Kicker (DS Fight Club Book 1) (22 page)

“You’re looking good, Tig.” Colin peered at Tig.

Tig nodded, all his attention on Ryan, who was wrapping his hands carefully.

“You feeling good?”

Tig looked up at Colin. “Yeah, I am. Hungry as hell, though,” he laughed.

“Well, take care of this, and we’ll get you back up to featherweight, or maybe even higher, okay?” Colin and Tig studied each other. “You’ve got this,” the big fight club owner said.

Tig nodded. “Damn straight, I got this.”

“Okay, I’m gonna go check on something. I’ll be back in a few. Ryan, you need anything?”

The cutman shook his head. “Nope.”

Colin looked hard at Ryan and then shook his head and walked away.

“You okay, Goody?” Tig frowned. The cutman, generally a skittish sort of guy, seemed extra jittery today.

“I’m fine. All these people are making me twitchy.”

“Hey, Ryan, look at me.”

Ryan met Tig’s eyes.

“Whatever is going on, it’ll be okay, yeah? You need my help with anything, you let me know. Anything.”

Ryan’s lip twitched in a tiny smile. “You gotta get your head in the cage and quit trying to mother everyone and their dog outside of it.”

“‘Mother’? Really?”

Ryan chuckled. “All of you fuss over everyone. You, Colin, even Dig in his own boneheaded way.”

“Don’t forget Junior. Junior’s probably the worst with the ‘wear a jacket’ and ‘clean your teeth.’ Good Lordy.”

“Yeah. Especially Junior.” Ryan heaved a sigh and went back to wrapping.

“Tiggyman.”

“Man, what now, C? I’m trying to get my Zen on.” Tig craned his head around toward Colin’s voice and saw two people: Colin, grinning at him, and Charlotte, gawking at all the craziness and half-dressed fighters. “Oh, baby.”

Colin rolled his eyes. “Goody, make sure he minds his manners. Charlotte, I’ll be back in about three minutes.”

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I like your hair.” Charlotte grinned and bit her lip, eyeing Tig’s bright blue mohawk.

Tig laughed. “Junior gave me a trim.”

The two of them stood and grinned at each other until Ryan cleared his throat. “You two have about ninety seconds until C comes back and hauls her cute butt out of here, so you better smooch or whatever you’re gonna do.”

Charlotte grinned and leaned over to place a soft kiss on Tig’s cheek and then on his lips. “Good luck, Tig.”

Tig returned her kisses. “Thanks.”

“Okay, Charlotte. Let’s head out.” Charlotte squeezed Tig’s arm and started to follow Colin.

“Oh, Charlotte?” Tig called after her. She turned around.

“You ready to start your modeling tonight?”

She grinned and winked at him and sauntered off, hips swinging just a little bit.

Ryan barked a laugh. “Oh, man. It’s the prissy ones that you have to watch out for.”

“You got that damn straight, Goody. Damn straight.”

Ryan gripped Tig’s hands. “You got this, Tig.”

Tig nodded, suddenly speechless.

“Now, go kick some ass, you motherfucking cracker.”

*****

Tig dominated in his first two fights, and even the third fight was a fairly easy win, though that last opponent did manage to pop him in the mouth. Tig worried the cut with his tongue as he watched the current fight with interest.

Mikey “Lightning” Browne faced off with another Raptor Pryde fighter whom Tig did not know. The opponent, a Brazilian named Sousa, was giving Browne a run for his money in the Jiu Jitsu department, and that worried Tig.

“I’ve never seen this guy before,” he murmured. “Where the fuck did he come from?”

“I don’t know, but he’s a friggin’ beast.” The unknown fighter worried Colin as well.

The buzzer sounded for the beginning of the second round, and the fighters touched hands and started moving around the cage.

Wait, what was that movement?

Tig peered closer. Damn, there it was again. Browne’s hands . . .

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing,
Gordo
?” Junior had come up to watch the fighters as well.

