Kicker (DS Fight Club Book 1) (2 page)

Charlotte contemplated the monstrous chocolate cake in front of her. On one hand, she did not need any cake, especially since it was her birthday weekend and Brad was taking her out— and that outing would invariably include cake, and lots of it.

On the other hand, it
was
her birthday weekend.

Hm. Maybe just a
teeny
piece.

She looked around and then cut a sliver of the cake, catching a blob of icing on her finger as she cut a tiny wedge out of the cake. She sucked the frosting from her finger—
divine.

Charlotte savored each bite of the sliver of cake. She let out a tiny whimper when she finished the last morsel.

“Oh, thank goodness someone’s gotten into the cake,” Bailey Jenkins, office manager of Tara Security Systems, said as she cut a large slice of cake. “I always feel bad cutting into the cakes, because they’re so pretty, but not enough to not have any, because they taste so good.” She wiggled her eyebrows, put a large forkful of chocolate cake in her mouth and hummed with glee. “Mm, so good.”

Charlotte nodded. “It was.”

Bailey waved her hand at Charlotte. “You always look so cute. I love your suits.”

“Why, thank you, Bailey. That’s always nice to hear.”

Bailey grinned and pointed her fork at her. “You better keep an eye on Em, though. She’ll cut a bitch for a good blouse with a pussycat bow.”

Charlotte laughed because Em, the main data analyst, and she had just had a conversation the previous day about that very subject when she and Charlotte had shown up at the office wearing almost matching shirts.

“I’ll cut who for what?” Em poked her head into the break room. “Oh my God, Charlotte, that suit is to die for, and it makes your eyes so absolutely
violet
. Gah—so pretty.” At seeing Charlotte’s furious blush, Em rushed over to her coworker and began apologizing. “Oh, Charlotte, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I meant to do.” She continued babbling until Bailey burst out laughing.

“Em, you’re making things fifty times worse,” Bailey said, shaking her head and laughing. “Just stop.”

“Sorry.” Em grinned sheepishly. “I get carried away.”

“It’s fine. I’m just not used to working with people that appreciate my style choices.”
Or anyone that appreciates my style choices, for that matter.

Em harrumphed. “That is absolutely ridiculous. Well, from now on, be prepared to be fawned over, because I’m gonna fawn.”

“Okay,” Charlotte said with a little puff of breath.

“Mail call for Em Davidson-Brennan and Bailey Jenkins. Ladies, I think I have some things that belong to you.”

Rory Doyle, the founder of Tara Security Systems, came into the break room waving two packages.

“I suppose I’m not a lady, since you don’t have a package for me,” Charlotte said with a laugh.

“You’re probably more of a lady than these two smut-reading hooligans.”

Em scoffed again. “You need to include your missus in with us, then; she’s the worst one.”

“I know. Believe me, I know,” Rory lamented while he handed a package to each woman. “Happy reading, you two.”

“Is that . . . ?” Charlotte started when she spied the cover of the book that Em took out of the package.

“Yes. Do you read these, too?”

“Yes. My book’s being held at the front desk of my apartment building, just waiting for me.”

Bailey shook her head. “You really are a perfect addition to our team. Do you do book clubs? I ask because we have a casual book club—just Em, Ashley, and me.”

“Hmm, I’ve been looking for a book club. . . .”

“Well, if we’re not too obnoxious for you, we’d love for you to join us. We’re supposed to get together next week.”

Charlotte grinned. “That’s perfect.”

“Then it’s a date. Yay.” Em did a little clap and dance. “Okay, I’ve got a meeting. We’ll make plans this afternoon, okay? Yay.”

“Wow.”

Bailey laughed. “You haven’t been here long enough to see her really get excited.”

“
That’s
not really excited?”

Bailey whistled through her teeth. “Girl, that’s
nothing
.”

Oh God.

*****

He was the tallest, biggest man that Charlotte had ever seen in person. His almost-black hair was on the long side, his silver-streaked beard unruly, and the black and grey tattoos that snaked up his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his shirt, lent him an air of danger and menace.

And then he smiled. His silvery-blue eyes twinkled, the small crow’s feet at the edges crinkled, and he stuck out his hand.

“Mick Brennan,” he said. “I’m Em’s husband. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Charlotte Markham. Nice to meet you, too.” She blew out a breath, and he grinned even wider.

“Michael, are you scaring our new forensic accountant?” Em poked her head out of her office with a mock scowl on her face and wagged a finger at him.

Mick scoffed. “I’m thinking that if she’s a forensic accountant, I’m the one who should be scared. I haven’t been audited in a while.” He winked at Charlotte, who rolled her eyes.

Mick barked a laugh. “Too soon for the auditing jokes, huh, b’y?”

Em came out of her office with her laptop bag and a cake carrier. “Don’t mind him, Charlotte. He’s harmless. And he pays his taxes.” She stretched up onto her toes, and Mick bent down to receive a peck on the cheek. “It looks like it’s going to be just you and Bailey for the rest of the afternoon,” Em said, motioning her head toward the lobby where Bailey sat. “Rory’s at the doctor with Ashley, and we’re headed out as well.”

