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  JUDE

  A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel

  By Lane Hart

  COPYRIGHT

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue were created from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted and trademarked status of various products within this work of fiction.

  © 2015 Editor's Choice Publishing

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator” at the address below.

  Editor’s Choice Publishing

  P.O. Box 10024

  Greensboro, NC 27404

  Edited by Wendy Ely

  Cover by vocaldesign

  https://www.fiverr.com/vocaldesign

  Photo ©canstockphoto.com

  WARNING: THIS BOOK IS INTENDED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES 18+ ONLY AND CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEX SCENES AND ADULT LANGUAGE!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Jude Malone

  After a long day of blood, sweat, and coming damn close to tears, I'm so ready to head home, shower, and hit the sack. Tomorrow I’ll be back here at the gym, rinse and repeat. The same as today, the same as yesterday. Fighting is my life, but the monotony of constantly training for the past seven years is starting to wear me down. "Yo, Jude," Coach Briggs calls out when I walk past his office.

  "What's up?" I ask, poking my head in his door. Like usual, his desk is littered with stacks of papers, coffee cups, and take-out debris.

  "You in a hurry?" he asks. Leaning his rolling chair back, he adjusts the tightening waistband around his ever expanding gut. Coach is naturally a big guy, a heavyweight boxer back in the day, but now his muscles have turned to chub in his lazy, old age.

  "Ah, not really. I think my bed can wait on me a few more minutes, but I better send her a text so she won't get pissed when I'm late," I joke. Other than training, eating and sleeping I don't have anything else.

  "Shut the door and have a seat," he says, nodding to the blue plastic chair across from his desk.

  Curious, I do as he asks. I have a feeling something is up, and that whatever it is, I'm not going to like it if it requires privacy.

  "I need you to do me a favor," he starts.

  After training with Don Briggs since I was fifteen, I don’t think he’s ever asked me for a favor. This must be pretty damn important.

  "Sure, name it."

  "It's about Sadie."

  Now I really have no idea what he might want. Sadie is Coach's one and only daughter that hangs out in this place probably more than is good for a teenage girl. I know Coach divorced her mom years ago before they moved back here to his hometown of Silver Spring, Maryland, and, from what I hear, the girl has always lived with her dad, rarely visiting her mom up in Jersey.

  "Her senior prom is this weekend," he adds.

  "Okay?"

  "And her idiot boyfriend just broke up with her."

  "That sucks. Do you want me to kick his ass?" I ask.

  He chuckles and shakes his head. "Yeah, but that's not the favor I was going to ask you for."

  "So what do you need?"

  "I need you to take Sadie to her prom," he mutters, scrubbing a meaty hand over his face.

  Laughter bursts from me and doesn't let up until my tired ass almost slides out of the plastic chair. "You're fucking hilarious."

  "I'm worried about her Jude, and I don't want her to miss her prom because of that asshole."

  "Coach, you can't be serious. Surely there's another guy at her school she can go with," I tell him, using the back of my hands to wipe my eyes from the outburst.

  "Not on this short of notice. Everyone's already paired up."

  "Well, that's too bad. Maybe she can go with a group of friends."

  He just stares at me with a raised eyebrow, silently waiting. Waiting for me to agree to this silliness.

  "No," I say, shaking my head to emphasize my response. "No fucking way! I'm almost twenty-damn-two. I'm not going to some school kid's dance. Ask one of the other guys. One of the younger guys!"

  Our MMA gym, Havoc Fight Club, has at least forty guys training in it on a daily basis. There are probably ten or more fighters that are younger than me.

  "Jude, please. I can't bear to see my little girl miss her prom. I'm worried about her. She's been so depressed lately. That jerk keeps on fucking with her…” He rambles on and on. “You know I wouldn't ask unless I was desperate, and I don’t trust any of my other fighters as far as I could throw them."

  Of course he'd ask me, because all fathers prefer to have virgins take out their daughters. Not that he or anyone else knew that for a fact, but it's a well-circulated rumor since I’m always here on nights and weekends.

  "There's gotta be someone else, someone closer to her age that can take her," I reply.

  "I'll pay you."

  "I don't want your money," I scoff.

  I'm not loaded, but I have a decent nest egg accumulated from fight purses. Good thing I get paid even if I lose. Plus it's easy to save money when you have no social life and no bills except for a truck and cell phone because you still live at home with your dad.

  "So you'll do it for free?" he asks.

  "Hell no!" I exclaim. "I'm not doing it. Period. Sorry, Coach, but there is no. Fucking. Way."

  "If you'll agree do this for me I'll get you signed up for the July Fourth pay-per-view title fight."

  "You're shitting me," I say, freezing in my outrage as his words sink in. "You want me to fight Linc Abrams and you think that would be you doing me a favor? He'll kill me, and you'll be charged as an accomplice."

  "You can take him."

  "No, I can't! He's the Jax of the welterweights. Why would his people even agree to let him fight me with my shitty ass record?" I ask skeptically.

