Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance (7 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Travis

For a second there, it was almost like old times again.

The sun was dipping down across the horizon. The cicadas were strumming their chorus. And there were me and Roxy, in dad’s old truck, roaring down TX-332 with the windows open.

I glanced across the cab towards her, and couldn’t help but smile.

Roxy had folded her legs up on the bench seat. She was leaning out of the window, the warm wind in her face. She looked beautiful, and sexy.

God, how I’d missed her.

But this wasn’t a date, like it had been the last time we’d taken a ride together in dad’s old Chevy. We weren’t about to head out for a burger at the Jetty Shack, and then fool around under the stars, on a blanket on the beach.

We were both grownups now; and tonight was serious business.

“Cross over the water to Surfside Beach,” Roxy ordered, as the highway took us through the flatlands heading towards the water. “Hang a left before you go into town.”

At the lights, TX-332 took a ninety-degree turn east, and soon we were powering along the highway – lined on either side by stubby palm trees, and the occasional house or business built on stilts; to protect it against the inevitable swells of the Gulf of Mexico.

We saw Ol’ Smokey’s about a mile out from the bar itself. Neon lights lit up the dusk sky, and the sound of music and roaring motorcycles soon cut through the chirping song of the cicadas.

As we bore down on the bar, Roxy reached over and squeezed my hand.

“Maybe we should have taken my truck,” she murmured, squeezing my fingers. “I’ve got the gun in the glove compartment.”

I just tightened my grip on the steering wheel. I might have lost my last two fights in the octagon, but I still knew the only weapons I needed were the big, heavy fists at the end of my powerful arms.

Ol’ Smokey’s was another building on stilts, raised up ten or twelve feet from the dirt parking lot.

Music blared through the open windows, and neon signs advertised Miller and Budweiser. The parking lot itself was filled with dozens of Harley Davidsons and Triumph motorcycles, plus old pick-up trucks, hot rods and muscle cars.

I pulled dad’s truck to a halt at the edge of the parking lot, and Roxy and I hefted open the creaking doors.

“Wow,” Roxy peered up at the looming two-story building. “I’ve heard about this place – never made it here, though.”

What sounded like a cover band reverberated through the windows. They were playing that old Allman Brothers number
Jessica
– and they weren’t half bad.

I reached over and grabbed Roxy’s hand, and we crossed the parking lot.

At the bottom of the wooden stairs, some bouncer in a black suit was checking IDs. For a minute, my stomach flipped as I wondered if it would be one of the same black-suited goons who’d been roughing up my pop earlier.

But, as it turned out, it was just yet another thug on Red’s payroll.

That being said, as we approached the stairs Roxy jabbed her elbow into my ribs and pointed across the lot.

Parked between the stilts of the towering building was a familiar-looking black Caddy – the old one that had been parked outside Dad’s doublewide, and cut Roxy off on the bridge.

Whoever those three goons had been, they were inside.

“Yo, I need to see ID.”

The bouncer at the bottom of the stairs didn’t even give us a once-over as he scanned our driver’s licenses and stepped out of the way. A moment later, Roxy and I were climbing the creaking wooden steps into the bar.

Through the door, the air was thick with cigar smoke. The place lived up to the name of Ol’ Smokey’s.

The band was hammering through
Smoke on the Water
now, and a crowd of bikers and sketchy characters were sprawled out at the wooden tables circling the makeshift stage.

The bar was packed with more bikers and scary-looking dudes – but I wasn’t exactly un-intimidating myself. People got out of my way as I led Roxy through the crowd, and shouldered our way up to the bar.

“Whaddya want?” a surly looking bartender snapped at me.

“I’m looking for somebody,” I replied, yelling over the sound of the bar. “A guy called Red?”

The bartender paused, and cocked his head on one side. Then, as if he’d listened to my question, and instantly dismissed it, he demanded, “Nah. Whaddya want to
drink
?”

I glanced over at Roxy uncertainly, and she shrugged. I guess we’d have to find this ‘Red’ character on our own.

“Two Coronas,” I snapped, and handed over my final twenty-dollar bill to the bartender. A moment later, Roxy and I were escaping the crush of the bar, ice-cold bottles in our hands.

