Read Online Dirty Fighter: A Bad Boy MMA Romance by Roxy Sinclaire, Natasha Tanner - Free Book Online
Authors: Roxy Sinclaire, Natasha Tanner
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family, besides my dad’s estranged brother, so I wasn’t worried about saying goodbye to family. I just needed to see her and then leave.
It didn’t end up being that easy.
Every leg of my journey after that, the buses, the gym, everything, made me worry about them finding me. I had no doubt in my mind that they had found the car in the lake. That they found the body. That they realized those sheets were from the house, from my bed, and put it all together.
I would take long routes to anywhere I was going if it meant I could just avoid cops. I almost always felt like their eyes were on me. I didn't want to kill my dad! I just wanted him off me. That’s difficult to prove though when you drive his bloodied body into a lake afterwards, I guess.
Registering for MMA fights would mean they’d have my ID, they’d know who I was.
Within hours I felt like cops would have me in cuffs and toted off to jail for murder. There was no way in hell that I was going to jail for my dad’s sorry ass.
So I couldn’t be a professional MMA fighter then.
I was getting ready to leave the arena, disappointed that I couldn’t even do this simple thing, when I was stopped by someone who was the literal embodiment of shady. He looked like what you’d get if you made a batman villain’s goon from the 1940s into a human being. This was Ricky. Ricky was actually an alright dude once I got to know him.
“I see you didn’t want to register,” he said, walking at my side and matching my pace, falling in so naturally next to me it almost looked practiced.
“Mm,” I replied, dismissive. I didn’t want to just go handing out my information to anyone.
“I could get you into the actual fights if you want,” he said, making me slow down a bit. “You look like a hard ass, I’m part of a circle of fighters who don’t have to deal with any of this frilly shit,” he continued, nodding back to the arena behind us. “Money’s amazing,” he added.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, wanting more details. He slid his hand into the back pocket of his jeans and produced a card. It had just two lines on it.
Ross Palazolo
555-555-5555
I looked at it, confused, and then back at him.
“Call my boy Ross, tell him Ricky sent you, tell him you’re interested in taking up a labor job,” he said, shrugging. “He’ll know what you’re talking about, probably try you out first and then you’ll be in mad money,” he smiled. “As long as you win.”
11
Adam
T his guy Ross wanted me to audition for his fights as soon as possible. On the phone he sounded nice enough. I wasn’t sure why I imagined him to be a classic mob-boss kind of guy. I didn’t mind starting immediately, the sooner I could get myself back in the action the better. I just wanted to do what I was built to do.
I wanted to kick some ass.
As long as I was able to get the audition kicked off well, as long as I was able to pound my opponent into the fucking ground, I would be able to keep fighting. I’d be able to live off that, get an actual apartment, fix my diet, and sleep in a bed regularly. It sounded more than heavenly after almost a year of living on the streets.
I wasn’t sure how I’d do that without an ID, but I didn’t think that far ahead at the time.
I loved my gym, but it wasn’t doing enough to keep my mind active. I needed to be able to train on how to react to people; to be able to focus on the things around me as I worked out. I was able to get some sparring time in, nothing serious, no knock outs allowed. Nobody wanted to fight me after the first couple. After that I decided running was the best way to get as many distractions around me as possible.
I could take a different route of running every day and never see the same things, never worry about repetition. Some roads reminded me of that strip I’d ran down when I wanted to get away from my father, some were so cluttered with people so obviously wealthy that it made me think of
It didn’t end up being that easy.
Every leg of my journey after that, the buses, the gym, everything, made me worry about them finding me. I had no doubt in my mind that they had found the car in the lake. That they found the body. That they realized those sheets were from the house, from my bed, and put it all together.
I would take long routes to anywhere I was going if it meant I could just avoid cops. I almost always felt like their eyes were on me. I didn't want to kill my dad! I just wanted him off me. That’s difficult to prove though when you drive his bloodied body into a lake afterwards, I guess.
Registering for MMA fights would mean they’d have my ID, they’d know who I was.
Within hours I felt like cops would have me in cuffs and toted off to jail for murder. There was no way in hell that I was going to jail for my dad’s sorry ass.
So I couldn’t be a professional MMA fighter then.
I was getting ready to leave the arena, disappointed that I couldn’t even do this simple thing, when I was stopped by someone who was the literal embodiment of shady. He looked like what you’d get if you made a batman villain’s goon from the 1940s into a human being. This was Ricky. Ricky was actually an alright dude once I got to know him.
“I see you didn’t want to register,” he said, walking at my side and matching my pace, falling in so naturally next to me it almost looked practiced.
“Mm,” I replied, dismissive. I didn’t want to just go handing out my information to anyone.
“I could get you into the actual fights if you want,” he said, making me slow down a bit. “You look like a hard ass, I’m part of a circle of fighters who don’t have to deal with any of this frilly shit,” he continued, nodding back to the arena behind us. “Money’s amazing,” he added.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, wanting more details. He slid his hand into the back pocket of his jeans and produced a card. It had just two lines on it.
Ross Palazolo
555-555-5555
I looked at it, confused, and then back at him.
“Call my boy Ross, tell him Ricky sent you, tell him you’re interested in taking up a labor job,” he said, shrugging. “He’ll know what you’re talking about, probably try you out first and then you’ll be in mad money,” he smiled. “As long as you win.”
11
Adam
T his guy Ross wanted me to audition for his fights as soon as possible. On the phone he sounded nice enough. I wasn’t sure why I imagined him to be a classic mob-boss kind of guy. I didn’t mind starting immediately, the sooner I could get myself back in the action the better. I just wanted to do what I was built to do.
I wanted to kick some ass.
As long as I was able to get the audition kicked off well, as long as I was able to pound my opponent into the fucking ground, I would be able to keep fighting. I’d be able to live off that, get an actual apartment, fix my diet, and sleep in a bed regularly. It sounded more than heavenly after almost a year of living on the streets.
I wasn’t sure how I’d do that without an ID, but I didn’t think that far ahead at the time.
I loved my gym, but it wasn’t doing enough to keep my mind active. I needed to be able to train on how to react to people; to be able to focus on the things around me as I worked out. I was able to get some sparring time in, nothing serious, no knock outs allowed. Nobody wanted to fight me after the first couple. After that I decided running was the best way to get as many distractions around me as possible.
I could take a different route of running every day and never see the same things, never worry about repetition. Some roads reminded me of that strip I’d ran down when I wanted to get away from my father, some were so cluttered with people so obviously wealthy that it made me think of
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