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Author’s note: Lots of boy-on-boy—and boy-on-girl—touching ahead. Knockout is book 4 in the Tapped Out MMA series and is a short novel with a happily ever after ending and no cliffhanger. Previously released by Cari Quinn in the Hunks, Hammers and HEAs anthology in 2015.
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Knockout
There was only one good reason to sweat at six thirty a.m.—and it sure wasn’t attacking a heavy bag.
I spun and jabbed the bag, attacking it from all sides. I brought my leg in close to my torso and kicked outward, then sprinted away and came at the bag in a series of flying leaps. Each one was designed to add another weapon to my arsenal. Punching was easy. Landing the perfect well-placed kick that would not only disarm but disable was harder.
Perspiration dripped into my eyes and my muscles sang with exertion. My white T-shirt had already nearly soaked through, so I’d be losing it soon. My breaths rattled loudly inside my head. My heartbeat was even louder.
Friday night I had a fight, and I intended to win.
For the first time in my life, I was a winner, and I’d be damned if I backed off on my training for even a second. I had too much riding on the outcome of my next fight. But that didn’t mean I’d stand around running my mouth. In my world, cockiness got you hurt—or dead.
I’d forgotten my earbuds this morning, and some of the other guys were being noisy as hell. Posturing, calling out insults, daring each other to bump it up to the next level. I didn’t compete with anyone other than myself until it was time to step into the octagon.
“Hey asshole, you going to keep making love to that bag all day or let one of the real men take over and get the job done?”
I didn’t stop kicking and jabbing, ignoring the taunt as if it had never been vocalized. I’d grown up on the toughest streets of the Bronx, and I’d learned not to show fear. I’d been smaller than the other boys. Scrawny, shy, and meek. Every day on the way to P.S. 116, I’d gotten my ass handed to me and my lunch money stolen.
Every. Damn. Day.
Then my father was shot dead in a drug deal gone bad in front
of me, and one of the cops who arrived on the scene took me under his wing. With his help, I started fighting back.
A loud squeal sliced through my training haze.
In a flash, I turned away from the bag. I ripped the tape from my hands as I stalked out of the workout room. I knew only one woman who’d be there that early, not counting other members.
If she was the one who’d made that noise, heads were going to fucking roll.
I rounded the circular desk in the reception area and tossed my wraps onto it. I’d gladly take on any fool bare-handed who dared to try anything with my girl.
“Lily?” I peered over the counter to where a very shapely ass in a tight skirt pointed skyward. My groin tightened painfully, and I pressed my errant dick into the counter to quiet it the fuck down.
It was about as smart as its owner. Which was to say not at all.
“Yes? Sorry, just a second.” She shifted and stood, staring down in dismay at her white skirt. Her formerly white skirt. A giant navy splotch now marred the front. “Unfortunate pen accident.” She blotted her finger over the drop of blue ink also along her full lower lip.
My grin surprised even me. With anyone else, I’d be annoyed at being interrupted during my session for a nonsense reason. When it came to Lily Matthews, I’d happily be interrupted every hour of the day.
That surly cop who took a liking to me all those years ago? His name was Lance Matthews, and he doted on his only child Lily with a ferocity only matched by my longing for her.
A longing I would never, ever sate.
“You and your quill pens.” I picked up the one in question. A poufy pink feather bobbed from the top and ink spilled from the tip. “You know better than to chew on these. It never ends well.”
