need to worry about.”

I stared at the steely determination in the Scotsman’s eyes, and realized that he was speaking the truth.

We didn’t have any choice. We just had to play along, and hope that somewhere, somehow, an opportunity to make things right presented itself.

*              *              *

The 02 Arena in North Greenwich is one of the most ridiculous things you’ll ever see in your life – a sprawling dome that looks like one of the flying saucers from
Independence Day
touched down right in the heart of London’s docklands.

For sports, it was second only to Madison Square Gardens for the number of people it could seat – and, unlike the venue in New York City, had been allowed to host MMA events since the very beginning.

As even approached, I crammed into the back of James’ elegant Jaguar sportscar, and he powered us through the Blackwall Tunnel towards the famous arena.

Why was I in the back seat? Because sitting up front was James’ chatty little trainer, Taffy Evans.

“Well, boyo,” the Welshman was turned in his seat, “I’d volunteered my services to that lovely young lady of yours – but now it looks like you’re stuck with ‘em.” He gave me the thumbs up. “I’ll be your corner team tonight.”

“Are you serious?”

I leaned forward in the cramped back seats – a ridiculous fit for my lanky, 6’ 4” frame.

“We’re just going to pretend like everything’s normal? You expect me to just climb into that cage tonight, and fight like I’m scheduled to?”

“No,” James growled, as he maneuvered the car through traffic, “I expect you to
lose
. Because as long as we’re hold up Uncle Frank’s end of the deal, we can only pray he holds up his.”

I slumped back in the seats, my hands balling into fists.

Fuck
.

He was right, of course. As long as Frank had Roxy and Toni, there was nothing we could do put play along. Do what he wanted – and
hope
that we could trust his word.

But I felt powerless. More powerless, even, than when I’d faced down Red back at Ol’ Smokey’s, in Freeport.

It was ironic that on two different sides of the world – 3,000 miles apart – I’d fallen foul to two of the same characters.

“Okay, we’re here.”

James pulled the Jaguar to a halt at the valet parking, and threw open the door.

Before he tossed the keys to the valet, the Scotsman helped me out of the cramped back seats – and gripped my arm
hard
as I clambered out.

“I can trust you, right?” He hissed into my ear. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

I turned and looked at the handsome Scotsman, locking my gaze with his.

Right at that moment? I wanted to take a swing at him – for being such a condescending, arrogant prick.

But then I realized he was in the same boat as I was. It was
his
girl who’d been kidnapped, too.

And while I had the silent luxury of an octagon, James had the really hard task that night: Getting up in front of a crowd of thousands, and commentating on that night’s roster of fights as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

That was the sort of thing no amount of training would ever prepare you for.

Chapter Fifty Three

Roxy

With my hands tied to the chair, I couldn’t even glance at my watch – so who knew how many hours we’d been in that dark and dingy warehouse.

All I knew was that I was losing feeling in my arms and legs, and my nose had been itching for as long as I could remember.

“Yo!” It was Toni, sitting across from me. She was barking at one of the four men guarding us. “Yo! I need to take a whizz!”

She rocked back and forth in the chair she was in – as close to doing the ‘pee-pee’ dance as you can get with your hands and wrists tied.

But if the thugs cared, they didn’t show it.

In fact, one of the masked men swaggered over to where Toni was struggling, and kicked her chair
hard
. It threatened to topple right over, until the goon grabbed the back of it with his hand and righted it.

Toni stopped struggling.

“If you need to take a leak,” the thug growled, “
piss in your fucking knickers
. I ain’t letting you up for
nothing
.”

And then he snarled, and turned his back on the both of us.

For a moment, there was silence in the warehouse – and I turned to Toni and looked at her despondent face as we both sat there silently.

Fuck
.

What were we going to do?

But then there was a shout from the other side of the room.

“Oi! The fucking fights are about to begin!”

That self-same iPad that Frank Slater had appeared on was being repurposed. Two of the thugs had rigged up the MMA League app, and the live feed from the O2 Arena started streaming.

For a moment, the thug watching us just narrowed his eyes, and continued his menacing vigil. But then, he turned and strode across the empty warehouse towards his buddies – hissing: “You’ve all got some money on Junior, right?”

