Dirty Fighter: A Bad Boy MMA Romance (7 page)

M
y audition wasn’t
as low-key as Ricky and Ross made it sound.

The building looked like it used to be a parking garage that had been completely taken over. Other than the front door, there were no openings to the outside world. You had to have the okay to get in, or enough money to pay off the doorman.

There was a crowd of at least fifty people—everyone was already cheering, and money was exchanging hands on bets. It was just an audition and they were already laying money down on people without a second glance. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Beer was being served from cases by beautiful girls that didn’t look like they belonged within 100 miles of this place. I tried not to think about what Brooklyn would think if she saw me there. Would she think I enjoyed knocking out her dad?

They were pairing off fighters randomly, only using weight classes as a guide.

Several of the fighters were pretty obvious as to why they were there. They were either too old, or had some look that the pro MMA fights didn’t want to represent. These weren’t televised fights though, it didn’t matter one bit if you looked like an escaped convict and were covered in gnarly scars.

I was one of the last few fighters, so I got to see the action through everyone else, and smell the sting of adrenaline without dirtying my hands yet. I looked away from the ring for a moment and saw Ricky heading towards me, with a goofy smile on his face.

“Heya newbie, glad you showed up,” he said, turning to look at the fighters the second he was next to me. He was a thin guy, didn’t look like he had fought a day in his life. I couldn’t help but wonder on more than one occasion how he ended up in that line of work.

“Couldn’t miss this,” I replied, shrugging. I didn’t want him to know how desperate I was for the ring, for the money.

“If you are one of the ones who make it, you get five hundred bucks as congratulations,” he threw in, as if I needed any more convincing. I would have done it for free.

“How many people is he looking to recruit?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably. I didn’t want to go into this and bust somebody completely open only to find out that everybody got through.

“Just five, but there are fifteen fights going on,” he replied, eyes not leaving the ongoing fight. “Not everyone who wins deserves to be in our crew. However, every single person who loses sure as hell doesn’t get in our crew,” he explained, watching the ring. One of the fighters kicked the shit out of another’s face, a stream of blood and teeth slipped down the opponent’s face.

“Rules are basically the same as official, no back of the head blows, no throat blows, no wrenching fingers or toes, no fish hooking, yadda, yadda, yadda, you know the deal I’m sure,” he turned and smiled at me. “Just basically fight so that your grandma would be proud,” he joked. The imagery of a crowd of grandmothers watching instead of the swarthy one that was there was more than a little entertaining.

“Yeah, alright,” I agreed. We grew silent and just watched, the fights weren’t longer than ten minutes, and a couple of them were as short as three minutes. I could feel my turn slowly coming up, turning my stomach in anticipation.

The fights weren’t as reigned in as they were in official matches. If I had to say why, I’d bet that the referee had money on one or the other and was hoping drawing it out longer would be to his advantage. No match was actually ended on a technicality, but if you got enough warnings you weren’t ushered over to Ross to talk after the fight even if you won. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of money was changing hands that night.

The fights went quickly and soon Ricky was motioning me down to the ring. I chugged half of a beer for a little bit more courage. When it was my turn I couldn’t quite get all of the noise around me out of my head.

The fighter they had me up against was older than me, and bald. He was taller than me by a few inches, but I wasn’t worried. I’d taken worse than him before.

The fight started and he came right at me.

I didn’t think he’d move so fast? Fuck. He got a couple hits on me, my left shoulder, even my ribs. They hurt like hell, I hadn’t been hit properly since that night I killed my dad. I hadn’t been hurt truly since then, and it caught me off guard and left me blocking more than anything. I had to get his ass off me, so I kicked him back hard in the stomach—and it felt right. My foot against his soft ribs felt right.

He started back at me, all fury and speed, and something changed. I looked up at his face as he turned around and I wanted to puke. His features had muddled into some deformed mess, not the man I had squared up against. I hadn’t punched him in the face, but it was just so damn different than it was just a few minutes ago. There, in front of me on the mat, running towards me, was my dad’s face. Not the bloated corpse, but my flesh and blood living father.

He came at me again and I was done.

