FIGHT NIGHT #1: Three Story MMA Romance Bundle (6 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Their fifteen minute ‘meet-and-greet’ had lasted nearly forty-five minutes, and Magnus Bjorn’s car was costing him three bucks a minutes to wait outside.

When Rex knocked again, to inform Magnus of this ongoing expense, the Norwegian reluctantly agreed to wrap things up.

“It’s been fun, kids,” the towering Norwegian laughed, as Cassie and Rich disentangled themselves from each other, and sat up on the daybed.

They were naked, and sticky, and cold and drained.

Cassie’s cheeks burned red. Rich had difficulty making eye-contact with either of them.

But Magnus made it all better.

The enormous fighter came swaggering over, now dressed in his t-shirt and sweat pants. He loomed over them menacingly, but smiled almost paternally.

Ruffling Rich’s hair, as if Cassie’s husband was a naughty six-year-old, the intimidating MMA fighter purred: “I’ll have Rex get you free tickets to my next match.” Then, with a wink, he added: “Maybe we can do this again afterward.”

And then, heading towards the door, Magnus called icily: “Now get your clothes on, and
get the fuck out of here
.”

Rich and Cassie had never dressed so quickly in all their lives.

Less than three minutes later, hand in hand, they went scurrying back out into the hustle of the sports stadium.

Rich felt drained and woozy. Cassie’s panties were damp with the two loads of cum leaking out of her. Neither of them knew quite how to process what had just happened.

But, as it happened, a complete stranger helped them come to terms with it.

“Hey! Hey, buddy?” It was a teenage kid wearing a UFC shirt. He saw the bag Rich was carrying, and came running over. “Is that a
signed
Magnus Bjorn poster in there?”

Rich snapped out of his daze. He nodded, holding up the back of signed merchandise.

“Damn, man,” the teenage kid whistled. “That’s
so cool
. I love that guy.” He laughed. “Fuck, I’d suck his cock for a signed poster.”

And Rich and Cassie laughed. In fact, they started howling uproariously – so much so that the teenager looked at them nervously, and backed off into the crowd.

Neither Rich nor Cassie knew
quite
how to process what had happened to them that evening – but as they squeezed each other’s hands, still laughing like crazy, they both realized that they’d just made a memory they’d share for the rest of their lives.

And, when Cassie’s period was late a couple of weeks later, they realized they’d made something even
more
tangible that night, as well!

Round 2

LAID OUT

A FIGHT NIGHT Romance

By Simone Scarlet

Chapter One

“Is he dead?”

Those were the first words that Silas Batres heard as he regained consciousness.

“No, no,” said the doctor, flashing a light into the fighter’s eyes. “In fact, I think we’re lucky. I don’t think he even has concussion… But we ought to get him checked out to be sure.”

Silas groaned, and there was a loud cheer from around him.

“See?” Said the doctor. “He’s not dead.”

“Shit,” came the response. “I thought at least I could claim on the insurance money.”

“Mmmuuuurrrghn,” Silas groaned again, and this time the response was a little more sympathetic.

“Silas?
Amigo
? Are okay, buddy?”

“Did he break anything?”

“Mmmurgh,” Silas groaned again, this time successfully managing to open his eyes.

He was lying on the floor of the octagon, staring up at the floodlights overhead. Around him, flashbulbs were going off and people were cheering – and jeering –his name.

Groaning, the Spaniard struggled to haul himself into a sitting position.

“Take it easy,
amigo
,” the doctor warned, placing his hand on Silas’ shoulder. “You took one hell of a hit, man.”

“Jeez,” said somebody else. “That guy knocked you clean into next week.”

“Forty-one seconds,” said the third and final voice – one Silas instantly recognized as belonging to his sponsor, Jared Hedberg. “Jesus fucking Christ, man. That cost me a
grand a fucking second
.”

It was
that
which finally brought Silas Batres to full consciousness. Groaning, rubbing his aching jaw, the MMA super-heavyweight fighter sat up and blearily looked around.

The last thing he remembered, he’d been facing down the meanest sonofabitch in MMA – the “Norwegian Oak” Magnus Bjorn. At 419lbs, Magnus
towered
over Silas, and was far and away the favorite for the match.

But Silas had a
plan
. He was going to get a lucky strike in and fell that Norwegian bastard like he was timber.

Or, at least, that
had
been the plan.

