Kicker (DS Fight Club Book 1) (3 page)

“Charlotte, what are you doing still here?” Bailey stood in the doorway of Charlotte’s office, a frown crinkling her brow.

“I might ask
you
the same thing, Miss Bailey.”

Bailey waived her off with a small laugh. “Colin has a thing tonight, and Maude’s grandparents are spoiling her so that Colin and I can have some time alone. I’m just cleaning some things up until it’s time to meet him.” Bailey looked at the newest member of the Tara Security Systems team and got ready to say something but then snapped her mouth shut. “Well, don’t stay too much later, okay?”

“Okay, I promise. Night, Bailey. I’ll see you Monday.” Charlotte turned her attention back to the spreadsheets on her monitor.

Charlotte worked, even after she heard Bailey leave, until the night cleaning crew scared her half to death. She glanced at the clock and sighed.

So much for taking myself out for a nice birthday dinner.

With another sigh, she packed up her bags and headed out to her car.

She caught her reflection in the rearview mirror as she settled behind the steering wheel. Her violet eyes looked tired beneath her no-longer-impeccable eye makeup, and the tight French roll at the back of her head wasn’t quite as tidy as it was fourteen hours earlier.

Her stomach growled, and Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Okay, Audrey, I’ll feed you,” she said to herself as she pulled out of the darkened parking lot.

As she drove to her Midtown apartment, Charlotte tried not to feel sorry for herself. No one knew her birthday was coming up because she had not told anyone, and she would have felt fine with that fact at any other workplace, but Tara Security Systems was something special. She actually felt a little bit guilty keeping the information from them because all of the people at the office had welcomed her with open arms.

She rounded the corner and a snapping blur of orange, white, and green caught her eye. A bright spotlight lit the Irish flag and a sign that proclaimed the establishment to be
Foley’s Public House, est. 1998
. Below, a sandwich board listed the meals of the day, along with the magic words:
Kitchen open until 2:00 a.m.

Charlotte pulled into the crowded parking lot, and after tidying her hair and powdering her nose, made her way into the pub.

It was everything she could have wanted. High-top bar tables sat in the middle of the pub, and the benches and low tables lined the walls. A small stage with a karaoke set was situated at one end of the bar, and the gleaming mahogany bar itself ran from one side of the pub to the other.

As most of the tables were occupied, Charlotte sucked in a breath and made her way to the bar.
A woman can sit by herself at a bar and not look trashy or desperate, right?

“What’ll ya have, darlin’?” the heavily tattooed man behind the bar asked her.

“Um. A Guinness?”

“You sure about that, love?” he said with a wink even as he poured a perfect pint.

Charlotte grinned. “Yes, I’m sure. Do you serve full dinner at the bar?”

“Sure do. I’ll leave you for a bit to decide. If you’re ready before I’m back, Meghan will help you.” He nodded at a raven-haired girl that was standing at the far end of the bar.

“Okay, thank you,” Charlotte said, already distracted by the full menu offerings. The bar grew noisier and noisier behind her, but then again, it
was
late.

Charlotte sipped on her beer and tried to catch the female bartender’s eye.

“What’ll you have, love?” she said with a grin.

“The smoked salmon plate, please. And another Guinness, please.”

“Do you want me to start you a tab?”

After thinking for a moment, Charlotte grinned. “Sure.” Then she pushed her ID and a credit card across the counter.

Meghan looked at the ID, checking the signature on the back. “Why, someone’s got a birthday coming up—happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll get that order right in, love.”

Suddenly, the already loud bar erupted in clapping and cheers.

Charlotte swiveled on her seat to see a large group of men walk through the door of the pub. One of the men held his arms up in victory, and the patrons of the bar clapped him on his back and arms, jabbering and gabbling at him, and several attempting to lift his large frame up for a parade around the pub.

“Wow.”

“Yep,” Meghan said with a laugh as she slid a large plate of smoked salmon in front of Charlotte. “They must have had a good night at the fights. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, this is perfect.”

Meghan nodded and slipped down to the end of the bar where the crowd had gathered.

Charlotte could not help but examine the group of men as she ate. They were mostly big guys, but there was a smaller one with a black eye, a cowboy hat, and a big grin despite a split lip. Cowboy was winking, and people were pounding him on the back as well.

The tattooed bartender began ringing a large brass bell, and the cheering of “D-S-F-C” filled the pub, cresting until the noise became almost painful, until a very large, very heavily bearded man stepped into the center of the rowdy celebrants.

“Huge night for Doyle’s South Fight Club, y’all—huge. Not only did Dig win his interim title bout”—lots of cheering as Beardy acknowledged the first large man, a handsome bearded fellow with lots of bright tattoos—“but I just received notice that our very own Kicker got Fight of the Night, so let’s give it up for Tig.” Lots more cheering rang through the small bar as two men hoisted the slight cowboy up on their shoulders, and they finally got to carry a fighter through the pub.

Charlotte could not help but smile and cheer with the men, at the looks of joy on their faces as they chanted and hooted their way into a back area.

