Baller: An Interracial MMA Stepbrother Romance (22 page)

Chapter Seventy-One

Hannibal

Rashaan escorted Hannibal out of the IHOP.

Hannibal didn’t know why he did it, but it was hardly reassuring, having the lumbering black fighter poised by his shoulder.

And the way he spoke to Baller put him even less at ease.

“So, big guy,” Rashaan growled, half-way across the parking lot. “How does it feel to be a sell-out?”

Hannibal stopped walking – so abruptly that Rashaan almost walked into the back of him.

Spinning around, he growled: “
What
did you just say?”

Rashaan’s teeth flashed.

“I asked how it felt to sell out,” the hulking fighter growled.

Hannibal glowered at him.

Rashaan was bigger than him – looming down over the tall and imposing Baller like a gorilla. And the smile on his face, and those flashing brown eyes, seemed to suggest he liked being the dominant one.

But Baller wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“If I wanted to know about selling out,” he snarled, “I’d talk to you.”

Rashaan’s smile faded pretty fucking fast.

His huge hands balled up into fists.

“I’m not the one throwing a fucking fight,” he hissed.

“No,” Hannibal purred back dangerously. “You’re just the one who’d gone into a ring every night, knowing he can’t lose.”

Even though Rashaan was towering over him, Hannibal could almost feel him deflate.

“Compared to you, throwing a fight takes guts,” Hannibal continued, digging the knife in. “It’s gonna take balls, for me to stand up there and pretend to be a loser, knowing that I could have won.”

He narrowed his eyes, looking mercilessly at Rashaan.

“Sure is a lot braver than pretending to be a champion every fight, knowing your opponent never stood a chance.”

“Why you…” Rashaan took a menacing step forward, but Hannibal didn’t even flinch.

“You know you ain’t gonna hurt me,” he growled, lips curling dangerously. “Not while Red’s got hold of your leash.”

Rashaan’s eyes were narrow slits now.

“Pity, too. I’d have liked to know first-hand how easy it would be to kick your ass.”

And that was almost a step too far.

Rashaan took another step forward, and grabbed the lapels of Hannibal’s jacket.

“I could take you any time, any place
motherfucker
.”

“Yeah?” Cool as a cucumber, Hannibal raised one eyebrow. “If that’s the case, why is your boss making me throw the fight in the third round?”

The fist around Hannibal’s collar tightened.

“I could take you
fair
and
square
,” Rashaan hissed.

Hannibal felt his breath, hot and rancid. He ignored it though, and purred: “If you really believe that… Prove it.”

Rashaan blinked: “
What
?”

“You heard me,” Hannibal purred. He looked over Rashaan’s massive shoulder, towards the IHOP that Red was still sitting in. “If you’re as good as you say you are, he wouldn’t even need to know.”

The grip on Hannibal’s collar loosened a little.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Hannibal locked eyes with his towering opponent, “that if you
really
could beat me, Red wouldn’t know the difference.” He smirked teasingly. “As long as my ass goes down, he doesn’t care.”

And then he hit Rashaan with the kicker.

“But the reason he’s asking me to throw the fight? Because he doesn’t think you can win.”

That did the trick. Rashaan balled up Hannibal’s collar again, and wrenched the smaller man onto his tiptoes.

“
Any
time,” Rashaan growled. “
Any
place.”

“
Tomorrow
, then,” Hannibal purred. “Fuck what Red’s payin’ us to do. Let’s just throw down, you and me, and finally decide who’s better. Let’s fight
for real
.”

Rashaan paused.

He looked into Hannibal’s eyes with suspicion.

And then he lowered the smaller fighter back onto the ground.

“I-I can’t,” he admitted.

Hannibal laughed.

“Thought so.” He grinned wolfishly. “You talk tough, ‘Hungry’ Jackson, but by you saying that? You’re basically just saying you’re not
sure
you could beat me.”

“That’s
not
what I’m saying…”

“Oh, but it
is
,” Hannibal spat back. “And that’s what you’re going to have to live with tomorrow night. They’re gonna raise your arm in the air, and everybody’s gonna scream your name, and talk about the time you beat ‘Baller’ Alexander.”