“He texted me just a bit ago and told me to head home whenever. He said I needed a reward for putting up with all of you,” Charlotte said with a grin.

“He’ll be sorted as soon as he finds out the babby situation,” Mick said with a grunt. “Sweet Janey Mac.”

Charlotte blinked at the big man.
Babby? B’y? What in the world?

“Mick’s from Newfoundland. Sometimes I still need a glossary,” Em stage-whispered, understanding Charlotte’s confusion at her husband’s unusual vocabulary. She shoved the cake carrier at Mick, who took it with another bright grin. “But take Rory’s offer of leaving early; who knows what hell’s going to break loose next week when everyone’s back from vacation.”

“I’ll get out of here at a reasonable time, I promise.”

Em gave Charlotte a look, and Charlotte laughed, saying, “I promise.”

Em winked and said, “Okay. I’ll see you on Monday, then. Have a good Thanksgiving, Charlotte.”

“You, too. It was nice meeting you, Mick.”

“You, too, Charlotte. Be safe heading out, okay?”

Charlotte nodded.

She watched the two of them walk down the hall and out to the lobby, and sighed.

They were a funny couple, a study in contrasts, short and tall, talkative and subdued, but they just worked.

The founder of the company, Rory Doyle, and his partner were similar. Well, they were very different from Mick and Em, but like their best friends, Rory and Ashley seemed to have found their ideal mate.

The morning that Charlotte started working at Tara Security Systems, she had come into the break room to find the two of them in a lip-lock, with Ashley’s legs wrapped around Rory’s waist and with one of Rory’s hands in Ashley’s pants. Rory had broken the kiss and grinned sheepishly, and Ashley adjusted her clothes while introducing herself and explaining that they had twin baby girls at home and did not get much private time.

They had infants, and yet they were at the doctor’s, waiting for “babby” news? Charlotte shook her head. She could not imagine having a baby, much less two babies. Hell, she did not even have a pet or any real plants, and she never had, which was something she had on her list, directly after learning to cook and moving to a place where she could actually
have
a pet.

Charlotte sighed and went back into her office to concentrate on spreadsheets and numbers and not think about babies, pets, or flower gardens.

Junior Maldonado watched Tig as he bounced and jabbed in place, earbuds in his ears and cowboy hat still on his head.

Tig stilled—only his shoulders remained rocking in time to whatever he was listening to—and rolled his neck, his eyes still closed.

“How is he?” Colin Carmichael asked the trainer.

Junior shook his head. “I dunno, C. Loose, but not
too
loose, but there’s something . . .”

The smallish kickboxer suddenly sprang into motion, bringing his leg out straight, hip fully extended, and then moved smoothly back to standing position, his eyes remaining closed the entire time.

Colin chuckled. “Oh yeah, he’s ready.”

Junior nodded again. “Raptor Pryde’s fighter isn’t going to know what hit him. Or rather, kicked him, since it’s Tig.”

“You get the feeling that there’s more to this than meets the eye?” Colin asked. His eyes remained glued to Tig, who was once again shadowboxing, still with his eyes closed and his cowboy hat on his head.

“No doubt. I don’t know if it’s simply because it’s a Raptor Pryde fighter, and they screwed him before, or if it’s
this
particular fighter, but Tig’s totally torqued up, and I’m not sure it’s a good thing.”

“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.

“Let’s do this,” Tig said, pounding his fists together.

There was no walkout music since he wasn’t a headliner, but that did not stop Tig from bouncing down the narrow walkway to something that only played in his head.

Tig stripped his hoodie off, slipped off his shoes, and then finally handed his hat to Junior, who took it with a nod and a squeeze to his shoulder. Colin grabbed him in a hug and whispered in his ear, looking seriously at him before grinning and playfully cuffing the side of his head. Tig turned to the tournament’s cutman, who applied petroleum jelly to his forehead and cheeks and checked his ears, mouthpiece, gloves, and cup. The cutman nodded, and Tig bounded up the stairs to the cage, pausing for a moment in the doorway, bowing his head, and then exploded into the octagon.

He bounced and jabbed and kicked, seemingly oblivious to the world outside the cage, but Tig vigilantly watched as Mikey “Lightning” Browne walked down the same walkway and undergo the same blessings and checks as he himself did.

In and out, Mashburn. Put this guy down and show that fucker, Raptor, what he missed out on.

Browne grinned a mean smile around his mouthpiece, which was to look like vampire fangs. Tig shook his head and rolled his eyes.
I wonder how much that ridiculous thing set Raptor back?

The referee called the fighters to the center of the cage and stated the rules, and the bell rang. Tig was surprised when Browne tapped his gloves and then worried when he saw the look in the other fighter’s eyes.

Fuck.

Tig knew immediately what was going to happen unless he made even quicker work of this opponent than he planned on.

The two fighters circled each other, feinting for a few moments, and then Tig extended his leg, lightning quick, kicking Browne on the side of his head and sending him to the floor of the octagon in a heap.