“What are you seeing, Junior?” Colin peered at the action in the cage.

“That.” Tig nodded at the octagon.

Junior let out a stream of obscenities. “Browne’s going to throw the fight.”

And suddenly, Browne got Sousa’s back on the mat.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

But Sousa, in another blinding move, wrapped his legs around Browne’s neck and squeezed. Browne struggled and almost got free, but the Brazilian’s grip was too strong, and Browne soon passed out.

Tig looked at Colin, who was shaking his head, his jaw working under his thick beard, his eyes blazing with fury.

“We’re done,” Colin said.

“C, I’m fighting this fuck,” Tig insisted at the same time.

“Tig . . . ,” Colin began.

“I’m fighting. End of story.”

“Tig . . . ,” Colin began again, but Junior put his hand on Colin’s shoulder and shook his head.

“Let him fight, C.”

Colin scrubbed his hands over his face. “Goddammit, Tig.”

Tig grinned. “I got this. There was a reason we hit the Jiu Jitsu hard these past few weeks, right?”

“Right.” Colin sighed. “Okay, let’s go get you rewrapped.”

It was all very déjà vu: Tig with his cowboy hat on and earbuds in, bouncing and jabbing in place while Junior carefully watched him.

“He good?” Colin asked Junior.

Junior shook his head. “I dunno, C. I think we might see a whole new Tig this fight. He’s just barely got a rein on his temper.”

Tig struck at a space on the wall, missing the hard cinder block surface by mere centimeters. He held his stance, breathing hard, and the other two men held their breath until Tig relaxed and put his arms down.

“I see what you mean,” Colin murmured.

“Trevor Mashburn, you’re up,” a promotion assistant called into the room.

Tig opened his eyes just as the man had come into the room, and when Colin looked at him, he cracked his neck and nodded.

“Ima go kick his ass,” Tig said, pounding his fists together.

Colin and Jett Raptor had participated in a coin toss to determine who would walk out first, and the Raptor Pryde fighter won the toss. Tig could feel the bass of Sousa’s walkout music, and he let the vibration move through him, melding the cadence with his internal mantra of “Kick his ass. Kick his ass.”

Tig moved purposefully up the hallway, his attention locked on the cage in front of him. When he crossed the threshold into the arena, heavy bass and strains of Blake Shelton filled the air, and Tig burst into a fast jog. He heard Junior and Colin laugh behind him and then felt the two larger men at his back, keeping up with him as he ran down the aisle to his destiny.

*****

Unlike with Browne, Tomás Sousa would not touch gloves with Tig at the beginning of the fight, decreasing what little respect Tig already had for the fighter.

The two fighters traded a few jabs but did little damage to each other, not even drawing blood. Sousa let loose with a wild punch that did not connect, and Tig saw an opening and threw a counterpunch, knocking the Brazilian to the mat. Tig moved in fast and hard, but then Sousa managed to convert Tig’s hold, and if not for the buzz of the timer, would have submitted Tig.

The fighters went to their corners, and Junior talked fast and furiously to Tig, reminding him of all the Jiu Jitsu techniques they had worked on in the previous weeks.

“This guy’s going to do everything he can to get you on the ground Tig. Don’t let him do it. Don’t give him a chance.”

Tig nodded, and the buzzer sounded for round two.

Sousa still did not touch hands, and this time, Tig got mad. He aggressively went after Sousa, pressuring him back toward the cage, landing several key kicks and blows to his torso. Tig got him in a clinch on the cage and let loose with a barrage of kicking, working on weakening Sousa’s legs and making him weak and wobbly. The two fighters remained against the cage until the buzzer sounded.

Colin leaned in close so Tig could hear him as Ryan pressed the eye iron against a nasty cut on Tig’s cheekbone. “Tig, you need to end this as quickly as you can, before he can get you back on the ground.”

Tig nodded. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the cold of the ice compress that Junior was pressing against his back and head for a few seconds.