It didn’t mean we were alone – far from it. But with the four thugs peering at the iPad, it meant Toni and I were as free to talk as we were ever likely to be.

I kept my eyes on the broad backs of the four thugs, and then started shuffling my chair over to where Toni was sitting.

It was awkward – my toes barely touched the concrete underfoot, and the chair scraped loudly as I moved. But the goons didn’t seem to notice – or, at least, care – and soon I was shuffling my seat up beside Toni.

“Psssst,” I turned my head and hissed at her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Toni turned her head, and nodded frantically. “Although I wasn’t kidding about needing a whizz.”

That gave me the first reason to smile since we’d been dragged there.

“Okay,” I whispered across at her, “so
what do we do
?” I struggled with the ropes. “I ain’t all that good at playing ‘damsel in distress’.”

Toni rasped: “Me neither.” She winked. “Growin’ up in the hood, we learned the only person you can rely on is yourself.” And then, with a grin, she hoisted up one tiny hand, and revealed that she’d managed to get her wrist free. “That’s why I’ve been tryin’ to get free since we got here.”

“Holy shit!”

Toni winked, and then returned her hand behind her back – just in time, too. One of the guards turned around, and glowered at us as we sat there, side by side.

For long, lingering moments he just stared at us – and I was worried he was going to come over and wrench our seats apart.

But, instead, he finally just turned back to the action on the iPad screen, and Toni and I could whisper to each other again.

“Okay, doll,” Toni hissed. “I think I can get free. What about you?”

I was already halfway there. By clenching and unclenching my fists, I was expanding and contracting the rope around my wrists – and soon I managed to get my hand free.

Thank fuck London mobsters never joined the boy scouts.

But even as I pulled my other wrist free, I started to wonder:
What now
?

We were in an abandoned warehouse, out in God knew where – with four burly thugs guarding us.

“Sugar, I got a plan,” Toni hissed at me. “But you’re not going to like it – and when shit goes down, you’re gonna have to
fight
.”

I snorted.

“Fight?” Those four thugs looked tough and mean – but they’d only kidnapped me the first time because they’d got the drop on me. “I can fight.”

With the odds even? I figured a lifetime studying taekwondo, jujitsu and Krav Maga would serve me well.

“Okay, Toni,” I shuffled my seat up even closer to her. “What did you have in mind?”

Chapter Fifty Four

Travis

I’d been given dressing rooms in Las Vegas, Atlantic City… shit, even Cleveland – but the 02 Arena took the cake.

The digs Dan Blanc had assigned me were spacious, well-appointed, and brimming with complimentary water and snacks.

It was a shame I was in no mood to appreciate it.

There was another hour until my fight with Frankie ‘Fury’ Slater – but it might as well have been a lifetime away. All I knew was that Roxy was still missing; and there was nothing I could do about it.

“It’ll be okay, boyo,” pacing up and down the other side of the room was Taffy Evans – clearly as upset about this as I was.

But as bad as it was for the both of us, at least we didn’t have James’ job. Up on the TV in the corner, they were playing live coverage of the MMA League event – and there was James trying to offer commentary even as his girlfriend was kidnapped and missing.

In fact, right at that moment, he was being asked about
me
.

“What do you make of the Slater / Oates fight that’s coming up,” asked one of the other commentators, turning the mic to James. “Think Trigger is in with a chance?”

And James MacDonald, to his credit, was cool as a cucumber as he replied: “I think a lot of people are expecting him to lose… But I have high hopes
something
can turn around for Travis at the last minute.”

If only!

I was so entranced by the TV that I didn’t hear the knock on the door at first. But then there was another series of loud bangs – loud enough for Taffy and I to turn and stare at the dressing room door.

It flew open, and ‘Uncle’ Frank Slater stood framed in the doorway.

“Travis, my boy,” the Londoner grinned, swaggering inside.

Two of his thuggish bouncers were behind him, and followed Frank inside. They took positions either side of him, as the crook put his hands on his hips, and surveyed my dressing room like he owned it.

And, in some ways, he looked like he did. Frank was wearing his trademark cashmere coat, flung over his shoulders like a cloak. In a Saville Row suit that cost more than I’d make in purse money that night, Frank looked sleek, mean and intimidating.

But I was
done
being intimidated.