“So?” Roxy demanded, breathing hotly into my ear over the sound of the music. “Where do we start?”

But I didn’t reply. I was looking back over at the bar – to where the bartender was standing.

He was talking to one of the black-suited dudes, and pointing in our direction.

He clearly hadn’t ignored the question – he just wanted to make sure that it was Red who found
us
, not the other way around.

Chapter Twenty

Roxy

“Yo!” The burly bouncer loomed over even Travis, as he crossed the crowded bar to find us. “I heard you’re lookin’ for Red, right?”

Travis and I turned to look at this stranger as he approached.

He was fat, but tall. Sunburned skin and a shaved head made him look kind of pig-like; but I still wouldn’t have liked to have gotten the wrong side of him.

“Yeah,” Travis sipped his beer, and barked at the new arrival. “That’s right. We’re looking Red Callahan.”

The hog-like bouncer snorted, showing off his crooked teeth.

“Well, you’re in luck, hoss.
He
found
you
.”

With a jerk of his head, the bouncer indicated that we should follow him. I reached over to curl my fingers around Travis’ hand, and followed him through the crowd.

The bouncer led us past the band, to a corner of the bar with a raised dais, overlooking all the action. It was blocked off by a red rope, and instead of the wooden tables and chairs, there were ratty leather sofas and coffee tables behind the barrier.

Sitting on the sofa, sprawled with his cowboy boots on the coffee table, was somebody I instantly guessed was ‘Red’.

He was a burly looking dude in a cowboy hat and Brooks & Dunn t-shirt, with a bushy red beard and beads and jewelry hanging around his bullish neck.

Sitting either side of him on the couch were two skinny girls in tank-tops and daisy dukes. They looked bored – and, if I was honest, kind of strung out. I’d gone to school with their types – they’d been hot little pieces of ass at 16, but were worn thin by the time they hit their mid-twenties; and had to resort to liaising with sleazebags like this ‘Red’ character.

The bouncer pulled back the rope, and welcomed us into this unofficial ‘VIP section.’ As Travis stepped up, the guy on the couch shouldered the two girls aside and hauled himself upright – offering his hand, and flashing a crooked grin.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” the redhead grinned. “If it ain’t the prodigal son. Travis Oates, home at last.”

Travis loomed menacingly over the bushy-bearded redhead, but the cowboy didn’t seem to be intimidated. He snorted as Travis refused the offered hand, and instead flopped back down on the sofa and gestured to two empty leather chairs either side.

“Take a pew, friends. Let’s parlay.”

Travis didn’t move. He just stood, looming over this stranger, and demanded, “Are you Red?”

Pushing back the brim of his cowboy hat, the redhead grinned, and nodded.

“Guilty as charged. That’s me.”

Travis narrowed his eyes.

“I heard what you did to my father,” he growled, and his hands balled up into fists.

The bouncer behind us took a menacing step forward, but Red just waved his away with his hand.

The bearded redhead didn’t look remotely intimidated by the towering MMA fighter looming over him. In fact, he was smiling.

“Don’t worry, son. They’re clean fractures. He’ll be back to jerkin’ off in six weeks or so.” Red’s menacing smile widened. “As long as he pays me the money he owes me, that is.”

Travis’ eyes narrowed, and he took another step towards Red.

“As a matter of fact, that’s what I’m here about…”

This time, Red did react. He nodded at the bouncer, he stepped up into the dais and moved towards Travis.

At the same time, Red slunk back on the couch, and pulled up the hem of his Brooks & Dunn t-shirt.

Sticking out of the belt of his jeans was the butt of an old gun – a 1911 Cold .45, by the looks of it. The same model my dad brought back with him from the Navy.

“Now, you better hold up there,
pardner
,” Red warned, and Travis did exactly that. “You make any rash moves, an’ you’re liable to get hurt.”

Travis didn’t say anything. He just stood there, peering murderously down at Red.

I could tell what he was thinking – doing the mental calculations to figure out if he could wrap his big hands about Red’s burly neck before the redhead could pull his gun out of his pants.

But Red saved him that decision.

“You best take a step back, son,” he warned Travis. “I’ve seen you fight up on the TV. I know you’re tough.” He nodded to the bouncer, looming menacingly behind Travis. “But my buddy Roy back there’s plenty tough too – and there are four more his size not more than a whistle away.”

