BEAST (MMA Bad Boys Book 1) (6 page)

“You really don’t remember do you?” Shaking my head, I get started on his tattoo after applying some Vaseline to the area. The noise of the gun fills the air and I delicately go over the area. Once my foot leaves the pedal and I’m cleaning the end of the needle, I continue. “You told her to fuck off out of her own apartment because, and I quote, ‘your pussy isn’t made of gold so I don’t need another round, fuck off so I can find someone else.’ You didn’t even realise you weren’t at your own place. I had to call Jase to come drag your sorry arse out of there before Gemma caused grievous bodily harm. Now can you understand why the fuck she hates you?” I frown up at him and I watch his face as it slightly pales, kind of to the same colour has his light blonde hair. For a tanned man, he can certainly turn quite the shade when he pales.

“Shit. I didn’t even know that happened. Fuck. I would blame it on alcohol but isn’t that what everyone says when they make a mistake?” He hangs his head and I notice the war he’s battling by the way his muscles have tensed and by the way he’s biting his lip with indecision.

“Surprised Jase never told you. We told him what happened and he was pretty pissy with you. Yeah, I blame the alcohol for what happened that night, but you hurt Gemma pretty bad. She isn’t as tough as everyone thinks she is. She’s as soft as butter really.” He stays silent so I carry on with his tattoo. The silence stretches until I’ve finished and he just slams the cash on the counter before leaving. Moments later, Gemma comes storming through the front door with coffees and a carrier bag in tow. The thunderous look on her face tells me her good mood from this morning has well and truly gone.

“What’s wrong with you? You didn’t even have to talk to him.” My eyes are firmly on the coffees in her hand, wishing them to come to me without having to snatch them out of her hands.

“I had to see him. That was enough.” Blowing out a breath of frustrated air, she finally hands me a coffee and places the bag on behind the counter. “All I want from him is a fucking apology for what he said to me that night.”

“Did it ever occur to you that he might not even remember what happened, Gem?” I say this softly, but the thunderous look she gives me shows she doesn’t appreciate me stepping to his defence. I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “I know he doesn’t because I just told him and he had no fucking clue. He looked upset and was murderous when he left.”

“He doesn’t remember? Please. I know he remembers sleeping with me, the way he’s had the guts to look at me like he wants to fuck me again says it all.” Her hands have balled into fists at her side and her face is turning red.

“Calm the fuck down, Gem. He may remember shagging you but he doesn’t remember what he said. Cut him some slack and get off your damn high horse, woman.” I throw my free hand in the air and go back to my station, drinking my hot coffee as I go.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the girl to pieces, but she has a tendency to over think shit and then over analyse that shit at the same time, leading her to exactly where she is right now. Stuck in the past, in her head with the same bullshit that’s been eating at her for months. She should have just spoke to him and got it over with. She’s a stubborn bitch but most of the time I wouldn’t have her any other way.

“I’m sorry, Car. I’ve been real pig-headed and a stubborn douche bag. But, his words hurt me. I just want an apology and I may just leave it at that and never let his dick near my hole again.” I shake my head because I know for a fact that if they sorted this out, she would jump back into bed with him quicker than she can say suck-a-dick.

“Let’s just drop it for today, yeah?” She nods her agreement and goes back to the front of the store. Moments later, I hear the rustling of the bag and my stomach growls in response. Skipping breakfast probably wasn’t the best idea ever. 

The tantalising smell of bacon butties fills the air and my stomach takes my legs to where it’s coming from. Good god they smell good.

“Wondered how long it would take for your stomach to come searching.” She eyes me over the edge of the food, and I can see the laughter in them.

“You know me better than I do sometimes. How did you know I wasn’t on some diet or my stomach wanted to be stubborn?” I reached into the bag for the other wrapped bun and make quick work of removing the packaging. I moan when I take the first bite, the taste makes my mouth water more than the smell. “Let me guess…” I say, round a mouthful of food. “Lorena’s Café?” She nods in affirmation and I think I love this girl just a little bit more.

“Where else would I go? She makes the best food and the best damn coffee I’ve ever had in my life,” Gemma mumbles as she licks her fingers. “So, who’s next in today? No more surprises?”

“Clara will be here in about fifteen minutes or so, then Franco and Benji are coming in at the end of the day. I have a fight this evening too by the way. You gonna come cheerlead for me?” I give her a bright smile and bat my eyelashes. It’s not really warranted when she knows my anxiety eases when she’s in my corner at a fight.

“I wouldn’t miss it, babe. I better get these sketches done for Franco and Benji, I have the description to work on thankfully.” She tosses the rubbish in the bin in the corner and rolls the chair to her work station on the other side of the room. I won’t hear a word out of her now until she’s done.

Franco and Benji are my cousins. We’re bred from half Italian, quarter American and quarter British. Our fathers are brothers, who were born and raised in the countryside of Italy back in the 1950’s. They fled here during a time when the government were battling for power and life there became unbearable. My mother is English but my grandparents are full-bred American who live on the golden coast of California. The Italian side is riddled with messed up power, unorganised shit that destroys families. Mother is one of those woman that obeys their men and I can’t stand the pair of them. Whereas Franco and Benji stay in contact with the family, I chose to move away from my home in Cheshire, to escape my father’s thumb and the whimpers of my pathetic mother. According to my cousins, my parents ask about me constantly, my father more so, but I have no respect for him, for what he does or what he stands for. To me, my parents are dead. Harsh? Maybe, but I don’t believe in beating a woman into silence, and that’s what my father does.