  "He'll agree. The purse will be huge, and he's cocky enough to think it'll be an easy win."

  "Because it will be!" I laugh, swiping a hand over my sweaty forehead. "He's only lost once and that was a ripped off split decision years ago that should've been in his favor. He's got at least ten knockouts. I don't want to get knocked the fuck out! There are three other guys in this country alone who deserve that fight more than me."

  "Screw them. You could beat them all blindfolded. This is the fight you've been needing, Jude. You win this title, and you're golden."

  "Yeah, and if I lose I may never walk again."

  "Don't be a pussy. With the way you've been grappling lately, you're giving Jax a run for his money, so you can take Linc. Just like Jax, Linc's a heavy hitter. If you can stay out of his reach and get him on the
ground, I guarantee you'll win by submission."

  My brother, Jax, has been the middleweight world champion for the last eight years. I'm about fifteen pounds leaner than him and have always fought in the welterweight class. I could easily put on the weight to bump up, but what would be the point? My brother is a legend in the league, having never lost a single professional fight. Not only does he win them, but he decimates his opponents, usually with a one punch knockout in the first thirty seconds of the first round. And I'm just his little brother who will never live up to his legacy. I've only won three of my last five fights after coming back from a dislocated shoulder. A few more losses and stick a fork in me, because my career in the cage will be done and over.

  "I'd have to be crazy to agree to that fight."

  "You'd be crazy not to. You know you want this, and you're a helluva lot better than your record. This one win will prove that, and seal the deal on contracts with sponsors for years! Just the promotional hype going into it will be huge."

  "I don't know," I reply, still shaking my head.

  "If you don't take this one, then I’m not sure how long it'll be before another worthwhile fight comes around."

  "You mean, if I don't fight this one, you'll hold a grudge. Then you won't book any other fights for me until you get the fuck over it."

  Coach Briggs is also my and Jax's manager/agent, and in this moment I'm regretting the fuck out of that damn decision.

  "Pretty much," he agrees with a smirk. He clasps his hands together in front of him on his desk, congratulating himself on fucking me over.

  "Damn you, Coach. You've got me by the balls and you know it!"

  "Do this for me and Sadie. And for yourself."

  I groan at the ceiling. I'm not really considering this suicide mission, am I? Yes, yes I am. I'm just insane enough to think there's a small chance I can win, finally proving I can fight worth a damn. I'll never be as good as Jax, but I also know I am better than my shitty record. I just need the chance to prove it.

  A chance like this.

  "I'm going to catch so much hell from the guys." I'm not sure which they'll ride my ass for more, taking on someone unbeatable or going to a fucking high school prom. That bitch Karma probably thinks she's being cute, getting back at me for screwing over a poor girl right before my own senior prom.

  "Oh, and that's the other thing. You can't let anyone find out I asked you to do this, especially not Sadie."

  "That you blackmailed me into doing this, you mean?"

  "Same thing."

  I shake my head and stand up to get the hell out of dodge before he convinces me to do something else stupid tonight.

  "Go talk to Sadie. She's out front. Be sure to make it sound authentic when you ask her."

  I squeeze my eyes shut when my jaw clenches so tight my teeth hurt. Now I've got to go ask a child to a freaking prom? I grip the door handle so hard it's a wonder it doesn't break. I've never even asked out a woman that I actually would want to go out with before! "You fucking owe me more than a fight for this favor. And you know I'm going to milk this shit for years," I warn him over my shoulder.

  "To see my little girl happy, it'll be worth it," he says with a shit-eating grin. "I'll call Linc's team right now and hopefully have the fight contract ready for you to sign tomorrow."

  Leaving his office, I may have slammed his door a little harder than necessary. I hit rewind on the last five minutes once I’m alone in the hallway. Did I seriously just agree to a death match in exchange for a date with a high schooler? What the hell was I thinking? If ever there was a deal with the devil, I'd just foolishly partaken of such temptation.

  I'm about to turn around, march back in his office, and call the whole thing off when I hear her sweet, musical voice.

  "Hey, Jude," Sadie says softly from behind me.

  There's something...different about the sing-song way she greets me, and it has nothing to do with The Beatles' ballad. It's more like...I don't know, like I'm her favorite person in the world. Which is just nuts since I hardly ever speak a word to the girl. Yet, the heaviness of affection in those two words, and my name in particular, causes a strange tingling sensation to run through me. It's similar to when an ice cold raindrop splatters onto your bare neck and then causes goosebumps as it snakes its way underneath your shirt, heading right down your spine.

  It's probably just the feeling of guilt.

  Or dread.

  Can I really be a jackass and let this girl miss her senior prom? Goddamn me for being a nice guy. Everyone knows where those fuckers always finish.

  "Hey, Sadie. How's it going?" I ask, turning around to face my new obligation.

