Kicker (DS Fight Club Book 1) (16 page)

Tig blew out a breath as he pulled mats into place for a women’s self-defense class. He knew that Colin was aware of the illegal fights going on around the city, but the fact that one of his main fighters, as well as his cutman, were participating in those fights would greatly disappoint the ex-champion.

Tig needed to find out if Colin was connected to the underground scene enough to find out who was fighting. No, actually, he needed to stop fighting in the underground matches is what he needed to do; however, until he got on another card, he needed the fights for the extra income they brought in because as well as Colin paid him to do personal training sessions and help around the gym, it just was not enough.

“Tig?” Dig snapped his fingers in front of Tig’s face. “Earth to Kicker. Come in, Kicker.”

Tig shook his head to clear it and gave his buddy a weak smile. “Sorry, man. It’s been a weird couple of weeks.”

Dig snorted. “Yeah, I’ll bet things can get wild at Cougar Central.” Dig skipped back a few steps, anticipating a good-natured jab at the mention of Charlotte, but Tig just stood there, mat in his hands, looking thoughtful and sort of sad. “Tiggyman, what’s up? You need Ponytail to cheer you up a bit? I know you come in really late and have been dragging ass lately. Miss Cougar is wearing the young buck out, huh?”

Tig shook his head. She had not called, not once, and that upset him more than he ever thought it would. He did not know how many times he had stopped himself from calling her. Why hadn’t he called her? Hell if he knew, and he did not want to examine that too closely either.

Dig continued to blather. “I’ll be honest, she’s totally not what I usually go for, but damn, she . . . is . . . hot. Those little suits and those high heels? She looks like a dark-haired version of that redhead from that show, you know, about the ad agency?”

“Yeah, I know that show. I guess she does. But I haven’t been spending time with her. I’ve been going back and forth to the farm to help out every chance I get. I haven’t seen Charlotte since that weekend when you fucking interrupted us.”

“Since I interrupted your fucking, you mean,” Dig said with a big grin, but that faded when Tig blew out a frustrated breath. “Oh man, you on the outs with her or something?”

“Man, I really don’t know what’s going on.” Tig scrubbed his face with his hands. “She came down to Montezuma with me that weekend, and things got kind of weird on the way back. I haven’t seen or talked to her since.”

“Man, that sucks.”

No shit, it sucked. It sucked big time.

Tig blew out another big breath. “Yeah,” was all he said.

An ear-splitting whistle rang through the gym, and everyone stopped and turned—or at least slowed down to gawk.

“Tig, you’re up,” Ryan Richards yelled across the gym.

Tig groaned and Dig chuckled. “Looks like Goody’s in a mood, too. Man, have fun with that.”

Tig flipped Dig off as he walked toward the cutman, a feeling of dread building in his belly with every step he took.

“Hop up, Tiggyman.” Ryan began wrapping Tig’s hands. He leaned in closer and said in a low voice, “You fighting tonight?”

Tig nodded.

“You’ve got to stop this, Tig. You’re gonna get yourself killed or hurt so badly that you won’t be able to fight in a legitimate match. It’s getting crazy, and I don’t trust that new matchmaker.”

“Tommy’s not matchmaking anymore?”

“Scuttlebutt is he and Raptor had a falling out, that Tommy refused to make some really uneven matches, and Raptor canned him. Sound familiar?” Ryan’s eyes bored into Tig. “I thought so. Tell C, Tig. You got that memo from him this morning, right? You
know
C’s a man of his word. If he says something, he means it.”

Tig nodded. Yeah, he’d heard Colin loud and clear: come talk to him about whatever you know about the illegal fights, and he’d disregard where you heard the information. But if he found out you were fighting, you were gone—no second chances and absolutely no excuses accepted.

“I’ve got another proposal for you.”

“Geez, come
on
. . . ,” Tig said with a moan. “I don’t think I can take much more, Goody.”

Ryan huffed a laugh. “Come work for us.”

“What? You and Jason?”

Ryan nodded. “I know you’ve done construction. Honestly, Jason and I can’t keep up with the work we’ve got, and I know you’re a good worker. We need someone to take over the demolition so I can concentrate on building the cabinets. It wouldn’t be the amount that you would earn winning the fights, but it’d be a hell of a lot safer. Think about it, Tig.”