“Wow, is it always like this?” Charlotte wondered aloud.

“It’s generally pretty lively, but I’ll say, since Colin’s started bringing the fighters around after their matches, it’s gone to a completely other level,” the bartender said as he put a glass of whiskey in front of Charlotte. “I’m Sully, by the way. Allow me to treat you to a whiskey, seeing as it’s almost your birthday.”

“Oh. Oh, thank you,” Charlotte said with a shy grin. She’d never had someone buy her a drink out of the blue before. “Sure.”

“Oh my Lord, Em is going to kick your butt when she finds out,” said a familiar voice. Charlotte turned, eyes opened wide, to see Bailey standing next to the bar, hands on her hips, rapidly tapping one foot. “Charlotte Markham, you are in so much . . . Colin, put me down.”

Charlotte watched as the giant bearded man swept Bailey off of her feet and nuzzled his face into her neck and twirled her around.

“Babydoll, it’s about time you got here,” he said, adding another little kiss to the bottom of her chin. “Give me some sugar, sugar.”

Bailey rolled her eyes, but she grinned and gave him a kiss. “Now will you put me down?”

Colin, apparently Bailey’s boyfriend or husband, took a moment to squeeze her bottom and then set her down on a barstool next to Charlotte before kissing her again.

Bailey swatted at the big bearded man as he swooped in for another kiss. “I swear, you’re as bad as the fighters, wanting to get some action after a fight,” she said, giggling. “Charlotte, I’d like you to meet Colin Carmichael.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlotte. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, grabbing Charlotte’s hand in his massive paw and shaking it. “I’m sorry if the crew was a little boisterous.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Colin. I didn’t put two and two together when I heard your name, but I should have.” She peered at him. Something about the massive man seemed familiar. “Have I met you before? You look awfully familiar.”

Bailey snorted a laugh. “Colin is Mick’s half-brother. You know, Em’s Mick?”

“Oh,
that’s
it. I should have known: you two have the exact same eyes.”
And you’re both friggin’ huge.

Colin inclined his head and then turned to Bailey. “The boys are all in the private dining room. Do you want your usual?”

“Sure, C. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Charlotte, feel free to join us—the more the merrier.”

“Oh, please do,” Bailey begged. “Most of these guys don’t have girlfriends, so it’s just me and the ring girls.” She rolled her eyes.

“Ring girls?”

“Uh-huh. I don’t have much in common with them.”

“Well . . .”

“Pretty please? And I won’t tell Em about your birthday?” Bailey grinned and placed her hands in prayer.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Oh, okay. Just because you asked nicely. And I’m afraid of what Em will do when she finds out that I kind of fibbed to you.”

Bailey squealed, hugged Charlotte, and then dragged her off to the dining room.

“Oh my Lord, this is the best meal I’ve ever had,” Tig said with a groan.

Dig chuckled. “Every meal after a fight is the best meal ever. How much did you have to cut, anyway?”

Tig shook his head. “Not much—seven pounds.”

Dig whistled. “Damn. That’s good.” Tig nodded and continued eating, just enjoying the meal and his satisfaction about winning the fight and the additional pleasure of getting that bonus.

Maybe, just maybe, he would actually have a little bit left to spend on himself after he helped his parents out with their farm expenses. Some new tires would be good. He swallowed hard, hoping that no one would notice the sudden flare of emotion.

“Hey, man. I get it,” Dig murmured. “I so totally get it.”

Tig nodded. He knew Dig got it.

When Dig had shown up at the fight club one afternoon three months earlier and essentially begged Colin to let him train with him, Tig wasn’t quite sure what to think. When Tig was at Raptor Pryde, Dig was already on the circuit and had full corporate sponsorship and had actually fought against Colin himself in a fight for the heavyweight title. He was the golden child, receiving lots of preferential treatment and perks, and Tig could not fault him for that. He’d paid his dues and was a damn good fighter. He was also about the only signed fighter that took the time to get to know the other ones—fighters like Tig who were still trying to get a decent fight, hell,
any
fight at all—and had seemed truly sorry and shocked when Tig was dismissed from Raptor Pryde.

Hell, it was Dig who told Tig to look up Colin Carmichael’s new club, advising Tig to dismiss anything he knew of Colin’s seemingly nasty public personality.

“Dessert?”

“What?”

Dig grinned at his smaller friend. “I said, ‘I think it’s time for dessert,’” he said with a tip of his head toward a group of women who had just entered the private dining room.

Dig grinned at the group while Tig inwardly groaned. Those women generally never paid him much attention, which was normally just fine with Tig.

Tonight, though? He had an itch, and he wasn’t sure whether fighting or fucking would scratch it.

“Bridget’s trying to make eye contact with you, Tiggyman.”

“Hmph.”

“Man, what is up with you tonight? You knocked your opponent out less than two minutes into the fight, you got Fight of the Night, and I bet you get Move of the Night, too, for that matter. And you’ve got ring girls eyeing you like potato chips and ice cream at high tide.”

