Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance (9 page)

Chapter Twenty Six

Roxy

A few moments later, washed up as best he could, Travis took my hand and we clambered up the creaking steps back into Ol’ Smokey’s.

He was wearing the t-shirt Red had handed him, and if it was possible he looked even sexier. The t-shirt was probably a size too small – and it clung to every curve of Travis’ taut, lean, muscular body. Staring at his broad back as he climbed the stairs whet my appetite for another kiss… and that wasn’t the only thing it wet.

But we had business to take care of before that.

Travis pushed open the door to Ol’ Smokey’s, and we forced ourselves into the loud, smoky bar.

People had got out of Travis’ way before, but now the crowd of bikers and truckers parted almost like the Red Sea – with the tough-looking crowd giving Travis respectful nods and grunts as he passed. Clearly he’d impressed them out there in the makeshift fighting circle.

That made it easy to reach the VIP section – where, once again, Red was lounging back on the sofa – this time with one of the skinny girls he’d been sitting with earlier sprawled across his lap.

Because of the blonde, Red didn’t even attempt to get up – but he beckoned us over, and snapped his fingers at a waitress to bring over drinks.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Red grinned, as Roy’s replacement – one of the bouncers Travis had knocked out that afternoon – lifted the velvet rope and admitted us into the raised VIP section.

Travis took a seat in the creaking leather chair on one side of the sofa, and I nervously sunk down into the other.

“Well, hell, boy,” Red grinned, stroking the blonde’s ass as she wriggled in his lap. “That was some performance out there.” He reached into his top pocket and pulled out a packet of Parliaments. The girl in his lap lit the cigarette for him, as he jabbed it in his mouth.

Travis leaned back in his seat – looking a lot more confident and calmer than he had before the fight.

“So, we’re
good
, right?” He growled.

Red blew smoke into the blonde’s face, and she closed her eyes and breathed it in luxuriously.

“Sure ‘nuff, pardner,” the redhead nodded, grinning. He held up one arm – now adorned with Travis’ Tag Hueur around his wrist. “I’ll give you five hundred for this, an’ five hundred for chokin’ out poor Roy.” He took another long drag from his cigarette. “All told, that’s a week’s reprieve for your old man.”

But then Red leaned forward, and pushed the pretty blonde off his lap.

She landed on her add on the floorboards, and screamed: “Shit!” as Red kicked her away.

“But here’s the deal, hoss,” clearly all business now, Red leaned towards Travis, and warned: “I’ll expect another grand this time next week, or your old man’s still gonna need crutches.”

I looked at Travis very closely as Red said this, and I saw my ex-boyfriend’s hands curl into fists. His face was a mask, but I knew him well enough to know that behind that still expression was a murderous rage.

Nobody threatened people Travis cared about and got away with it.

Or did they?

Because that’s exactly what Red was doing – and I imagined part of Travis’ frustration was knowing there was
nothing
he could do about it.

As Travis sat there seething, Red continued talking.

“Tell you what, son,” he grinned, as he puffed on his cigarette. “I know you and your old man are hurtin’ for money right now. So how about I do somethin’ for you?”

Stubbing out the cigarette on the table, Red reached for his can of Miller Lite, and sucked down a mouthful.

“You held up pretty well tonight. You might have lost those last two fights on TV, but you’ve still got it where it counts, son.”

He wiped the foam from his beard.

“How about you come and fight for me? Five hundred a gig, twice a week.” The redhead’s lips curled. “Six weeks or so, and you’ll have paid off your old man’s debt – and we’ll be square, hoss.”

Travis blinked.

Right then, I didn’t know
what
he was thinking. The anger was still burning in his eyes… but, dammit, I knew how desperate Travis was…

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

That answered my question.

“I earned
ten times
that my last fight,” Travis growled, leaning in towards Red with fire in his eyes. “Who the fuck do you think I am?”

Red didn’t back down. Shit, he didn’t even blink.

