Beast: An MMA Stepbrother Romance Read online

  Beast: An MMA Stepbrother Romance

  First Edition. June 23, 2015.

  Copyright © 2015 Michaela Scott

  Cover Design by Cormar Covers

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  In the ring, they call him Beast. He’s got blazing green eyes and a sculpted, tattooed body. And the only thing he loves more than pinning his opponent to the mat is trying to get me into his bed.

  His real name is Caleb Matthews. He’s the billionaire son of a Silicon Valley CEO, but for some reason, he likes to spend his time in underground MMA arenas, going toe to toe with some of the deadliest fighters in the world.

  I know this because I stumbled into one of his matches on accident. Watched him fight. Wanted him, even though I never thought I’d want a guy like him. Cocky. Foul-mouthed. Inked.

  And now, he’s my new stepbrother. But he’s not going to let a little detail like that keep him from chasing me around like I’m his next conquest. He thinks it’s only a matter of time before I let him wrap those huge, muscular arms around me and show me what he’s got underneath those black fighter’s shorts …and the worst part is, I’m starting to think he might be right.

  Because even though I’m just trying to have a nice, normal summer before I start college, Caleb keeps drawing me deeper and deeper into his world.

  And the more I watch him fight, the harder it is to stop thinking about him.

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter 1: Emma

  Chapter 2: Emma

  Chapter 3: Emma

  Chapter 4: Emma

  Chapter 5: Caleb

  Chapter 6: Emma

  Chapter 7: Emma

  Chapter 8: Caleb

  Chapter 9: Emma

  Chapter 10: Caleb

  Chapter 11: Emma

  Chapter 12: Emma

  Chapter 13: Emma

  Chapter 14: Caleb

  Chapter 15: Emma

  Chapter 16: Caleb

  Chapter 17: Emma

  Chapter 18: Emma

  Chapter 19: Caleb

  Chapter 20: Emma

  Chapter 21: Emma

  Chapter 22: Emma

  Chapter 23: Caleb

  Chapter 24: Emma

  Chapter 25: Emma

  Chapter 26: Emma

  Chapter 1: Emma

  The dancefloor looks like it’s about five seconds from breaking into an all-out orgy.

  I look over at Gina and give her a maybe-we-should-pick-another-place face, but she smirks and shakes her head. Damn you, Gina. This was supposed to be a girls’ night, not one of her super-aggressive attempts to get me laid. I thought we agreed that those were over with after she sent me on a blind date with a Hell’s Angel. I wish I were making that up. He literally wore his patches to the restaurant.

  As crazy as that was, this might be even crazier. Gina and I are probably the only people in here who aren’t covered in tattoos, and we’re definitely the only ones under 21. The black markered X on the back of my hand feels like a giant, flashing sign that I don’t belong here. Naturally, Gina’s rubbed hers off, and is sipping on a Bloody Mary as she scans the crowd.

  People are starting to look at us. Sinners. It’s the name of the club, and it’s also a pretty good word for the guys that are leaning against the walls, inked up to their eyeballs and pierced down to their toes, checking us out like we’re the freshest things on the menu. I grab Gina’s hand and pull her into a hallway at the far end of the club, right outside the emergency exit. The music is just muffled enough that I can actually hear myself speak.

  I try to come off as less nervous than I actually am, but I’m not doing a very good job. “We have to get out of here!”

  Gina just laughs. “Relax, Emma. It’s just a club. Aren’t the guys here cute?”

  Maybe by Gina’s standards. A few months ago, during one of our all-night study sessions turned sleepovers, I made the mistake of telling her that I had a secret thing for “macho” guys. As it turns out, Gina and I have different definitions of macho. I meant macho like guys in Disney movies are macho. Heroes. Princes. Knights in shining armor. Maybe even firefighters…

  That’s not what Gina heard, though. She thinks I’m just like her: a smart, college-bound girl with a secret craving for wild, sexed-up bad boys, the more inked the better. That buried beneath my innocent honors student exterior is a churning ocean of filthy fantasies where a sketchy, dirty-talking muscle god drags me into his bedroom and makes me his personal plaything. I try and tell her that that’s not what I meant, but she thinks I’m in denial, and she’s spent the last few months trying to set me up with the sketchiest badboys she can find.