Through all of that, Travis hadn’t even blinked – but I could see the fire in his eyes go out.

“You wanna talk about your dad and the money he owes me, well you and your pretty lady can take a seat and we’ll parlay like adults. But if you wanna try taking a swing at me, I’ll make sure they find you floatin’ face down in the ocean by sunrise.” And then he turned to me. “And I ain’t even gonna mention what we’ll do to that hot little piece of ass over there.”

I shuddered as I saw the redhead staring hungrily at me. I could only imagine what he was implying.

For another second, Travis stood there, looming over Red. But then his shoulder slumped, and he took a reluctant step back.

Travis was tough and fast – one of the best students of martial arts I’d ever met. But he also knew when he was beat.

Red watched his surrender with a smile.

“Why don’t you two take a seat,” he purred, winking at me. “And we’ll talk.”

Chapter Twenty One

Travis

I’d never felt so wretched in all my life.

Dammit, less than a year ago the New York Times had called me ‘one of the toughest fighters in the MMA League.’ And now I was backing down from a fight like a pussy.

But as I took a seat on the leather armchair opposite this ‘Red’ character, I knew I’d had no other choice.

Red I could have handled. Maybe taken down that big ass bouncer, ‘Roy’ as well. But Red had a gun – and more bouncers just a yell away.

Attacking him would have been suicide. Perhaps even literally.

So, dejected, I slumped down into the armchair and stared murderously across the VIP section towards the grinning redhead.

“That’s the spirt,” Red grinned, as he watched me and Roxy take a seat. “Y’all want anything? A beer? Whiskey?” He winked. “On the house, this time.”

I just narrowed my eyes.

“I’m here to talk about my dad,” I warned him. “That’s it.”

Red’s grin widened. God, how I wanted to redecorate it with my fist.

“Ol’ Walter Oates,” Red grinned. “I like old Walt. Good customer. Been comin’ here for years.”

He snorted, and reached across the coffee table for an open can of Miller Lite.

“It ain’t nothin’ personal with your dad. He just bet more than he could afford to lose – on
you
, no less.”

Ouch. That stung.

It hurt enough, just the mention of my two recent MMA losses. But to know that my dad’s faith in me had led to him losing those two bets …

I swallowed dryly.

“So,” Red leaned forward. “I ain’t a mindreader, but I reckon you and your pretty lady friend over there thought you’d mosey on down to Ol’ Smokey’s and talk me out of collectin’ what your father owes me.”

Red snorted.

“An’ believe me, hoss. I wish I could. I respect you, ‘Trigger’. Been a fan of your career ever since you joined the MMA League.”

I knew there was a ‘but’ coming.

“
But
,” Red continued, confirming my suspicion, “a deal’s a deal. If I go soft on your old man, all the other folks who owe me money will think they can talk their way out of payin’ up, too.”

He shrugged, as if he was embarrassed by the situation. 

“My hands are tied, cowboy.”

I just sat there, seething.

Eventually, I managed to unclench my teeth enough to growl: “So, now what?”

Red snorted.

“Now what? Now I tell my boys to saddle up tomorrow, and break your old man’s legs, just like they were supposed to today.” Red slurped his beer. “Only this time, if you or your lady friend get in the way, we’ll take care of your sorry asses as well.”

“Yeah,
about that
,” Roxy growled, from the chair opposite. “What was with your fuckboys stopping me on the bridge the other day.” She jerked her pretty head in my direction. “I ain’t happy about what you’re doing to old Walt, but it sure ain’t any business of mine.”

Red snorted.

Leaning back in the creaking leather sofa, he purred: “The moment you an’ your boyfriend turned up today, you
made
it your business.” He drained his beer, and crushed the can in one big hand. “You get in the way of collecting what’s owed, and I’ll start taking the interest out on
you
.”

Sneering menacingly, Red turned back to me.

“Did you get that, cowboy? It ain’t just your dad’s ass on the line now. If you try and get in my way, my boys and I will take that pretty little bitch over there, and collect what he owes from on tight little ass.” He licked his lips lasciviously. “And believe me, even a cute little tush like that’s gonna get worked
hard
.”