Ryan finished wrapping Tig’s hands and then surprised him by putting a pair of boxing gloves on him.

“And something else: I’m not working as a cutman for any more fights. I can’t take it. I don’t know if it’s the stress of the fights themselves or the crazy atmosphere, but . . .” Ryan licked his lips, and for the first time, Tig noticed that the man seemed very anxious, twitchy almost. “I’ve not been doing well; let’s just leave it at that. I just can’t do it.”

“The fights triggering your PTSD?”

“Yeah. No. Maybe. Something’s going on. I almost took Jason’s head off a few nights ago. Literally.”

“Shit.”

“You need to get out, too, Tig. Talk to C.”

Tig nodded.

“I’m doing this one last fight tonight, okay? I’ll talk to C tomorrow, first thing.”

“You promise me? Because if you don’t do this, I will.”

“Yeah, Ryan. I will.”

Ryan nodded and then cracked his neck.

And then he said louder, loud enough for the people around them to hear, “You’re in for a treat, Tig. Guess who’s doing your striking training today?”

“Oh, no. No. Really?”

“Oh, yes, boyo. You ready to go fifteen minutes with an old man?”

Tig looked around Ryan’s shoulder to see Paddy Doyle, co-owner of the gym and namesake of DS Fight Club, stalking toward him in a pair of gym shorts and a singlet, a pair of punch mitts on his hands, and kick shields on his body. Paddy grinned maniacally, the helmet on his head bringing his crazy expression even more into focus.

“I told you that I was gonna be getting into the ring. Let’s see what you’ve got, boyo.”

Tig looked at Ryan, who grinned and shrugged, but then his smile faded, and he said, “Good luck, Kicker. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

*****

“Holy shit, you kicked my ass, you old goat,” Tig laughed. He sat sprawled on the bench, trying to catch his breath while Paddy pulled the large mitts off and started unwrapping his hands.

“I’ll just assume you mean ‘greatest of all time’ when you said goat,” Paddy said with a grin. He sat back on his haunches and looked at Tig thoughtfully while the much younger fighter finished pulling off his wraps.

“Something on your mind, Paddy?”

“You’re good, you know? I’d hate to see you sidetracked by unimportant shite.”

Tig huffed a laugh. “What sort of ‘shite’ would that be, huh?”

Paddy shrugged. “I’m not sure. What’s important to you, Tig?”

“I’m not really sure anymore.” The words came out of Tig’s mouth before he realized he was speaking.

“Ah. Well, that’s certainly a problem.”

“Fuck,” Tig said, scrubbing his hands over his face and head. “Yeah, it is.”

“You best figure it out, and figure it out quick. You’re not getting any younger, and a small fellow like you can’t take the beatings that a big git like your sidekick over there can.” He jerked his head toward where Dig was attempting some tall box jumps.

Tig laughed at that. Neil had always said that Tig’s size was both a blessing and a curse in the fighting world.

“What does your girlie have to say about all this? You shared any of this with her?”

Tig blew out a breath. “We, uh, haven’t talked lately.”

“Ah. Well, that’s something else, then. You trying to decide which slot she’s in?”

Tig already knew which category Charlotte was in, but what he did not know was if he deserved to have access to that prize.

“Tig Mashburn, you have visitor in the front conference room,” Junior’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker.

Tig sat up straight, and Paddy threw his head back in a laugh. “Go get her, Tig. I’ll jaw at you later.” He patted Tig’s shoulder, and Tig leapt up and almost ran to the front of the gym.

Junior had a look of mild distaste on his face as he nodded toward the conference room.

What the fuck is his problem?

Tig burst into the conference room, expecting Charlotte, but it was not Charlotte at all. It was a well-dressed man who stood with his back to Tig.

“Who the hell are you?” Tig blurted.

Tig heard the man scoff, but when he turned around, he knew exactly who he was.

“Mister Markham,” Tig said, extending his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
None of it good, you jackass.

David Markham did not shake Tig’s hand—just left his hands in his pockets and stood with his head cocked at Tig, studying him.

Strike 1.

Tig cleared his throat. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Markham?”