  “No, Gina, the guys are not cute! They’re terrifying!”

  Gina snorts. “If you can’t handle this, you’re not going to be able to handle a college party. They’re going to eat you alive up in Berkley.”

  A guy with pink hair squeezes behind us, putting his big hands on my sides as he passes. His touch sends a shudder up my spine, and we make uncomfortably long eye contact as he heads towards the emergency exit.

  When I turn back towards Gina, she has an accusatory look in her eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t see that little shiver you did when that guy touched you. You should follow him out and say hi. I bet he’d fuck you into next week.”

  “No way!”

  “Come on Emma, the sooner you stop being in denial, the sooner you can start having fun.”

  I want to tell Gina that I’m not in denial, but that’s exactly what someone who’s in denial would do, and it’s only going to make Gina try harder to get me laid. If I want to get out of this “girls’ night” without Gina throwing me at every slab of muscle that walks by, I’m going to have to pretend to be okay with this place.

  “You’re right. I should relax. It’s just a club. Why don’t you head out onto the dancefloor and find a guy you like, and I’ll finish your drink and follow you?”

  Gina talks a big game, but I’ve never actually seen her go all the way with one of these bad boys she likes so much. For all I know, the idea is just as scary to her as it is to me, so maybe if I call her bluff, she’ll change her mind about this place?

  But Gina sees right through it. “Nice try. You’re just hoping I’m going to find a hot guy and forget about you, while you sip this Bloody Mary in the corner all night and go home un-danced-with and un-fucked. No way. Here’s the plan: all you have to do is sit at the bar looking cute, and I’ll find a guy out there who’s interested, and bring them right to your stool. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to pick someone macho.”

  A plan forms in my mind.

  “Okay, let’s do it. I’m just nervous that the guy you pick is going to think I’m immature.” I hold up the X on my hand and frown. “Also, if I drink that Bloody Mary at the bar with this on my hand, I’m totally going to get kicked out. How did you get yours off?”

  Gina smirks and holds up a little bottle of rubbing alcohol.

  “Alright. Why don’t I take that into the bathroom, and try and get this off without anyone seeing me? Then, once I’m legal, we’ll do your plan.”

  Gina slips the rubbing alcohol into my hand and closes my fingers around it. “I knew you’d come around.”

  Smiling nervously at Gina, I mouth the words “be right back” and sneak off into the strobe-lit darkness of the club. Little does Gina know, I have no intention of being right back and every intention of waiting by the bathroom until she finds a guy she likes and forgets all about me.

  It’s the perfect plan, or, at least, it would be if I knew where the bathrooms were. Since I don’t, I have to hug the walls, drawing the
stares of massive tattooed guys until I find a hallway I can duck into. I wonder if the guys are ogling me or just trying to figure out why the hell I’m here. It’s probably a little bit of both. With my conservative blue dress and my long blonde hair, I probably look like Alice in Wonderland stumbling around an unfamiliar new world.

  Once I duck into the back hallway, the music is muffled and I can hear myself think again. God, it’s like a maze back here! I’ve taken two lefts and a right, and I’m no closer to finding where the bathrooms are. I know this is an edgy establishment, but would it kill them to put up a sign or something? At this point, I probably don’t even need to take my time removing the X. By the time I get back, Gina’s definitely going to have a pierced tongue in her mouth. That is, unless she really is just as scared as I am.

  Finally, a door opens and a tall, tattooed girl with half her head shaved steps out of it. As the door closes behind her, I can see a sink and a mirror shining in the darkness. I duck into the bathroom, turn on the lights, and lock the door behind me.