“I think you’re five grand in the hole, and plum out of options,” the redhead grinned. “So I wouldn’t dismiss my generous offer quite so readily.”

Fortunately, the waitress arrived with drinks at that moment; and both Red and Travis slumped back into their seats at the distraction.

I gratefully accepted the ice-cold Corona she handed over, and the shot of whiskey that came with it.

“Tell you what, cowboy,” Red grinned, raising his shot glass with one hand, and beckoning the dislodged blonde back with the other, “why don’t you have a think about it?”

And then, in unison, all three of us gulped down the searing shot of well whiskey.

It didn’t take long for Travis and I to finish our beers, and as we did it became clear that our welcome was over.

“You did good tonight, son,” Red nodded, as Travis clambered up from the chair, and scowled at the bearded redhead. “But you’d better be coming to me with a ‘yes’ on the job offer, or a bundle of cash, by this time next week.”

And, with that, two of the bouncers stepped into the VIP section and gestured for us to leave.

Travis reached over and curled his fingers in mine – leading us past the bouncers towards the doorway.

A moment later we were out of the smoky, rowdy club – climbing down those creaking stairs into the dark parking lot.

*              *              *

At the bottom of the stairs, Travis pulled me away from the scowling bouncer, and into the shadows beneath the towering, stilted building.

“
Fuck
,” he cursed, as he pushed me against one of the study wooden stilts. “Fuck, Roxy.
What do I do
?”

He looked up at the bar overhead. We were standing roughly under where Red had been sitting, in his VIP section.

“I-I can’t go and
fight
for him,” Travis breathed. “I mean, shit. I don’t even step into the octagon for less than five grand in purse money. And that redheaded bastard wants me to fight for him for
five hundred measly bucks
?”

And then he turned back to me, and Travis’ eyes shone with fiery intensity.

“But what do I
do
, Roxy? I don’t have the money to pay that bastard back? But I
can’t
go and
fight
for him.”

He grabbed my shoulders, and lowered his face until it was an inch from mine.

“I mean it, Roxy. It’s not just pride. I can’t do parking lot, bare-knuckle fights twice a week.” He gulped dryly. “Fuck,
what do I do
?”

I’d never seen him like this.

Shit, I’d known Travis Oates his whole life. I’d held his hand when his momma died. I’d bailed him out of jail when he was caught ‘borrowing’ Walt’s truck at 17. I honestly thought I’d seen this tall, beautiful man at every one of his worst and weakest moments.

But not like this.

“C’mon,” I reached up, and placed my palm against his cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up. We can worry about this later.”

And then I took Travis’ big hand and I led him to his dad’s truck.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Travis

“C’mon, Roxy,” I growled, as I sunk into the passenger seat of my dad’s truck. “You should let me drive. I’ve had the same amount to drink as you have.”

Roxy snorted, as she gripped the steering wheel with both hands.

“It’s not the
liquor
I’m worried about, sugar,” she purred. “It’s the blows to the head.”

And, I had to admit, she wasn’t entirely without reason. The big, bastard Roy had only caught me a couple of times with his sledgehammer-like fists – but my head was still ringing like the Liberty Bell.

I rubbed my head and looked out of the window of the old Chevy. That was when I noticed we weren’t rolling back towards Quintana, and my dad’s trailer. Instead, we were headed into town.

As if reading my mind, Roxy explained: “I’ve got a shower, a six pack and a first aid kit back at mine.” She snorted dryly. “I don’t reckon Walt has any of those.”

And that was true enough. The shower in the old doublewide spat out barely more than a dribble these days, and his fridge was empty apart from the groceries I’d bought that morning.

“I know you’re worried about stayin’ out past curfew,” Roxy laughed, “but once you get cleaned up, you can drop me off and my truck and sneak back home.”

I laughed, and settled back into the passenger seat. It had been at least a decade since the last time I’d had a curfew – and as Roxy knew from experience, I’d never been exactly diligent about sticking to it even back then.

We drove the next couple of miles in companionable silence – through the dark and empty streets of Freeport.