“So son of a bitch,” I growled, raising from my chair and balling my hands into fists.

“Easy now, easy now,” Frank raised his hands in mock surrender. “Save it for the octagon, my son. Trust me, you’ll need that energy when Frankie gets his mitts on you.”

I paused, as I remembered that this unscrupulous son of a bitch was holding Roxy and Toni prisoner. That, and his two bouncers looked like they’d step in before I had the satisfaction of driving my fists in Frank’s broad, flat face.

But while I paused, somebody else didn’t.

“What the
fuck
are you doing here,” Taffy hissed, stepping up behind me, and pointing his finger accusingly at Frank.

The little Welshman may not have reached much higher than my chest, but he was like a bulldog, the way he stared the Londoner down.

Frank wasn’t intimidated by him, though. In fact, instead of a bulldog, the Londoner glowered at Taffy as if he was nothing but a yapping Chihuahua.

“I’m here for the fight, ain’t I?” Frank sneered. “It’s my boy up the octagon. Gotta lend him support, right?”

And then Frank took a menacing step forward.

“But before I went up to my VIP box, I wanted to stop by and check
one last time
that you’re gonna play ball.”

I said nothing – I just stared at Frank with unmitigated hatred seething in my veins.

Frank took my silence as my answer.

“
Good
.” He jabbed a finger in my direction. “It’s not rocket science, lad. You throw the fight. I give you the girl back. It’s as simple as that.”

He winked menacingly.

“Then you can slink back to America and do whatever the fuck you want with your life. I won’t give a shit any more.”

Again, I had nothing to say to him. I
couldn’t
say anything to him. Just holding back my rage took every effort I had.

Frank watched, with a sneer.

“So, we have an understanding?”

I stared at Frank with more murder and hate seething through me than I’d ever experienced before.

Even Red Callahan, the night he’d sneered that breaking my dad’s legs would be ‘strictly business’, hadn’t made me feel like this.

God, I wanted the chance to choke the life out of this evil bastard. To watch his eyes bulge as I sunk my fingers into his throat.

But, as long as he still had Toni and Roxy at his mercy, I knew I couldn’t touch him.

So I nodded, slowly and simply. And Frank accepted that as my answer, and grinned: “Good boy.”

And then he was gone – wheeling around and pacing out of my dressing room with his cashmere coat billowing out behind him.

I stood there, hands still balled into fists, and watched him go.

I’d never hated another human being so much in my life.

And the worst thing? There was
nothing
I could do about it.

Wait, scratch that. That wasn’t even the worst thing.

Because in less than an hour, I was going to be in the octagon with Frank’s son, Junior. And that
was
a man I could do something about.

In front of a screaming crowd of thousands, I could deliver to him the bloody justice Frank Senior so richly deserved.

Except I
couldn’t
.

Not while he had Roxy. Not while he had Toni.

Just like I couldn’t touch Frank Senior, I couldn’t even whale on his son for the same reason. I had to let him
win
.

And even with Roxy’s life hanging in the balance, that was a pill almost
too
bitter to swallow.

Chapter Fifty Five

Roxy

“Yo!”

Toni’s voice echoed across the deserted warehouse.

At first, the four thugs ignored her – glued to the iPad as they watched the preliminary fights from that night’s MMA League event.

But Toni was nothing if not loud.

“Yo! Douchebags!”

This time, all four thugs spun around, and one of them snarled at her: “What?”

Toni grinned, as she saw she’d caught their attention.

Wobbling side to side in her chair, she cried out: “I told you assholes. I need to use the bathroom!”

The thug pulled himself upright, and started swaggering over to where Toni and I were sat.

“…and I told
you
, you fucking tart,” he sneered, “if you need to take a leak,
go in your fucking knickers
.”

And that’s why Toni played her trump card.

“I need to go
number two
,” she hissed, “and unless you want to smell
that
for the rest of the evening, I suggest you let me go to the bathroom,
stat
.”

The big thug had actually raised his palm – as if to slap Toni as she lay tied there. But the moment she said what she did – suggesting she was about to shit her pants – he paused as if to consider her words.

And then, slowly, the hand lowered.

“Fucking
fine
,” he spat. “Come take a shit. Enjoy it. It’ll be your fucking
last
.”