  First things first, I open up the rubbing alcohol and scrub the X off my hand. It comes off pretty easily, and I realize that Gina’s probably already been waiting for me for much longer than she expected. Maybe I should get back before she starts looking for me, or worse, asking around about me. I make a few adjustments in the mirror, not stopping to think about who exactly I’m trying to look good for, and then slip out of the bathroom, heading back for the dancefloor.

  Too bad that’s easier said than done. I can’t even remember which direction it’s in, much less which turns to take to get there. As I move through the twisting corridors, I pass a few rooms where it sounds like people are having sex. Feeling like I’ve just stepped into the wrong part of the club, I turn around, but that feels even less like I’m headed in the right direction.

  Forget the dancefloor. I’d be happy just to find an exit. Any exit. I’m about to just call Gina when I take a left turn and find myself face-to-face with a thin metal door. On the other side, I can hear what sounds like applause and the muffled sound of a loudspeaker. Curiouser and curiouser.

  Half because it seems like an exit, and half out of sheer curiosity, I step towards the metal door and push it open. The combination of the rush of cold air and the roar of the crowd almost knocks me over.

  It’s in arena. I guess that’s why the club looks so big on the outside and so small on the inside. It smells like metal and sweat, intense and intoxicating. More importantly, there are clearly marked exits on the opposite side of the room. All I have to do is walk through, act like I belong here, and make it out of the building.

  It’s the second part that’s hard. The more I look around the arena, the more obvious it is that I don’t belong here.

  The room is packed with people, most of them men who look like even more hardcore versions of the guys on the dancefloor. Without even trying to stare, I see two different types of piercings I’ve never seen before. Thankfully, nobody seems to notice me: everyone’s eyes are locked onto the octagon sitting in the center of the room.

  It looks like I’m going to have to walk through some kind of ringside area to get to the other side. I think about it, but before I can, two fighters enter the arena from opposite sides, and the crowd explodes. At this point, I’m going to need to wait until this fight is over unless I want to draw a lot of attention to myself.

  Besides, I’m a little curious as to what this is. Before I know it, I’m leaning against the side of the bleachers, watching the fighters step into the ring along with everyone else.

  A lean, muscular, tattooed guy with a blood red mohawk steps up into the center of the octagon, microphone in hand. “Are you guys ready to see some fucking action?” he roars to the crowd.

  The crowd goes nuts. They’re ready to see some fucking action. For some weird reason, I am too.

  The announcer continues. “You know the rules. They fight until someone taps out or gets knocked out. No exceptions. No time limits.”

  My eyes wander to the two fighters, standing on opposite corners of the octagon. The announcer walks over to the one closest to me and puts a hand on his shoulder. “In this corner, all the way from Gary, Indiana, we have Chainsaw!” The announcer stretches out the word “Chainsaw” as long as he can and the whole crowd starts making chainsaw noises. It’d be funny if everyone here weren’t dead serious.

  A shiver runs down my spine as I notice the metal wrapped around Chainsaw’s hands. It looks like he’s literally wearing gloves made of chainsaw teeth. I’m not exactly an MMA expert, but I’m pretty sure chainsaw gloves are not allowed in any sane, legal version of the sport. A little voice in the back of my head suggests that maybe this is entire place is not so legal and that I should take my chances back in the maze of hallways between here and the dancefloor, but I’m too hypnotized by the spectacle of the fight to listen to it.

  The announcer takes his sweet time walking across the octagon, milking every last drop of applause from the crowd. Then, he puts his hand on the other fighter’s shoulder.

  “And in this corner, hailing from Palo Alto, California, we have Beast!”

  The crowd goes nuts for Beast, although there are a few people still making chainsaw noises. Unlike Chainsaw, who’s mugging for the crowd on his side of the octagon, Beast is standing with his head down, completely motionless. The two fighters couldn’t be more different: Chainsaw is covered in scars, probably in his thirties, bald, and nasty looking. Beast, on the other hand, looks like he can’t be more than a few years older than me. If he has any scars, I can’t see them, which is probably because his body is covered in tattoos: a web of intricate abstract designs that weave into stripes, claws, and animal shadows.