David Markham shook his head and chuckled. “Oh, Mashburn. The answer is what I can do for you.”

Tig stood still, not responding, just waiting for the man to continue, which he did after pulling a piece of paper out of his trouser pocket.

“This is a certified check for $125,000. That’s enough to pay off that balloon payment and a little extra walking-around money. It’s yours if you want it. . . .”

“And what? What’s the stipulation? Because men like you don’t offer men like me money with no strings attached.”

David Markham still remained standing, the check dangling from his fingers, not saying anything. He shook the check at Tig and rolled his eyes.

Strike 2.

Tig huffed a laugh. “This is about Charlotte, isn’t it? God, you are one hell of an asshole.”

“Just take the goddamn check, Mashburn, and leave my daughter alone. You know you’re no good for her.”

“Just like Jasper Fletcher wasn’t good for her?”

Tig could see the hand that held the check jerk slightly. “Jasper Fletcher?”

“The bronc rider that you paid off, what, fifteen years or so ago?”

Tig got in David’s personal space, right up in his face.

“Horse training is a small fucking world, Markham. So you can take your check, put it back in your pocket, and walk out of here and never, ever show up again.” He shook his head. “Charlotte is a caring, sweet, beautiful woman, and she doesn’t deserve to be treated poorly by her fucking
father
.”

And by the way, I love her with all my heart.

Tig opened the conference room door.

“Get the fuck out of here, you asshole.”

David blinked but walked out of the conference room without further commentary. Tig followed, and when they got to the corridor, David Markham turned left to exit the gym.

“Markham, one other thing.”

David stopped and turned around.

“You’re right, you know. I’m not good enough for her. But the thing is? No one is, especially a shitbag like you.” And Tig turned right to go back to training.

Fuck
.

Tig bent over, hoping the wave of nausea would soon go away. He spread his palms on the brick wall, hung his head down below his shoulders, and sucked in a breath. Or he tried to anyway, but the pain in his ribs stopped him from inhaling too deeply.

He just needed to make it to the truck. That’s all. If he could make it to the truck, he could lock the doors and sit for a little while, just until he could catch his breath and then head home.

Damn, his head hurt.

Tig stumbled, his boot-clad feet tripping over each other, and he fell to his knees.

“Shit,” he gasped and grimaced in pain.

And felt a big hand on his shoulder.

He turned his head and saw Damon Pierce’s concerned face looking down at him.

“Man, you don’t look good.”

“I don’t feel good,” Tig ground out. “Shit, I’m gonna be sick.”

Damon stepped back while Tig vomited in the gutter. When he finished emptying his stomach, he sat down on the curb and hung his head between his knees.

“Fuck.”

Pierce stood and looked at the smaller fighter, not wanting to leave him, but not wanting to stick around the warehouse either.

“Okay, I’m good.” Tig tried to stand, but his legs buckled under him, and if it was not for Pierce, he would have been on the ground.

“Okay, Tig. You gotta go to the hospital or something. This shit is not right.”

“Nope. Not going. I just need to get to the truck and get home. Shit.” Tig vomited again.

“Let me call someone for you.”

Tig started to say something, but he began heaving and sat down on the curb again. “No one . . . to call.”

“Gimme your phone, Tig.”

Tig refused to give his phone to Pierce, but when he bent over to throw up yet again, the other fighter snatched the phone and hurriedly scrolled through the names, dismissing most of them because of their association with DS Fight Club.

Charlotte
.

Charlotte was the only female name in the contacts, and Pierce gambled, hoping that this Charlotte was Tig’s woman, and pressed the contact. The phone began to ring.

It took four long rings for Charlotte to pick up, and when she answered, it was with a very sleepy, “Tig? What’s going on?”

“Hey, you don’t know me, but Tig’s . . . he’s in really bad shape.”

“Who is this?”

“Name’s Pierce. I used to fight with him. He shouldn’t to be left by himself tonight, but . . .”

“Bring him over. Let me give you my address.”

Pierce thanked Charlotte and hung up the phone. “Okay, buddy. I’m going to take you to your girl’s house, okay? Let’s go.”

Pierce hauled Tig to his feet, making him suck in his breath through his teeth and almost causing him to vomit again, and they made their way to the car.