Blinking my eyes to clear the memories, I go about the rest of the work day. Tattooing. It’s my passion and another thing no-one can take away from me.

I’ve been training for the last two hours and my muscles are starting to scream at me with pain. My arms feel ready to fall off but I’ve learnt not to quit. Never quit. Quitters are for losers who can’t follow through. They’re the kind of people the MMA circuit would kick to the curb.

“Beast! Stop, mate, for fuck sake!” Carlos shouts from just past the perimeter of the punching bags. “You have a fight tonight and those arms cannot be fatigued to the point of losing, you understand?”

My arms hang loosely to my sides and I stand there taking quick breaths as sweat pours over every inch of my skin. Once I feel I have control of my breathing, I turn and face the one man that has the power to shut my ass down. Carlos is the big man, a man not unlike my father. Their long noses and shaped jaws are so similar they could have passed as twins but really, Carlos was three years younger but a shit load smarter. Yeah, this badass mafia boss is my uncle. But to me he’s just another power hungry twat and someone who’s ego is much bigger than mine.

“I’m aware I have a fight, Uncle. But that’s still four hours away. I can train longer than this and still come out a winner. Why are you suddenly doubting my worth?” My eyes narrow as I study his features which don’t change, he’s the master at not showing his emotions and hiding his thoughts. That where I learnt how to do it. I idolised this man when I was just a boy but as I got older, he got harsher. The love I felt toward him died the moment he laughed as my father beat me ‘til I couldn’t stand anymore. But I’m under his thumb, his rule.

“I’m not doubting you, son. I just can’t afford for you to lose against Bart Steele tonight.” His smirk says otherwise.

“You can afford everything in the world, Uncle, so drop the bullshit.” I stare hard at him, and curl my lip back in a snarl. “You can try and push me out but I’m not going anywhere. Your money would dwindle into pennies before you could even blink an eyelid. I don’t give a fuck about what you want because you’re nothing but a Mafia big nose who runs the MMA.”

I stride past him, bumping my shoulder into his as I go. I fucking hate the man and he knows I do. He always riles me up for his own self-gain. He’s a pathetic twat and if he didn’t have MMA he wouldn’t have anything. Including his twenty-three-year-old wife. You think I’m a prick for the way I treat bitches? You ain’t seen him in action. He’s a fuck lot worse and whole lot more brutal. I never smack a woman around just for fun, I don’t smack them around full stop. He does it because if they don’t give him respect, he’ll beat the respect out of them.

After I’ve showered and changed, I head over to the restaurant my mother owns. She’s a different person to the one she was when my father was around. Happiness seeps through her pores now and you notice it in every step she takes and every smile she gives. Her attitude before his death was horrible, she was the shell of the person she could have been and I resented her for most of my life because she fed me to the devil. But we’ve finally built a mother/son relationship that I always dreamed about. She’s the only person I’m soft with because she doesn’t deserve any more drama and not more shit from the men in her life. That’s probably why she married a school teacher; dull, boring and drama free.

The customers are starting to dwindle as the lunch hour ends and waitresses are clearing tables while waiters are resetting them. The dark red walls and black carpet are the colours of a dungeon but the chandeliers shroud the place in a false sense of royalty. The dimmed lights and the little tea-light candles on the tables make for a relaxed setting. The kitchen is open plan so patrons can see how their food is made and the bar is just to the side of the kitchen and right in front of the main doors. It’s a small bar but stocked with every kind of hard liquor available. Beer is served in bottles and is only Italian as to honour her heritage. This place is the only place that I let my walls down, where I can relax just a little.

“Beast!” My mother squeals from the doorway to the corridor leading to offices and toilets. “God damn, ma boy, I’ve missed you!” She walks toward me and I envelope her in a bear hug. I take in her floral scent and the feeling of home washes over me.

“I missed you to, Ma. How’s things?” I ask as I hold her a little away from me to take a look at her. She looks younger than her fourty-two years and laugh lines are finally visible after years of being miserable.

“Good, good. Let me get you a drink. Whiskey?” She goes behind the bar and starts fixing drinks before I’ve even had a chance to reply. “I haven’t seen you for a week, Beast. That’s so unlike you these days.”

“I’ve had to train every day, fighting every night. I’ve been to wiped out and moody. I didn’t want to bring that to you.” I grab the glass that she slides to me and take a welcome sip. I close my eyes and relish in the burn as it trails down my throat and lands in a fiery pool in my stomach.

“You can always come to me, Beast. You know that, don’t you?” I can hear the uncertainty in her throat and I understand her trepidation. I chose not to get to close yet she wants me as close as possible. She’s swimming in guilt at not standing up to the man that ran my life, she’s guilty for my tainted soul. Choosing to stay away isn’t what I want but what I feel necessary so my Ma can live, experience life without all my bullshit on her shoulders. Not wanting to be my father, I visit a few times a week for half hour a time. It’s controlled and I never talk about MMA. Ever. Her old life haunts her and she shows it on her face and her eyes. She’s like an open book and that’s why my father found it so easy to put her in place. He swam in the glory of having a wife that did as she was told but also so fucking scared of him that she couldn’t hide it. He was a sick, sick man but she’s free now.