But less than a minute into the match, just as Silas took what he was
sure
was his winning strike, Magnus had stepped aside and
clobbered
him.

It was the sort of punch that could break cinderblocks – and it was more than enough to knock Silas down onto his ass, and into three and a half minutes of sweet, silent unconsciousness.

“F-fuck,” Silas groaned, rubbing his head as he recollected the events of the past few minutes. “I got fucking
beat
, man.”

Chapter Two

The ride back to the hotel was completed in humiliating silence.

Silas sat in the back seat of the Cadillac Escalade, nursing his swollen jaw. The MMA medic at the stadium had said nothing was broken, and apparently he’d escaped without a concussion, but that didn’t stop his jaw from fucking hurting.

Magnus Bjorn had hit him with the force of an express train.

But much more painful that his jaw was the awkward silence.

Sitting in the front seat of the Cadillac, beside the driver, was Jared Hedberg – his sponsor.

This was the guy who’d taken Silas from the obscurity of Logroño, Spain, to the bright lights of the United States.

Tonight, it was clear, Hedberg was
pissed
with him.

His fury was so much so that he couldn’t even find the words to talk to his prize fighter – let alone address what had happened that evening.

But if the truth was told, Silas was grateful for the silence. He was still struggling to get his thoughts together; having to make excuses for his performance that night would not have helped with that process.

The driver guided the Cadillac to around the front of the stadium, and they paused in the loading area for a moment.

“Nicola’s going to meet us,” Jared explained.

Silas narrowed his eyes. That was
all
he needed.

Spotting their awaited guest, the driver slipped out of his leather seat. He opened the rear passenger door of the Escalade, and in climbed the third and final passenger:

Nicola Hedberg.

“Why, good evening, Silas,” she purred as she spotted the bruised fighter sitting at the other end of the bench seat. “That was
quite
a performance tonight.”

Silas grumbled under his breath.

Nicola Hedberg was Jared’s beautiful wife – a venomous vixen rarely seen not draped in Prada or Donna Karen, and doused in Chanel No. 5.

Tonight was no exception, and her perfume assailed Silas’ nostrils as he watched her settle into her seat.

“Back to the hotel, then?” Nicola sneered, as the driver climbed back behind the wheel. “Calling it an early night?”

“Not by choice,” Jared scoffed, in the front seat. “By rights, the fight with Bjorn should have still been going on right now.”

Silas slunk even lower into his seat.

He was 265lbs of pure Spanish muscle – trained in seven martial arts, and feared and respected across the country. But between them, Jared and Nicola could effortlessly make him feel like a worthless little runt.

Chapter Three

“You know how much this hotel suite cost, Silas?”

They were standing in Silas’ suite at the Ritz Carlton, and the bruised fighter was pressing a bag of ice up against his jaw.

“I was doing some math,” Jared continued, adjusting his $250 dollar necktie, as he paced menacingly around the room. “Between flights, accommodation and training, getting you to this fight alone set me back $53,000.”

The businessman narrowed his eyes.

“So I wasn’t far off what I said earlier: Every second you spent in that ring cost me more than a grand.”

Silas rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” he growled. “I fucked up,
jefe
.” He indicated his swollen jaw. “But this was a pretty good reminder not to leave myself open like that again.”

“You think your jaw hurts?” Jared growled. “What about my
wallet
?”

Silas narrowed his eyes.

Jared Hedberg sponsored him because he himself was a frustrated, wannabe MMA fighter. Standing 6’2” and 250lbs, Hedberg had a shaved head, a goatee and the swagger of a heavyweight.

Unfortunately, he also had a bad ticker and a glass jaw.

But what hitting power Jared lacked in the octagon, he more than made up for with his bank account.

The owner of a multi-million dollar landscaping business, Jared had poured tens of thousands into sponsoring fighters, just so he could live out his MMA fantasies through them.

Silas Batres was supposed to be his secret weapon.

Jared had personally selected him after seeing videos of his bouts on YouTube. He’d spent tens of thousands getting Silas a working visa, and flying him from his little hometown in
La Rioja
, Spain, to the United States.

Personal trainers. Fighting coaches. The best supplements money could buy. Jared had spent tens of thousands getting Silas ready for the octagon.

And, tonight, Silas had blown all that in under 41 seconds.

In some ways, Batres could understand why Hedberg was pissed at him. But for the most part, Silas just felt resentful.