Round three began with a possibly intentional eye poke to Tig’s already swollen eye, earning Sousa a warning. After a ten-second stoppage for the medic to ascertain that Tig could continue, the two fighters were back at it, throwing fists and elbows, as well as kicking.

Sousa chattered all during the action, sometimes in English, other times in Portuguese, all of it trying to get under Tig’s skin and force him into a rash action. Tig, despite his quite loquacious personality, was not a trash-talker. He retreated inside his head before the fight, not speaking much at all during the time leading up to the fight, and then especially during the fight.

“Sixty seconds, Tig. Sixty seconds,” Junior yelled. “Bring the violence, man, and fucking end it.”

It seemed as if Sousa had the same idea as Tig: finish in the third and get out. The fighters clashed in the middle of the cage, all flying arms and elbows and shins, until Tig slipped on a blood splatter and went down, face-first.

Sousa immediately leapt on Tig, waling him with an onslaught of punches from his fists and elbows. Tig could see the referee approach, vigilantly watching for Tig’s signal of submission or signs that he could not take any more. Tig felt, more than saw, Sousa go to his knee between Tig’s legs, and he saw an opening. In a flash, Tig rolled and kicked Sousa, hard, in the armpit, and secured a kneebar.

Tig crossed his ankles and bent his knees, sandwiching Sousa’s foot between his head and the floor, and squeezed and pushed until, finally, he felt the Brazilian tap, and the ref pulled Tig off of his opponent.

Tig did a backward roll to his feet and took three huge leaps to climb to the top of the cage. Tig straddled the top bar, fists extended, roaring with victory. He saw Colin and Junior hauling Charlotte over the railing to get near the octagon. Tig blew out a shuddering, gasping sob and fell backward off the cage, landing neatly on his feet, to join the referee and Tomás Sousa in the middle of the octagon for the announcer to pronounce Tig the winner of the bantamweight division of the Round Robin tournament.

Charlotte watched Tig talk to the reporters, the huge belt slung over his shoulder, cowboy hat on his head. She watched him struggle with emotion, having to pause several times to regain his composure.

She despaired ever getting close to him when Colin barked, “Okay, press, y’all can call the gym on Monday and make appointments to talk to Tig. He just fought four fights in six hours. Give the guy a break. Good night.”

Charlotte hung back while the huge former champion talked to Tig, waiting to approach until Colin patted him on the side of the head and jerked his cowboy hat down playfully.

“Has anyone seen Charlotte?” Tig was asking as she walked up behind him. Junior winked at her over Tig’s shoulder and pointed in her direction.

Tig turned around and a huge smile lit up his face as he crossed the small dressing room and crushed her to his chest.

Charlotte ran her fingers over the areas of his face that were already bruising up.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here, too. That was very exciting.”

“Yeah?”

Charlotte huffed. “No, what it was, was really scary. But I’m glad I came.”

“Let’s get outta here. We need to stop by the celebration for a bit, but then . . .”

“Okay. Your parents are already at the pub.”

Tig’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “My parents?”

“Yep. Neil and your mother are here.”

Tig blew out a shuddering breath. “Oh God.” He blinked hard and pulled Charlotte to him. She patted his back and just let him hold her until he could get his emotions under control.

“You okay, Kicker?”

Junior frowned at Tig, peering at him, looking for signs of trauma or distress.

“Yeah, Junior. I’m great. I just didn’t know my parents were watching.”

“Yeah, I know, and that was by plan. So why don’t you get your ass to Foley’s so they can properly congratulate you, you goof. You riding in the van, or is Charlotte driving you?”

“The pretty lady is driving me.” Charlotte blushed, and Tig hugged her again.

Junior shook his head. “Get outta here.”

Charlotte and Tig walked down the long hallway, Tig’s arm resting lightly on Charlotte’s shoulder, her arm looped around his waist.

“Mashburn,” a familiar voice called out.