The place looked dead at this time of night – and perhaps it was. Even as we reached the residential neighborhoods, to the north of town, we drove past a half dozen boarded up houses, or places with ‘For Sale’ signs outside.

Finally, Roxy turned the truck onto a pot-holed boulevard with an old, faded bungalow at the end of it.

This was her place. Or, rather, it had been her dad’s when he’d still been alive. The faded flag flying from the porch, and the rusting Mustang on the driveway, were reminders of the man who’d lived there all those years ago; as much a father to me as Walt had been.

Roxy pulled the truck to a halt on the cracked and crumbling driveway, and cut the engine.

She turned in her seat: “You okay, sugar?”

“Sure,” I groaned.

But, the truth be told, I was starting to feel the punishment now. The whiskey was out of my system, and so was the adrenalin. Roy’s massive fists had left their mark – and as I struggled out of the seat onto the driveway, my back creaked in protest.

Roxy led the way to the front door, and jangled her keys as she opened it. I limped along behind, one hand on the small of my back.

Fuck.

As I stepped into the darkness of the living room, I was suddenly bombarded with a tidal wave of memories. The ratty old couch, on the scuffed up carpet. The black and white photos of the U.S.S. America, and other naval memorabilia, still hanging on the walls.

Even the smell of the place was the same. Even four years after his death, the whiff of Roxy’s dad’s Parliament cigarettes clung to everything.

True to character, I said something dumb about it.

“I love what you’ve done with the place.”

And, like that, Roxy turned and placed her hands on her ample hips.

“A guy looking for a drink and a band aid might want to lay off the sarcasm,” she growled. Then, a little less aggressively, she admitted: “What did you expect me to do? Put in hardwood floors and sconces?”

As she led the way into the kitchen, Roxy admitted: “The realtor doesn’t think anything I could do to this place would up the value. It’s a shitbox ranch, in a shitbox neighborhood, in a shitbox town.”

She sighed, standing in front of the rattling old GE Admiral fridge. As she hefted open the door, she admitted: “Didn’t seem much point in sprucing up the place.”

That shut me the fuck up.

In fact, I stood there in silence as Roxy popped the top of a bottle of Shiner Bock, and handed it to me.

Four years she’d been here, since her dad had died. Four years looking at the same walls, and the same dated carpet. Shit, the lazy boy in the corner still had her dad’s ass print in the middle of the cushion.

This place must be like fucking purgatory for her.

Roxy popped the top of her own bottle, and gulped down three long drafts gratefully. Then, with foam on her top lip, she looked up and me and asked: “Shall I patch you up?”

Grabbing my wrist, Roxy led me into the old bathroom.

As far as bathrooms went – especially compared to the closet my dad and our shared at his trailer – this one was pretty big. But it was also pretty dated; with pastel green tiles, terracotta floor tiles and a shower curtain with yellow rubber ducks all over it.

Roxy opened up the cabinet above the sink, and pulled out a jumbo bottle of Aspirin and a first aid kit.

I swallowed a fistful of pills, and washed them down with a mouthful of beer. Then, with a groan, I reached over my head for the back of my t-shirt, and yanked the tight material off.

I heard Roxy gasp as I did so.

I hadn’t really felt self-concious about it until that point. What with practice, and the fights, and the photoshoots, I seemed to spend half my life with my shirt off.

But out in public, it’s different.

In the intimacy of a small bathroom, with two people who’d lost their virginities to each other – a lifetime ago, it seemed – there was suddenly a different vibe to it.

Roxy stood there, and gulped – and I could tell she was looking me up and down.

She’d caught a glimpse at the fight earlier, but this is the first time she’d seen me without my shirt on in as long as either of us could remember – and part of me was happy it clearly had an effect on her.

“S-sit down on the edge of the tub,” she gulped dryly, shaking her head to try and distract herself. “L-let me get a look at you.”

And she did – and that was when it was my turn to get distracted.