At the time, he’d thought sponsorship by Hedberg would be his ticket to the big time. Now he just felt like the businessman’s
property
. Shit, he thought Americans had outlawed slavery in the 19
th
century – but the way Jared Hedberg acted around him, he realized owning people was still possible here in the land of the almighty dollar.

As if reading Silas’ thoughts, Jared gave a frustrated snort.

“Get some fucking sleep, Silas,” he snapped, turning on his heel and marching towards the door. “Tomorrow we’re going to have a very serious discussion about your future in the MMA.” And as his hand reached for the door handle, Jared turned and  menacingly met Silas’ gaze. “I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to enjoy it very much.”

Then he was gone, slamming the door shut behind him.

Silas Batres stood alone, in his luxurious hotel suite, and cursed in every language he knew. Then he crossed to the bedside cabinet, tore the lamp out of the socket on the wall, and hurled it across the room.

It shattered in the corner.

“
Carajo!
” Silas spat. “
Hijo de mil cojeros!
” He kicked the bedside cabinet, and the door flew off the hinges.

Snarling, the angry Spaniard surveyed the luxurious hotel suite for more stuff to smash – knowing that each thing he wrecked would be another dollar charged to that
cabron,
Jared. 

But then the door to his hotel suite swung open, and a disdainful voice sneered: “Such language, Silas!”

Stunned, the fighter span around, and narrowed his eyes.

It was Nicola Hedberg.

Jared’s beautiful wife had let herself into Silas’ hotel room, and was staring at him with amused contempt.

“If you’d kicked Magnus Bjorn like you just kicked that cabinet, my dear,” the beautiful wife sneered, eyes flashing, “maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

Chapter Four

“What the fuck do you want,
señora
Hedberg?” Silas spat.

“Oh, Silas,” his sponsor’s wife replied coolly. “Is that any way to greet me?”

She walked gracefully into the hotel suite on her 6” Christian Louboutin heels, and let the door swing shut softly behind her.

From across the room, Silas watched her suspiciously.

Nicola Hedberg was, to him, everything that was dangerous about a woman. She was tall, and slim, and carefully detailed with every enhancement money could afford.

Hand-dyed honey-blond hair fell around her shoulders. Her lips gleamed with Estee Lauder lipstick. Her bright eyes gleamed with the sort of energy that could only come from doing a line of coke thirty minutes earlier.

Dressed in her Prada dress, she looked like a million dollars; and her actual price tag probably wasn’t far off that.

“So Silas, honey,” Nicola purred, stepping up to the towering MMA fighter and peering up at him mockingly. “My husband isn’t very happy with you at the moment.” She placed the palm of her hand on Sila’s massive chest. “And I can’t say I blame him.”

“That Norwegian
cabron
just got a lucky punch in,” Silas snarled, snatching her hand away. He squeezed her wrist painfully tight, and Nicola’s eyes flashed at the pain.

“Well, that ‘lucky punch’ just cost my husband a lot of money,” she purred, biting her bottom lip. “In fact, he’s up in our hotel suite right now, trying to work out exactly how much.”

Silas tightened his grip on Nicola’s wrist. She gasped, smiling at the intensity of it.

“So what brought you down here,
señora
Hedberg?” Silas spat. “You came here to mock?”

“Why,
Silas
,” Nicola faked offense. “How could you think such a thing of me.” And, with that, she placed her other hand on his broad chest. “I’m here to
help you
, darling.”

Silas growled. Nicola didn’t help anybody, unless she was helping herself.

“Honey, Jared’s looking at ditching you like last night’s pizza,” Nicola purred, looking Silas dead in the eye. “He thinks his sponsorship money would be better spent on an… ahem… less
unreliable
fighter.”

Silas said nothing, but his lips narrowed into a thin line as he heard this.

“I hear he’s looking into that new guy – ‘Bruiser’ Broderick. Heard of him?”

“The Jewish guy,” Silas growled. “The one with the school for retarded kids, or something.”

“Exactly,” Nicola nodded. “He thinks it would be a nice little angle – giving money to a guy who helps the less fortunate, instead of some stubborn Spaniard who trashes hotel rooms.”

Silas snarled at that.

“But don’t worry, baby,” Nicola’s hand lifted from Batres’ chest, and she placed a finger on his lips. “I’m sure I can convince him to give you one last chance.”

And then her eyes flashed.

“If you make it worth my while, that is.”