Tig turned around and stopped. “Pierce. You didn’t fight in the tournament.”

The huge fighter stepped out of the shadows. “No,” was all he said in reference to his participation.

“How come?

“Didn’t have anyone to sponsor me or front me the two grand to enter.”

“Oh.”

“Good job, Mashburn. That Brazilian is as dirty as they come. I’m glad that someone with your integrity beat him fair and square.”

Pierce turned to walk away, and Tig called after him. “Thanks, Damon. And thanks for the other thing, man.”

Pierce stopped. He looked over his shoulder, nodded once, and then pushed through a side door.

Charlotte let out the breath she held during the two men’s exchange. “Holy crap, that was intense.”

“Damon Pierce is intense as fuck,” Tig chuckled. “And I think I may have completely misjudged him.” He stood looking at the door the large man exited through.

Charlotte tugged on his hand. “You okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah, baby. I’m good.” Tig exhaled through his nose. “Let’s go, Charlotte. We’ve got people to see so we can get home and I can do you.”

*****

Tig sat in a chair with Charlotte in his lap. He was as content as could be, having had a decent meal, a soda, and half a beer, and his sweet woman in his arms. He played with the end of her ponytail with one hand while he stroked her back with another.

“Honey, we’re going to go,” Hattie said. “You give us a call when you’re up and about tomorrow, okay? We’ll go out for a victory lunch.”

“Now, Hattie, you need to let him do things on his own schedule,” Neil said with a wink. “Tig’s gonna need some quality time with Charlotte, and they might not be ready to spend any time with Mama tomorrow.”

Tig groaned. “God, you’re just as bad as Mama.”

“No, I’m worse because I was once a young fighter; I know firsthand how things can be.”

Hattie scoffed at Neil. “Hello? Who do you think was the other participant in that quality time that you’re talking about, huh?”

“Oh, sweet Jesus. Y’all don’t need to be talking about my conception.”

Charlotte was laughing so hard that she almost toppled off of Tig’s lap. She gave him a kiss and hopped up so Tig could stand up and first embrace his mother and then his father.

A clap of thunder rattled the walls of the pub. The door opened, and a very wet Junior ran inside. .

“There is some crazy-ass weather about to go down,” he said, wiping his shaved head with a napkin. “I think we all need to head out and go home.”

Colin turned to Charlotte. “He’s staying with you tonight, right?”

“Um, yeah?” Charlotte looked to Tig for confirmation, which she received with a bob of Tig’s head. “Yeah.”

Ryan Richards stepped up and took one last look in Tig’s eyes with a penlight.

“I know you’re not going to want to do this, Tig, but I need you to wake up every hour for the next eight or ten.”

Tig sighed but did not protest. “Sure, Goody,” he said.

“Charlotte? You okay with playing nursemaid for a bit? Just poke him, make sure he wakes up and doesn’t do anything crazily overtaxing.”

“Um. Sure.”

Ryan grinned. “Just take it easy with the . . . recreational activities, okay? I have a feeling she’ll be around if you want to be crazy and maybe wait until tomorrow, Kicker.”

Ryan winked at Charlotte, a surprisingly impish act coming from a man who looked like a reject from Duck Dynasty.

“I don’t want to wait until tomorrow,” Tig breathed in her ear. “But I think I might have to, sugar.”

Charlotte patted his cheek. “I’ll get you taken care of, honey. Let’s get you home.”

“That sounds so good, Charlotte, so good.”

The couple said their goodbyes and ran hand in hand through the rain to the pub’s parking lot.

They were completely soaked by the time they got to the car.

“Oh my Lord,” Charlotte laughed. “We look like we’ve been dunked in a pool.”

“Hey, Charlotte,” Tig said in a low, growly voice. He had stopped laughing and now was stroking her hand and looking at her in that way that made her blood hot and her panties wet.

“Hm?”

Tig wrapped his hand in her wet ponytail and pulled her closer to him. “Charlotte . . .”