I was fucking done being hit.

I kicked his stomach, and when he doubled over I just went at that face. I gave him my fists again and again, rearranging, changing. I honestly wasn’t sure this time if the blood smell was my nose or his face. The referee didn’t stop me, so I kept wailing on him.

I had so much pent up anger over the last year. I wasn’t allowed to feel angry because I was bogged down in so much fucking guilt. Fuck my dad! The asshole didn’t do shit for me except make sure that I hated every damn day I was alive. He had forced me to defend my own life since I was a kid. Told me I wasn’t worth shit when he literally did nothing to earn anything he had.

Let me believe that my mother’s death was my fault.

I was punching my dad in that moment, not using Jiu Jitsu, straight up swinging like boxing until the referee had to stop me. I had a tooth partially buried in my finger when I finally looked at my banged up hands later.

His face was busted completely, he had to be carried off and his face was just pouring out blood. Somewhere in the back of my mind I couldn’t figure out how he could survive blows like that, but my dad couldn’t even take on a side table.

I had to catch my breath; I stepped to the side and opened a water bottle.

“Ross wants to see you,” Ricky said, his goofy smile was almost ear to ear. I can’t imagine what kind of commission he got from finding prize fighters. No wonder he’d been so friendly.

“I’ll be there in a sec,” I said, pouring my water over my hands before I wiped them off with a towel. I’d have to get something to stop them from getting infected later.

Ross was sitting off to the side, a beer in hand and a smile on his face.

“Holy shit, now that wasn’t a fight—that was a freaking crime scene!” he exclaimed. Laughing, he stood up and shook my hand with his thick sausage fingers, turning back to look at the current fight that was being set up.

“Thank you,” I said, still coming down from the high of it. The high I only ever got from fighting, from feeling my hands pound into someone. It was the literal definition of a guilty pleasure.

“Think you could do that again?” he asked, smiling without looking at me.

“Yes sir,” I said, I wasn’t bragging, maybe I should have bragged a little.

“Alright, we’ve got a line of fights we’re planning, want to be part of my crew?” he asked looking over to me.

“Yes sir, that would be great,” I admitted. “How soon would my first fight be?” I asked.

“Within the next couple weeks, and you need to get yourself an actual phone,” he added. He turned to grab an envelope and instead grabbed four. “These are all for you, I want you to see I’m investing in you,” he said, showing more faith in me than I had in myself at the time.

“Yes sir,” I replied.

I started to head out, and was approached by a handful of other people offering me positions, but I was already spoken for. I never considered shopping around.

My first official fight was a few weeks later and I made a flat thousand off it.

A thousand bucks for beating the shit out of another human being that I definitely saw as my father.

I can’t say I really had anything to complain about.

L
ife is hilarious
.

I can’t think of any other word that could describe it better, it’s amazing. One day I’m living in a small town in Podunk Nowhere, and the next thing I know I’ve got my own condo in Hollywood Hills with movie offers pouring in faster than water.

My first film was based off a book series I had never read and even after I finished filming I still didn’t bother to pick it up. It didn’t matter if you understood the book, or if you were exactly like the characters, people would always complain about the difference. It was a fun project about a girl who shot arrows that pierced time and space, just nerdy enough to fill what was a growing movie scene at the time.

I didn’t think I would make it so big this quickly.

Chet flew me out, making sure I got headshots before we left New York. Within a couple weeks I had an offer, and within a month we were filming. Filming! A movie! I had always been a performer. I had been in cheerleading, talent shows, anything I could get my hands on. I was always surprised my mom hadn’t tried to put me through pageants.

When I bought my condo the movie hadn’t even premiered yet.

Yet here I was, a “budding actress” who already had her hands on primo real estate.

The filming wasn’t even that difficult—the time I put into it and the perks I got out of it, were nowhere near worth what I was paid for it, but you sure as hell weren’t going to find me complaining. For once in my life everything was as smooth as could be; my dad dying was the best damn thing that had ever happened to me.

Although probably not the best for my mom.