My hands balled into fists again, and I started wondering what my chances were. Could I leap across the coffee table and throttle that bearded bastard before his bodyguards turned up?

Probably not.

“But I
like
you Trigger, as I said,” Red continued, peering at me as if he could read my murderous thoughts. “So I’ll cut you a deal. Easy repayment terms. A grand a week, ‘til your dad’s debt is paid.”

A grand? I didn’t even have more than twenty bucks in my wallet right now.

But then I suddenly had a thought.

“Here,” I reached down to my wrist, and started unclasping my watch. It was a Tag Heuer Formula 1 – a fancy wristwatch I’d bought back during the days when money had been free and easy. “This is worth a grand, easy.”

I tossed the watch over to Red, and he caught it effortlessly.

“I’ll get you the rest of the money,” I promised, watching Red hold the watch up to his eye, like a jeweler examining a diamond. “God knows how, but I’ll get it to you.”

Red snorted.

He lowered the watch, and grinned.

“Nice watch. But it ain’t worth a grand.”

“I paid $1,200 for it,” I snapped back. “Just a year ago.”

“So on eBay? Maybe it’s worth $500. Probably less.” Red snorted. “I mean, I’ll take it… but you’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to keep your pop’s legs unbroken for another week.”

A hot flash of anger enveloped me.

“Why, you…”

I started to get up from the armchair.

Red laughed, and held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Steady on, fella. I’m more interested in gettin’ paid then hurtin’ your pappy. Let’s talk.”

I paused, half in and out of my seat, and Red continued:

“You’re a feisty one, ain’tcha?” As his grin widened, he leaned forward and purred: “How about this – I’ll fight you for it.”

I blinked.

“You’ll
what
?”

“I’ll
fight
you for it. The watch, I mean. You win, I’ll keep it, and wipe a grand off your dad’s debt. You lose?” He snorted. “Well, you’d better by some grapes for when you visit him in hospital tomorrow.”

I was trembling with anger now – my fingers digging into the leather armchair.

But then I looked at him – the bearded, broad-shouldered son-of-a-bitch sitting across from me.

He said
he’d
fight me for it? Fuck, I could take
him
. He looked like a roadie, not a roughneck. Sure, he was muscular enough – but the guy had a pot-belly and scrawny little forearms. He’d fold like a pack of cards.

“’Course, you wouldn’t be fightin’
me
.”

I should have seen that one coming.

“Yo, Roy!” Red shouted over the big bouncer looming behind us – the red-faced, pig-snouted goon in the too-tight suit. “You wanna make five hundred extra bucks tonight?”

The bouncer called Roy stepped onto the dias, and it groaned under his bulk.

“Shit, y’know I do, boss.”

“Well,” Red asked. “You think you could take this rangy son-of-a-bitch?”

Roy looked at me like junkyard dog – metaphorically sniffing my ass to see who was the alpha of the pack. He looked me up and down, and I knew he was appraising my height, weight, and the reach of my long, powerful arms.

Clearly, he underestimated me.

“Sure,” the big bastard grunted. “I can take him.”

Red grinned.

He practically bounded off the sofa. Clapping his hands, the bearded cowboy crossed the dias to a microphone stands, and as he picked it up he drowned out the band still wailing in the corner.

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen!”

The band stopped playing. A hundred pairs of eyes turned to face the dias, where Red stood addressing the crowd.

He grinned, clearly loving being the center of attention.

“For your entertainment,” Red grinned, “we have another
impromptu fight
for you.”

Apparently this sort of thing was common enough at Ol’ Smokey’s, because the crowed roared in approval.

“Ten minutes, in the parking lot out front. Good ol’ boy Roy,” he gestured his lumbering bouncer, “will be facin’ off against none other than a
bona fide
MMA legend.”

Red turned, and gestured to me.

I climbed awkwardly out of my seat – suddenly aware of a see of eyes boring into me.

“Straight from New York, it’s MMA League heavyweight Travis ‘Trigger’ Oates,” Red grinned. “And you’re gonna see him fight right
here
, right
now
.”

The crowd screamed in approval, and the walls practically shook with their screams and hollers.

“So whaddya say, Trigger,” Red grinned, turning to me. “You ready to earn some motherfuckin’ money?”