Hannibal thrust his head forward, right into Rashaan’s face.

“But you’ll
never
know if you could have
really
beaten me; and you’re gonna live the rest of your life wondering.”

Rashaan let go of Hannibal’s collar. He took a step back.

“I’m not stupid,” he snapped. “I do what Mr. Callahan tells me.”

“Why?” Hannibal demanded. “Because he pays you? Or because you get to stand in front of a crowd and pretend to be a twelve-time undefeated champion, even though
not one of those fights was fair
.”

Rashaan reeled back, as if Hannibal had actually punched him.

And that moment of weakness was all Hannibal needed.

“You
look
tough. You
look
like you could be a real fighter. But as long as you do what Red tells you to, you’ll
never
know for sure…”

And then he poked a thick finger into Rashaan’s bull-like chest, and demanded: “What are you? A fighter, or his fucking puppet?”

“I could beat you any day of the fucking week,” Rashaan growled back.

“Not until you get off his lap, and start proving it.” Hannibal purred, flashing his teeth. “If you’re willing to let me throw tomorrow’s fight, then the moment I hit the canvas, I’ll have already won.”

He laughed bitterly.

“I mean, shit. I’m gonna get twenty grand for that. How much is Red paying
you
?”

Rashaan reeled back, like Hannibal had just struck him again.

“How much?” Baller repeated.

And the fact that Rashaan didn’t answer revealed that it must be a hell of a lot less than twenty grand.

“
Fuck it
,” Rashaan finally spat. “Fuck it,
I’ll do it
.” And then he planted a fat finger in Hannibal’s chest, hard enough to make the smaller man stagger back. “Tomorrow night,
fuck
what Red wants. It’s
on
, for
real
. You and me.”

Hannibal’s lips curled. His teeth flashed in the light of the neon IHOP sign.

“You got yourself a deal, brother,” he held out his hand. “Let’s see if you’re as good as you
think
you are.”

Chapter Seventy-Two

Hannibal

Five minutes later, and he was on the road.

Hannibal switched on his Bluetooth, and the sound of Kristen’s phone ringing reverberated around the cabin of the Bentley.

“Come on,” he swore, as he guided the big car through the dark roads, touching ninety on the straights. “Pick up the phone.”

And eventually she did.

“Hannibal?” Kristen sounded sleepy. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

“Where are you?” Hannibal demanded.

“I-I’m at home, why?”

“Where are my folks?”

“Still at the hospital.”

“Okay, I need you to do something for me,” Baller demanded. “Get to my mom’s place. There’s a key under the mat. Head upstairs. On the dresser in the spare room, I left a bunch of shit I didn’t have time to pack when they kicked me out.”

“O-okay…”

“And then grab me some clothes and a towel. I don’t have time to swing by the gym. I’ll be outside to pick it up in…” He checked his G-Shock, “…fifteen minutes.”

“Baller, what’s going on?”

“No time to explain. Just do it. Please.”

“O-okay.”

“And Kristen,” he took a ragged breath. “Listen, whatever fucking happens, I love you, girl. This whole thing? Fuck, it’s been awful. But I wouldn’t trade a moment – not a single fucking second – if it meant missing out on what happened between us.”

And then he hung up, before she could even answer.

*              *              *

At the traffic lights, Baller pulled a business card out of his wallet and punched in the number. It was ringing before the light turned green.

Again, the ringing tone reverberated around the cabin for interminable minutes. It was late, so there was no surprise that people took their time picking up.

But eventually…

“
Ja
? Who is this?”

“Manfred?” Hannibal grinned when he heard the familiar German accent. “Yo, it’s your boy Hannibal. I got the number from the business card you gave me.”

A confused pause.

“
Herr
Alexander, it’s two in the morning…”

“Yeah, well, you said to give you a call if I needed something – and I
do
. You live down in the city, right?”

“We’re renting an apartment in Hoboken.”

“Even better. Dawg,” Hannibal grinned. “Now listen, I know this is out of the blue, but I need somewhere to crash. I’ll be comin’ in real late and…”

“Say no more,” the German purred. “I’ll have a plate of food, a bed and my girlfriend all warmed up and waiting for you.”