  Even though I’m pretty sure she's usually hanging out around the gym every day, I don't pay much attention to her. She's no different than one of the guys. Actually she’s more like a constant stationary object, a piece of exercise equipment always in the building. So, facing her now and actually looking at her, I'd forgotten how damn young she is. With her frizzy, mousy brown curls, glasses and not much more than five feet of height, she probably isn't a hundred pounds soaking wet. Like usual, she's dressed in a black Havoc logo tee and a pair of rugged, baggy jeans. Hell, I'm pretty sure the girl has braces, or at least she did just a few weeks ago.

  "Ah, been better. Just counting down the days to graduation," she says shyly, pushing her unruly hair behind one ear while talking to the worn Chuck's on her feet.

  "Oh yeah? Gotta love those last few weeks. Parties and proms and shit, right?" I ask, trying to figure out a segue. I've never done this shit before. I don't have time for women, dating or any of that other crap.

  "Uh-huh." I barely hear her response.

  "You don't sound very excited."

  "I was, but...now I'm not going," she says with a one-shoulder shrug.

  "You're not going to your prom?" I ask, feigning shock. And wow, my acting skills are rusty, which reminds me of that god awful semester of drama I regret taking in high school.

  "Um, no. It's just a stupid party with a bunch of judgmental bitches and manipulative assholes trying to get laid."

  "Wow." I laugh at her colorful but accurate description. "It can't be that bad. And you only get one senior prom. Miss it and someday you might regret it."

  "It doesn't matter, I'm not going," she says quickly, blinking those big, green, watery eyes behind her thick lenses.

  Okay, so now I'm starting to feel genuinely bad for her. I'd forgotten how fragile teenage girls are, and how the smallest, seemingly insignificant things hold the capability to crush their already threadbare spirits. Something as big as prom...hell, that has the potential to devastate.

  "So, why aren't you going?" I ask, even though I know the answer.

  Swaying on my feet from exhaustion, I cross my arms over my chest and brace my shoulder against the wall to hold myself up.

  "No date, and there's no way I’m going alone."

  "What?" I try to sound surprised when I ask, "How's an adorably sweet girl like you not have a date?" That wasn't as phony a statement as the others. Underneath the grunge, I-don't-care-so-screw-the-world image, she's actually pretty cute in the young, barely legal way. Especially with her blush coloring her cheeks after my compliment.

  "Ryder, the sonofabitch, dumped me for the class slut. So now I'm shit out of luck since everyone else already has dates."

  I can't help but grin at the way she looks so young and innocent but curses like a sailor. A sure sign she's been hanging around this place too long. But here's my opening, so I grow a pair and get it over with. Bombs away!

  "Then let me take you."

  Sadie blinks her wide eyes at me at the same time her mouth falls open almost comically. "Wh-what?"

  "If you want to go, then I'll be your date."

  She finally recovers, closing her mouth and rolling her eyes. "Ha-ha. Very funny, Jude."

  There it is again, that goddamn raindrop.

  I glance up at the ceiling to make sure the roof isn't lea
king. Nope, so it's probably just sweat. I'm sure that's what's dripping down my spine.

  "I'm serious. I bet you already have a dress and all, right?" I ask while stretching my arm over my shoulder to scrub away the tickling sensation from underneath the back of my hoodie.

  "Y-yeah."

  "So when's the prom? In a few weeks?"

  "Um, well, it's Saturday night."

  "What time should I pick you up?" I ask.

  Her face turns a deeper shade of red. "You're serious? You...you'd go with me...to my prom?"

  "Sure. Come on, you know it'll be fun."

  No turning back now. And that shot at a championship belt is looking better and better.

  "But my dad...there's no way...I mean, he won't..." she stutters, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt.

  "You don't think he'll approve?" I laugh at how wrong she is about the bastard manipulator.

  "Um, no. You're too old-"

  "Too old?" I exclaim. "I'm only twenty-one! So that's what, like three years older than you?"

  Wow, is that all there is? Three years? Well, it'll be four next week. I swear I feel ancient compared to her. Probably since I missed out on all the usual teenage shit because I was here working my ass off.

  "I know that, but my dad barely lets me go out with guys my own age."

  "I bet you can convince him. Bat those big, green eyes while you beg sweetly and he's sure to cave. Why don't you talk to him and let me know?"

  "Okay," she says with a quick nod, so I turn to head home before I have to crawl. "Wait," she calls out, stopping me mid-stride. "You swear you're not fucking with me? Because...well...I’d rather not go at all than have you tell everyone I’m just a pathetic pity date."

  I meet her suspicious gaze, and remembering what Coach said about making it sound authentic, only feel a little guilty when I give her a partial truth. "I swear I’m not fucking with you, Sadie. I was planning to ask you out anyway, so your prom’s just perfect timing."

  Chapter Two

  Sadie Briggs

  "Oh my God," I mutter to the empty hallway after watching Jude Malone's sexy ass walk out of the gym's front door. My knees feel weak so I hold on to the wall for a few seconds to recover. At least until my dad's office door opens.