Ninety-seven seconds.

It took about that long for Browne to regain consciousness, and by that time, Tig was on top of the cage, astride the metal piping, roaring with victory. He tumbled backward, flipping neatly in one complete rotation to land on his feet, only to be grabbed and lifted by Colin and Junior.

After the referee announced Tig’s victory, the defeated opponent bumped Tig’s fist and walked shakily from the octagon. Tig made sure he caught Jett Raptor’s eye, and he could not help but notice the small nod that Bruce Pryde gave him.

But he wasn’t going to think about either of his former trainers tonight; he was just going to enjoy the sweet taste of victory and a decent meal after cutting weight. And maybe, just maybe, the sweet attention of a woman.

*****

Tig sat in the dressing room while Ryan Richards, the DS Fight Club cutman, unwrapped his hands. Colin came up behind him and slapped him on the shoulder.

“So. Tell me about Browne,” Colin said quietly.

Tig huffed a laugh. The owner of DS Fight Club might be socially awkward and gruff at times, but he possessed an uncanny fight I.Q. That preternatural sense had helped him become a champion fighter and continued to help him now that he was mentoring his own team.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Tig said, keeping his eyes on Ryan, who was massaging Tig’s knuckles and hands. “The guy’s a trash-talker but not much more. Just a jackass.”

Colin stood by Tig for a long moment more, hoping that he would tell him the truth, but Tig just inhaled deeply and then blew out a breath.

Colin patted Tig on the shoulder once more and then said, “Okay. Well, we’re going to Foley’s. There’s a catered dinner waiting for you and the rest of the guys. Ryan, let’s finish him up and get him to the pub because I know this bottomless pit is going to want to chow.”

“Sure thing, C. Be done in five,” Ryan said, still working on Tig’s hands to remove the last bit of tape from them. Colin nodded at the two men and went to talk to the other fighters.

“You need to tell them,” Ryan murmured. “It won’t do you any good if Colin finds out that, one, you’ve been participating in unauthorized fights, and two, it was either you or Browne that was going to be put on the Raptor Pryde roster, but you didn’t make the cut because you weren’t willing to throw fights.”

“I know, Goody; I know,” Tig said with a sigh. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. Tonight I just want to kick back and enjoy my victory, you know?”

“Yep. And, dude, that kick was so sweet. My Lord. But don’t wait too long, okay? I don’t want to see you penalized for doing the right thing.”

“Good Lord, Goody. You’re as bad as my mama with the worrying.”

Ryan snorted. “That’s why they call me ‘Goody,’ buddy.”

Tig laughed because he knew that statement was patently untrue, but he did not contradict his friend.

Ryan looked at Tig. “How long have I known you?”

Tig inhaled and thought about it. “Man, almost two years, now that I think about it.”

“How many times have I patched you up and covered for you?”

“A lot.”

“It’s gotta give, Tig. You cannot keep doing the other fights, man. You’re going to get seriously hurt, or, possibly worse, Colin’s gonna cut you loose because of the fights. And then where will you be? You gonna go crawling back to Raptor? You gonna tell him you’re willing to throw fights if he’ll give you chance to get back on the roster? Think on that a bit, man. You’re a better fighter than that. You’re a better
man
that that.”

Tig nodded, knowing with certainty that what Ryan was saying was true, but feeling a gnawing hole in his chest at the thought of talking to Colin and telling him of his extracurricular activities.

Ryan stuck out his hand. “Okay, Kicker. Let’s go get you some grub and maybe a little bit of sugar to make that victory even sweeter.”

Ryan winked at him, and Tig laughed as they headed out to the van that was going to take them to Foley’s Public House.

Tig sank down into the seat next to Dominic ‘Dig’ DiGiacomo, who grinned at him, his teeth white in his dark beard.

“Tiggyman, you are such a badass,” Dig said with a laugh. “Man, you should have seen that Raptor fuck’s expression when your foot connected with Browne’s head. It was
classic
.”

“I saw Pryde’s face, and he didn’t look too happy,” Tig said, settling back into the seat and feeling suddenly exhausted.

“Fuck no, he wasn’t happy. He let Raptor bully him into letting you go. And for what? So Browne could throw fights? Not that he threw the fight tonight. He didn’t have chance to the throw the fight.”

Tig huffed a laugh. No, he did not. Tig made damn sure he did not have a chance to throw the fight. If Lightning Browne was going to lose a fight, he was going to
lose
the fucking fight.

“Man, you don’t seem as stoked as a guy that’s up for Fight of the Night should be,” Dig said, his brow furrowed in a frown. “Something wrong?”

Tig shook his head. “Nah. I’m just starving and horny, and I’m coming down from the rush,” he said with a laugh. “I just want to eat a steak, and maybe some pussy, and then sleep for about three days after I nut as many times as I possibly can.”

Dig bleated a surprised laugh and shook his head. “You do not have a filter, do you? Jesus.”

“At least he’s honest,” Colin said, laughing as well.

Tig exhaled again.
Yeah, at least I’m honest.