“I’ll say yes to the first two.”

“Pity.” Manfred laughed. “I’ll text you the address. See you soon.”

Manfred glanced down at the speedo. He was headed down the highway at 100mph now.

“As long as there aren’t no cops out tonight, that’ll be sooner than you know.” And then the phone clicked as he hung up.

There was final call to make.

This number he could dial with a voice command.

“Call Mike Siro.”

It took even longer for the crackling ring tone to stop, and the voice on the other end of the line sounded half-asleep.

“B-Baller? D’you know what time it is?” Slightly more awake now, Mike Siro demanded: “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Baller snapped. “But I need something, man. You always said you had friends in low places… Well, I think I need one of ‘em.”

Mike Siro listened, and then Hannibal heard the rustle of him reaching for his address book.

Chapter Seventy-Three

Kristen

With the screech of tires, the big Bentley slewed to a halt in the parking lot outside Trudy Alexander’s townhouse.

Kristen was already waiting on the stairs. Lugging a bag over her shoulder, she ran barefoot across the asphalt, and clambered into the passenger seat of the rumbling grand tourer.

Hannibal was sitting in the driver’s seat, and his eyes widened as Kristen clumped shut the heavy door.

“Yo, what are you doing?” He asked. “I just need the bag, that’s all.”

“I’m coming with you,” Kristen snapped back.

“The fuck you are.”

“You don’t have time to argue,” she grinned back, and Hannibal’s face fell as he realized the same.

Yanking the car into DRIVE, Baller slammed his foot on the gas, and the big car lurched off towards the highway.

“So I got everything off the dresser,” Kristen promised, as they screamed off. “Your passport, your MMA league suspension letter, a shitload of paperwork and the title to your Bentley.” She looked up. “Is that what you wanted?”

Hannibal nodded.

“Good,” Kristen nodded. “Now where the fuck are we going?”

*              *              *

Kristen got the answer to that question less than two and a half hours later, as Hannibal guided his big car along the banks of the Hudson river, with the bright lights of Manhattan glittering across the water.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“I’m gonna get my brother’s money back,” Hannibal explained, checking the address Manfred had texted him earlier. “Don’t ask me how I’m gonna do it, because I’m still figuring that part out…” He took a deep breath. “But somehow I’m going to make it all right again.”

Kristen listened, and nodded.

“But what are we doing
here
?”

That question coincided with Baller pulling the car into an underground parking lot, beneath a towering apartment block.

“Baller..?”

Hannibal cut the engine, and grabbed the bag Kristen had packed. She slipped on her flats, and clambered out of the big car into the dark, deserted parking garage.

Soon an elevator was whisking them upwards.

“What’s going on, Hannibal?” Kristen demanded yet again, as she stood shivering in the elevator. “Where are we? What are you planning?”

But Hannibal said nothing – not even when the elevator ‘dinged’ to a halt on the eleventh floor, and the door rattled open.

A darkened corridor was revealed, with the scarlet light of an early sunrise flooding through the window at one end.

Hannibal checked the apartment numbers, and turned left.

Kristen followed him, as he found 1164 and pressed the buzzer.

Nothing.

“Who’s apartment is this?” Kristen demanded. She wrapped her arms tightly around her chest. “Seriously, Hannibal. Answer my fucking questions.”

But he didn’t need to, because the door suddenly rattled, and Kristen heard a deadbolt and a chain being pulled back.

The door swung slowly inwards.

Framed in the doorway, absolutely naked, was a pale, slender, heartbreakingly beautiful girl with long, chocolate brown hair.

Kristen gasped when she saw her – partly out of shock at her nudity, and partly because the girl was just so, so beautiful. It was like knocking on a door and having the Duchess of Cambridge answer it in nothing but her birthday suit.

The girl’s green eyes widened as she recognized Hannibal’s stern, brown face. And then she turned and saw Kristen standing there, and her beautiful face cracked into a disappointed pout.

“Oh, shit, Manny,” the naked girl called over her shoulder. “He’s only gone a brought a bloody
girl
with him.”