More than once I’d get home, greeted by my kitty Jelly Bean that I’d gotten the moment I had my own place, and I’d have huge stacks of letters from her and voicemails that seemed to be waiting to swallow me. It was always the same thing.

“Baby, baby I miss you. I saw that you’re going to be in a movie! You should come visit your mommy now!”

“Brooklyn! I need your help please. God they think I’m crazy and they’re driving me there, please call me back. Please help me.”

“Honey, nobody knows, it’s safe, please come back to me, I miss you so so much, I think about you all the time.”

It was awful.

From what I could glean from the dozens of messages she’d left, the cop had dropped her on the spot. He didn’t want to have it on his name, and he didn’t want to be a part of the drama. My mom got the best damn lawyers the money she had access to could buy. Even the best lawyers could only get you so far though.

She was forced into pleading insanity, saying it was self-defense.

There had been rumors around town for years. I’d heard them, that my mother was running into one too many doors, if you know what I mean. They’d peer at us when they didn’t think we were looking, more fodder for the gossip mill. The kind of shit my Aunt Jo would have eaten up. There really wasn’t any such thing as an impartial jury, the town was small.

The jury only deliberated for a handful of hours before they came back out, and said my mom had cracked from the years of abuse and was defending herself. They took her plea, what she thought was protecting her, and it got her tossed into a mental facility.

Everyone knows what they say about nut houses. The patients get abused and neglected. You can’t go a few years without hearing a new scandal from a facility that was supposed to care for its patients taking advantage of them instead.

I didn’t feel bad; she wanted to leave without me.

I couldn’t help but be a little comforted at the thought

I never answered the phone when she called, I never wrote back. I wasn’t sure what to say to her? How do you tell a woman that almost threw you under the bus that was your own father, that you even came close to forgiving her? She married that man! She married him and dragged me into their life, and almost left me there to rot!

So no, I didn’t care. I was glad they played television in her center, and I was glad she got to see me live the life she had groomed me for—the one she wanted. I couldn’t help but hope that when my movie was released they would play it on loop for her.

A couple times, I considered sending her pictures of my condo, and of Jelly Bean since my parents had never let me have pets. I considered calling her and acting like I didn’t know who she was and asking her to stop calling me.

I wasn’t worried about being implicated, God no, she was too proud to admit she’d lied. I had to wonder about Adam though. He stayed on my mind a lot; like ink in water he colored every inch of my life. I didn’t know much about him and I regretted that so much.

Did he know my father was dead?

Did he know that I let my mother take the blame for him?

That I didn’t tell him he killed a man?

I didn’t know much about him, I wasn’t sure if he’d come forward and admit it if he found out what he’d done, but I knew that he hadn’t yet.

He hadn’t told anyone yet, and that was all I could ask for. If he’d been the one rotting away in some loony bin or prison I wouldn’t have forgiven myself. He was kind and gentle, and he saved my life in so many ways. If he hadn’t done what he had, I wouldn’t have been living in that condo in the sky.

I had feelings for him I couldn’t completely explain.

It’s not that while he was out of my life I didn’t date, because I did find many men that fit my tastes, but he was always there with me. I always imagined him appearing at my premiers, running across to me at a location shoot, or sending me a letter to my fan mail accounts.

I wanted him to reach out to me, to tell me he noticed and was watching out for me again. I needed him. I was sure that he didn’t need me anymore though.

I was just some strange mean girl from his school that paid him off so he wouldn’t go back to our home town. I was just a rich girl who had everyone else do things for me. He wasn’t completely wrong, but I wanted to change his view on me if that was it.

I wanted to form a proper view of him.

The premier of my movie came and went without me seeing his face or receiving any mail from him. I tried not to think about it too much.

I found myself turning to alcohol.

I know that’s stupid, I know that it’s even worse because I had to work to get to it because I wasn’t of age yet. It drowned out the sounds of my dad’s skull being cracked and it flushed away the images of that night I relived every single time I tried to sleep.

It was the poison that got my family into the situation it was in, but it was also my elixir to a freed conscience. One that didn’t have to think about my mom rotting away, or the boy who saved my life never getting to talk to me again.

It was all I had.