  As soon as I realize how young Beast is, I feel a rush of sympathy for him. Why is he here, in the back of a sketchy club out in the middle of nowhere, about to fight a guy with chainsaw gloves on his hands? He could probably get a modeling contract if he wanted to. He definitely has the face for it: tough, but pretty, with full, serious lips and a thick, strong jaw. His hair is even the right kind of messy.

  Of course, if he takes even one hit from those chainsaw gloves, he’s probably not going to be able to get that modeling contract. I know I probably shouldn’t be here at all, but I can’t seem to convince myself to leave.

  The announcer steps out to the edge of the octagon, looking from Chainsaw to Beast and back again. “Fighters, are you ready?” Chainsaw roars, and Beast gives the slightest hint of a nod.

  “Then let’s begin! Three! Two! One!” The crowd counts down with the announcer. I feel like all the breath has been sucked out of my body. “Fight!”

  With one smooth, graceful motion, Beast pushes himself off of the ropes as soon as the fight begins, leaping into a perfect fighter’s stance. Unlike Chainsaw, he isn’t wearing gloves. In fact, he’s almost completely naked except for a pair of tiny black shorts that look like they’re about to be split open by his huge, muscular thighs. My eyes linger on Beast’s shorts as he paces around Chainsaw, sizing him up, only to look up in horror as Chainsaw takes his first swing. Beast ducks under it, but Chainsaw follows up with a barrage of blows that Beast as to back into the corner to dodge.

  This is so unfair! Chainsaw’s hands are deadly weapons and Beast is basically naked. He could literally die up there! For a second, I consider calling the police, but I know they won’t make it here in time to stop the fight. All I can really do is watch and pray.

  As the fight goes on, Beast manages to get four or five good hits on Chainsaw without getting hit even once. If this were a normal fight, he’d be the clear winner, but under these messed up rules, he’s at an insane disadvantage no matter how many hits he gets in.

  I hug the side of the bleachers tight as I watch Beast move. The look in his eyes is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They’re bright green, and they shine like they’re on fire. I can almost see little flecks of yellow sparking in them. My eyes are locked onto Beast’s face as I
lean in closer to the ring. My body responds to every move he makes, and I don’t realize how close I am to the ring, how very visible and exposed I am, until Beast looks back at me.

  It’s only for a second. He takes his eyes off Chainsaw for one second to look at me, but that’s way too long. By the time he looks back at Chainsaw, one of Chainsaw’s jagged metal fists is inches away from Beast’s body. Beast jerks away at the last second, but it’s not enough. Chainsaw connects, leaving angry red cuts in Beast’s side. Beast stumbles back, and Chainsaw, seeing blood, charges at him, going low and aiming a wicked haymaker right between Beast’s legs.

  No! Not there! Shouldn’t below-the-belt hits be illegal even in illegal MMA? I cringe and close my eyes as I realize that I may have just killed the gorgeous MMA fighter up on the stage by making eyes at him, but when I hear the crowd gasp, I can’t help but open them again.

  It shouldn’t have even been possible, but somehow, Beast manages to wrap his hand around Chainsaw’s wrist and stop his punch. Then, in a flash, he lifts his leg up to Chainsaw’s shoulder and kicks down, sending Chainsaw to the ground in a heap while holding his arm up in the air. With his foot at the base of Chainsaw’s neck and his arms wrapped around his wrist, Beast roars, and the crowd goes totally insane. Chainsaw spends a few seconds struggling to get up, and then taps out on Beast’s leg. The fight is over.

  The announcer tries to climb back into the ring to announce the results, but his microphone is totally drowned out by the crowd, many of whom are coming down from the bleachers and climbing into the ring. Sensing that this is probably my cue to leave, I turn around and head back toward the hallways.

  “Nuh, uh, uh.” Somebody jumps down from the bleachers to block my path. It’s a skinny guy with a long, scraggly beard. “Not so fast. You’re from the club, aren’t you?”

  “Um…yeah, and I was just heading back. My friend’s waiting for me.”

  “You don’t have permission to be here, do you?”