Dirty Fighter: A Bad Boy MMA Romance by Roxy Sinclaire, Natasha Tanner
Authors: Roxy Sinclaire, Natasha Tanner
Ads: Link
wasn’t looking to be blameless, or guiltless, I just wanted to be able to exist without it haunting me. Without having to look over my shoulder constantly. If I could sleep through one night without smelling blood, I considered that a success. I didn’t have many of those in the beginning.
I needed a distraction, and if you ever have nowhere to be, the best place to do that is California. Endless entertainment to draw your eye, an endless carnival of people who are clawing to get that chance, their big spotlight moment. Your waitresses, barbers, gym mates, meter maids, everyone, everyone is looking to get into The Business, and if you miss that you’re blind.
A lot of entertainment is free—they need studio audiences, or there’s a live street performance, but every now and then there were things I’d actually be happy to lay my money down for. I’d seen a few MMA fights, the events were usually hyped up all over the city. The energy during those was always extremely high, the martial artists so completely in the fight that they didn’t notice the crowds roaring around them. It sounded more than ideal.
So when I saw fliers hanging up in my gym advertising auditions for MMA fighting my interest was more than just piqued.
I’d been training in martial arts since I was old enough to get myself to lessons. I’d trained mostly in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, dabbled in boxing as a side sport. It worked because I grew up a lean kid, Jiu Jitsu kept my body fast, and the drills kept my mind in line. My brain was as worked and beaten as my body was, until both could stand for themselves. It wasn’t until I was starting high school and dabbled into other forms of martial arts that I was able to gain any actual mass, and by then I could throw down with the best of them.
I wrote down all the information on the flier, tucked it in my duffle, and got back to my work out. I’d finally have something to do. Something close to a job to keep my mind off it all.
10
Adam
M y dad wasn’t exactly a dream cruise.
I guess everyone’s old man fucks them up in one way or another though, some people get so messed up they get excited about mortgages or low income tax, I got fucked up in another way. Brooklyn, now her life was unfortunate, but the only reason I was able to help her out was because of my dear old dad. He was the only reason I was even able to go out for the MMA auditions.
The auditions were bullshit, by the way.
I was a damn good fighter. I knew that, I’d worked my ass off my whole life for it. They didn’t care about that, though. That wasn’t the immediate thing that caught any of their eyes. They wanted you to fill out registration information before you could even show them what you were worth.
I just wanted to be allowed in the rink, I didn’t care about getting signed to anything. I didn’t care about TV or the money, I just wanted to be able to fight. My body was a perfectly trained machine and I’d worked so long for that and now it was going to waste in that gym.
I couldn’t tell them why signing was a problem, I couldn’t explain why I’d been looking over my shoulder since before the last time I saw Brooklyn. A full night longer.
I couldn’t tell them what these hands had done before.
I’d never had any siblings to protect.
I didn’t have a mom around to claim it was for.
It was selfish, but hell I guess I took after him in that way.
There was a lot of blood, people don’t tell you how strong that smell is when you’re around that much blood. Some part of your brain reads it as your own nose bleeding and you catch yourself sniffling, just accidentally dragging more of that awful smell in. I can’t tell you how many nights I would wake up just angrily rubbing at my own nose to get the smell out of my head. Sometimes I’d go hard enough without realizing that I’d actually get a nosebleed. It was God-awful.
I wish I could say it had been raining, or was dark that fateful day; I wish I
I needed a distraction, and if you ever have nowhere to be, the best place to do that is California. Endless entertainment to draw your eye, an endless carnival of people who are clawing to get that chance, their big spotlight moment. Your waitresses, barbers, gym mates, meter maids, everyone, everyone is looking to get into The Business, and if you miss that you’re blind.
A lot of entertainment is free—they need studio audiences, or there’s a live street performance, but every now and then there were things I’d actually be happy to lay my money down for. I’d seen a few MMA fights, the events were usually hyped up all over the city. The energy during those was always extremely high, the martial artists so completely in the fight that they didn’t notice the crowds roaring around them. It sounded more than ideal.
So when I saw fliers hanging up in my gym advertising auditions for MMA fighting my interest was more than just piqued.
I’d been training in martial arts since I was old enough to get myself to lessons. I’d trained mostly in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, dabbled in boxing as a side sport. It worked because I grew up a lean kid, Jiu Jitsu kept my body fast, and the drills kept my mind in line. My brain was as worked and beaten as my body was, until both could stand for themselves. It wasn’t until I was starting high school and dabbled into other forms of martial arts that I was able to gain any actual mass, and by then I could throw down with the best of them.
I wrote down all the information on the flier, tucked it in my duffle, and got back to my work out. I’d finally have something to do. Something close to a job to keep my mind off it all.
10
Adam
M y dad wasn’t exactly a dream cruise.
I guess everyone’s old man fucks them up in one way or another though, some people get so messed up they get excited about mortgages or low income tax, I got fucked up in another way. Brooklyn, now her life was unfortunate, but the only reason I was able to help her out was because of my dear old dad. He was the only reason I was even able to go out for the MMA auditions.
The auditions were bullshit, by the way.
I was a damn good fighter. I knew that, I’d worked my ass off my whole life for it. They didn’t care about that, though. That wasn’t the immediate thing that caught any of their eyes. They wanted you to fill out registration information before you could even show them what you were worth.
I just wanted to be allowed in the rink, I didn’t care about getting signed to anything. I didn’t care about TV or the money, I just wanted to be able to fight. My body was a perfectly trained machine and I’d worked so long for that and now it was going to waste in that gym.
I couldn’t tell them why signing was a problem, I couldn’t explain why I’d been looking over my shoulder since before the last time I saw Brooklyn. A full night longer.
I couldn’t tell them what these hands had done before.
I’d never had any siblings to protect.
I didn’t have a mom around to claim it was for.
It was selfish, but hell I guess I took after him in that way.
There was a lot of blood, people don’t tell you how strong that smell is when you’re around that much blood. Some part of your brain reads it as your own nose bleeding and you catch yourself sniffling, just accidentally dragging more of that awful smell in. I can’t tell you how many nights I would wake up just angrily rubbing at my own nose to get the smell out of my head. Sometimes I’d go hard enough without realizing that I’d actually get a nosebleed. It was God-awful.
I wish I could say it had been raining, or was dark that fateful day; I wish I
Similar Books