As I sat on the edge of the old enamel tub, Roxy stepped forward to examine the wound above my eye. One of her legs slid between my knees – and her cleavage was practically level with my face.

It was my turn to feel my mouth go dry, and my stomach churn. In front of me – covered by nothing more than the thin cotton of her tank-top – were Roxy’s magnificent breasts.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Roxy mused, as she obliviously smeared Bactine over the welt above my eye.

“You should see it from this angle,” I snorted, staring into the cavernous valley of her breasts.

Roxy looked down, and saw exactly where my eyes were fixated. And she didn’t make any effort to move.

“It’s not like you haven’t seen them before,” she smirked, twisting the cap back on the ointment. “In fact, you’ve seen a whole lot more of them.”

“That seems like forever ago,” I admitted, reluctantly switching my gaze from her breasts, towards her eyes. “A lifetime.”

Roxy looked down at me, and the corner of her mouth lifted.

“They were here waitin’ the whole time,” she admitted, “if you’d ever really wanted them.”

Roxy’s mouth opened, as if to say something else scathing – but I preempted her. Grabbing her wrist, I hauled Roxy down and she landed in my lap with a squeak – her face now level with mine.

“Why,
Travis
,” Roxy snarled at me – from anger or excitement, I wasn’t sure. “Just
what
do you think you’re doing?”

“Somethin’ I’ve been thinking of doing since the moment I first saw you again,” I told her – and leaned in to press my lips against hers.

They never got that far.

Suddenly, I found her finger pressed against my lips – more of a yellow light than a red one, but I still listened to the traffic signal.

“Travis,” Roxy demanded, “are you
sure
this is smart?”

I snorted.

“Honey, I ain’t exactly been batting a thousand when it comes to making smart decisions recently,” I admitted. “But don’t lie. This feels right.”

“This feels…” Roxy bit her bottom lip. “It feels like you’re only doing this because you’re back in town. That when your dad’s hands are mended, and this shit with Red is finished, you’re just going to up and walk out on me again, and it’ll be another four years before I see your sorry ass again.”

I paused.

Clearly Roxy was still bitter about me leaving town all those years ago – and I couldn’t really blame her.

But the worst part? I didn’t exactly disagree with what she’d just said, either.

I mean, whatever happened with my fighting career, it wasn’t like I was back here for any reason other than to look after my dad. I had no plans to stick around… even for her.

And even though I was now hard as a rock inside my pants, I wasn’t exactly going to lie about that.

“Listen,” I told her, looking Roxy dead in the eye. “When I leave… Why don’t you come with?”

Roxy blinked.

“
What
?”

“I’m serious,” I told her. “What the fuck reason have you got to stay? The karate school? This house?” I shook my head. “They’re just ghosts, Roxy. Ghosts of your dad – and they ain’t gonna bring him back.”

Roxy was silent. She stared into my eyes, and I couldn’t read what she was thinking.

Not until she admitted: “I… I can’t.”

“Why
not
?” I demanded. “X-AMERICA is going under. Sellin’ this place probably wouldn’t even pay the taxes you owe on it.” I snorted. “This town hasn’t got
anything
for you anymore… So why
not
come with me?”

Again, Roxy was silent.

Finally, she gulped, and I saw her eyes welling up.

“I… I just
can’t
, Travis,” she murmured, and I felt her body tremble. I realized how much it was tearing her up inside.

But that didn’t stop me saying what I needed to:

“Well, if that’s how you feel, Roxy,” I told her, my hands circling waist, “don’t pretend that I’m the one makin’ the decision for us not to be together.”

Those words hit her like a slap in the face, and I watched as Roxy absorbed what I’d said.

For a second she was silent, and I was worried I’d gone too far. Me and my big mouth, and all.

But then she nodded, and pulled her finger away from my lips… The pressure of her fingertip was soon replaced by the wetness of her kiss; as she pressed her mouth fiercely against mine.

As she moaned into my mouth, I realized that Roxy knew exactly what the score was – and even with both our lives so uncertain, she still wanted this as much as I did.