Charlotte breathed his name on a groan.

She was not at all surprised when he pulled her against his chest and embraced her tightly.

“Hey, Kicker,” she whispered, a small smile playing upon her lips. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Tig chuckled and ran his hand under the skirt of her dress, fingers dancing long the bare skin of her thigh.

“Charlotte . . .”

She quirked an eyebrow at him but did not say anything as his hand roamed higher.

He collapsed against her. “You aren’t wearing any panties. . . .”

“I know.”

“Sweet Mary, that’s sexy,” Tig whispered in her ear as he thrust his other hand under her skirt. As he kissed down the length of her neck, he murmured in her ear, “I want you right here, right now, Charlotte.”

“Do you?” she asked.

He pressed her hand against his groin. “Lord, yes, I do.”

Charlotte peeked around him at the deserted parking lot as her hands worked the button of his jeans. “You might deserve an extra-special winner’s bonus tonight. And you know . . .”

“I know what?”

“I’ve never been fucked in a car.”

Between her confession and her dirty talking, Tig could not wait another moment. He practically flew over the middle console to loom over her, jeans low on his hips, his erection jutting out of the fly.

Tig sucked in a breath when Charlotte wrapped her hands around his hard cock. She kissed the side of his chin, smiling at the way his short beard rasped against her cheek. Tig pushed her hard into the seat, grinding against her hands as they stroked his length.

“Are you gonna make me beg for it, Tig?” Charlotte breathed into his ear. “Because I will.”

Tig growled and spread her legs wide, her skirt rucked up around her waist and her bare ass sliding against the slick leather of the seat.

Tig ground against her, kissing her passionately, needfully, but then he stopped. “Fuck. I don’t have a condom. . . .” He curled his head into her neck.

Charlotte was never so glad that this dress had pockets.

“Left side. Pocket.”

“What?”

“There’s a condom in
my
pocket.”

Tig scrambled through the material of her dress and pulled the small foil-wrapped square out triumphantly. “Oh, man, Charlotte. You always think of everything.”

“Tig, shut up and suit up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Charlotte helped Tig don the condom. He looked into her eyes, questioning. She kissed him as an answer, and he sank into her.

“Hard and fast?”

“Wouldn’t expect anything else right now.”

Tig chuckled and slammed into her, lifting her up on his cock and pinning her to the back of the seat.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Charlotte squeaked. “I’d almost forgotten how good you feel in me. . . .”

Tig grunted. “The memory of you was the only thing that got me through these past few weeks.” He ground into her, his jeans falling down around his ankles. “Lord, Charlotte, you feel so fucking good. I’m not gonna last.”

Charlotte clenched around him and Tig made a strangled noise as his eyes rolled back in his head. “You don’t have to last right now,” she rasped in his ear. “We can make love when we get home. Right now, you just need to give me the business.”

She tightened her legs around Tig’s hips and kissed him hard as he pumped furiously into her. Tig crushed her against him, holding her ass up while he thrust hard, and with four, three, two, one pumps, he groaned and growled in ecstasy while Charlotte clenched around him.

“Charlotte, darlin’,” he said, still slowly pumping into her. “Charlotte.” He grimaced and pushed into her one last time before pressing into her completely and catching her mouth in a hot kiss. Charlotte chuckled as Tig kissed her face and throat, and she patted his bare ass. “Charlotte . . .”

Tig pulled back to look at her, at them, where they were still joined. He closed his eyes and flexed, and Charlotte gave out a little whoop.

“Charlotte, I’m gonna pull out, and then I wanna go home and do this all over again. I need you to ride me, I need to look at you with your hair hanging down over me. That’s all I need to make this night absolutely perfect.”

Charlotte fluttered her fingers over Tig’s cheek. She started to say something but then just shook her head and pressed her lips to Tig’s.

“Come on, Kicker. I can’t do what you’ve described until you’re flat on your back in my bed.”