And then he bent down to untie her wrists – and that was when this big thug was in for a surprise.

“What the fuck?”

Bending down, the goon discovered that Toni’s wrists weren’t tied to the chair like they were supposed to be. In fact, as he was bent over, she lurched forward, and wrapped her arms tightly around his throat.

“Ack!”

Toni was a tiny little thing, but she was a spitfire. Hooking her elbow around the thug’s burly neck, she tightened her grip until he gasped, and then yelled at me: “
Now
! Do it
now
!”

And that meant it was time for the thug’s
other
surprise – the bit where I rear up from my chair, similarly untied, and then reach back to grab it like this was the WWE.

Gripping the chair with both hands, I hoisted it high above my head, and then brought it down with a crash across the thug’s broad, defenseless back.

He went down like a sack of potatoes – and I’m pretty sure some of the cracks and splinters we heard didn’t come from the chair – they were actually his
ribs
.

But, of course, you don’t lay out a thug like that without getting noticed – and the moment the chair splintered across his back, the three other goons spun around, and one of them barked: “Fucking hell! They’re loose!”

And that was when Toni gave me a nod, and asked: “You ready?”

And I nodded back – because I’d been waiting my whole life for this.

Turning to the three goons, I slid my right leg back – giving me a solid position to fight from.

Then I raised my fists, and waited for them to come running – and the three thugs didn’t disappoint.

I guess they figured we were ‘just’ a couple of girls. After all, we’d been easy enough to snatch earlier that day.

But that had been with the element of surprise – and, in my case, a fucking
tazer
.

But now? Now the fight was on
my
terms.

The two thugs in the front split up – one heading to grab Toni, and the other reaching to grab me.

He hurtled toward me like a raging bull, huge hands outstretched to grab me.

He was big, and he looked tough – but this giant goon was sloppy, and clearly underestimated me. As he lurched forward, I simply ducked to the left; and he roared right on past.

Which might have been fine, if I hadn’t also extended my leg, to trip him over as he ran.

The thug skidded face-first onto the concrete, sprawling like a felled bison. And then, as he sloppily tried to clamber back up, I stepped over to him, and gave him a right hook I’d been practicing for twenty years, right on the side of the head.

He slumped to the dirty concrete, absolutely unconscious.

I’m not going to lie – it felt
good
. Studying martial arts involves a lot of practice – but the philosophy is always: “Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.” The fact that I’d laid out this big goon with two strategic moves showed that those years of forms and exercises hadn’t been wasted.

“Hey! Gerrof me!”

Across from me, things weren’t going so well for Toni. She was fighting like a little alley cat – clawing, and spitting, and hissing. But the bigger, stronger thug had his arms wrapped around her, and was crushing her with his iron grip.

Emphasis on the ‘was’ – because the moment my guy hit the concrete, I crossed the space between us, and gave Toni’s assailant a sucker punch he wasn’t expecting.

Thwack! The full force of my knuckles impacted with the thug’s throat. Instantly, he released Toni – staggering back and gasping as he clutched at his bruised Adam’s Apple.

For a few vital seconds, he was unprepared, and undefended – and that was all I needed. I landed two jabs, one after the other, right under his nose. The big lug’s head bounced back with each one like it was a punching bag.

The was probably enough – I saw the light go out from his eyes after the first punch, and the second one definitely knocked him out. But, just to be sure, I followed it up with a brutal side-kick right in the brute’s solar plexus – which lifted him clean into the air, and sent him flying across the room.

He crashed onto the concrete moaning, spluttering, and gasping.

“
Damn,
girl!” Toni staggered back, eyes wide. “Where’d you learn to do
that
?”

And I’m not going to lie – I felt a certain amount of pride as I stood there, fists raised, and looked at my three vanquished opponents.

But then that elation quickly turned sour.

There was a ‘click’ from behind us – the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

Toni and I wheeled around, and found that fourth thug – the one who’d hung back – bearing down on us with a gun.

Jesus, the thing looked like it belonged in a museum – an old Webley, as far as I could tell. But I came from Texas, and had learned from a young age that a gun is always deadly – no matter how old it is.

“You fucking
bitches
,” the fourth thug gasped, looking at our handiwork. The three other thugs were all sprawled out, groaning and writhing. “Look what you
did
.”