“Jesus, Dig, and you say I don’t have a filter. Good Lord.”

Dig frowned. “What’d I say?”

“Ugh. Never mind.”

Tig closed his eyes and rolled his neck, making it crack with a satisfying pop.

“Oh, man, you
do
need to get you some. How long’s it been?”

“Too long.”
Way too long
.

“Tig, you are The Man tonight. You can have your pick of any woman in this place.”

Another grunt from Tig.

Dig’s smile faded into a look of horror. “Oh my God—do you not like women? Man, I’m so sorry—I just assumed. . . .”

Tig rolled his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, DiGiacomo. I like women. I like women
a lot
. These women, though? Maybe not so much.”

“Huh? Why the hell not?”

“Because they dismiss me unless I do something like I did tonight, okay, Dig? I mean, at least they’re up-front with wanting to fuck a winner, but damn, it gets old being ignored the rest of the time, never given the time of day because I’m not a beast like the rest of you guys.”

Dig looked at Tig in a completely new light. Normally the little fighter was quick to smile and joke, and he was definitely the friendliest of the guys on the team. But tonight he had a hollow look in his eyes, eyes that kept searching the room for something, but Dig did not know if Tig even knew what that something was.

“Man, I’m sorry,” Tig said with a sigh. “I got shit at home that needs to be taken care of and now that the fight’s over, I’m actually thinking about it.”

Dig nodded. “Anything I can help you with, tell me, okay?”

Tig nodded.

“Oh, did you hear?”

“What?”

“C’s going to ask Bailey to marry him.”

“About damn time,” Tig said with a laugh. “Where is C, anyway? He’s usually here by now.”

“C
olocha
distracted him,” Junior said as he sat down across from the two fighters. “They’re probably in the bathroom making out.”

“No, there he is,” Dig said with a jerk of his chin toward the entrance. Tig turned and saw Colin, Bailey, and another woman.

He sat up straighter, and Junior barked a laugh. Dig swiveled in his seat, trying to see what Junior found so amusing, and then a slow smile spread across his face.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it, Mashburn?” Dig said, his smile growing wider. “She’s got a pretty face, but man, does she look high-maintenance or what? Damn.”

Tig did not respond.

He watched Bailey and the woman perch by the bar, the brunette sliding neatly onto a barstool and primly crossing her legs at her ankles.

Tig’s eyes wandered from the top of her mahogany head, down her shapely figure, and finally rested on her high heels.
Damn. Smoking. Hot.

Junior could not control himself any longer and burst out with a gale of laughter. “Man, Tig, I’ve found out more about you in the last two minutes than I have in the past two years I’ve been training your obnoxious ass.”

Tig shrugged and grinned.

“Well, go talk to her. Damn, man. A woman elicits a response like that, you gotta go to talk to her.”

“You don’t know who she is?”

Junior shook his head. “Never seen her before. But if I had to guess, I bet she works for Irish.”

Ah
. That would make perfect sense. She looked like someone who would be part of Rory’s team.

“Man, I would never get a lick of work done,” Tig murmured. Junior snorted another laugh.

Tig’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took a look at who texted him and shook his head. Even from one hundred fifty miles away, his mother could still cockblock him.

“I gotta take this. It’s Mama,” Tig said, standing up from the table. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“We’ll do some recon, Tig,” Junior said with a wink.

Dear Lord, save me from a matchmaking trainer.

Tig stepped out the side door into the cool night air and called his mother back.

“How’d you do, sweetheart?”

“I won, Mama. And I got Fight of the Night, too.”

Hattie Mashburn gasped. “Trevor, that’s wonderful. Oh, honey.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great. There’s a good bonus that coming with the Fight of the Night thing, too.”

Hattie stayed silent on the other end of the line.

“I don’t know when I get the check, but it’ll be pretty soon. I’m going to come down there and talk to the bank, Mama.”

“Trevor, honey, that is not your responsibility. . . .”

“No, but I’m going to
make
it my responsibility. What are you going to do if you lose the farm? Where will you live?”

More silence.

“Mama, everything will work out.”

“There’s another balloon payment due, Trevor.”

“What?”

“Floyd took out another mortgage to cover seed and payment. . . .”

“The year after the flooding . . .”

“Yes.”

“And it’s due now.”

“Yes.”

Tig leaned his head on his arm and squeezed his eyes shut.
Dammit, Floyd.

“I’m still going to talk to the bank.”

“Trevor . . .”

“Mama . . .”

Hattie sighed. “You’re such a good boy, you know that?”

Tig huffed a laugh. “I’m almost thirty years old, Mama.”

“You’re still my baby boy. Go celebrate. I’ll see you next week, okay?”

“Okay, Mama. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Trevor.”

Tig turned his back to the brick wall and leaned his head back in resignation. He could not win for losing.

His phone buzzed again. He fully expected for it to be his mother, apologizing, but it wasn’t.

Fight night tomorrow. Same time, location.

You in, Kicker?

Tig looked at the message, quickly responded, and went back into the pub.