Linc (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel Book 3) Read online

  LINC

  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.

  © 2016 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, ADULT LANGUAGE, AND SOME VIOLENCE!

  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

  Epilogue

  ALSO AVAILABLE FROM LANE HART

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter One

  Lincoln “Linc” Abrams

  "Hi, my name's Linc, and I'm in love with a porn star."

  I'm standin' in front of bulging-eyed strangers, about to tell them shit I've never told another soul, not even my boys. I admit, I got the idea from watchin’ Fight Club.

  "Well, maybe I'm not in love with her," I amend before a tidal wave of candor comes pourin' out of my mouth. "But I'm completely fuckin' obsessed with Eve Kelly. Ever since the first time I saw her spread her long, lean legs on camera I've been addicted. I own a copy of all ten of her videos and subscribe to this overpriced, twenty-four hour a day production network that occasionally shows never before seen footage. So yeah, I'm a really sick bastard because there's nothin' in this world I'd rather be doing than watchin’ Eve get fucked every which way possible. Well, there's one thing I'd rather being doin'..." I can't help but grin even as I feel the warmth of embarrassment floodin’ my cheeks. Did I really just say all that shit out loud?

  Clearin’ his throat, the bald, overweight man standin' at the podium in the front of the room takes advantage of my pause to put an end to my ramblin’ monolog. "Admitting you have a problem is a great first step toward recovery. However, this is actually the weekly Alcoholics Anonymous meeting."

  "Well, yeah I figured as much based on the Alcoholics Anonymous sign on the door," I finally respond to the guy callin’ me out. The lucky bastard. He can pour his alcohol down the sink or throw it in the trash to get rid of it. But my long, hard cock? Yeah, it goes with me everywhere, usually leadin’ the way, demandin’ that I imagine how hot it would be to fuck Eve Kelly in order to relieve the achin’ pressure. "I couldn't find any porn addiction groups," I explain. "So I just figured that one addiction is pretty much like any other, right?"

  I shift my weight forward and back, rockin' nervously on the soles of my black Vans while everyone in the room continues to gawk at me. Not tryin’ to sound cocky, but there's no "anonymous" about me bein' here today since I'm somewhat of the town's celebrity mixed martial arts fighter, and Linc is not a very common name. Did my parents name me after one of the greatest Presidents of the United States? Hell no. They went with Lincoln because Link would've been a dead giveaway of their epic geekiness and lifetime addiction to gaming. If addictions are supposedly genetic, then why the fuck couldn't I have been cursed with spendin’ my days and nights with a game controller in my hand instead of my dick? So yeah, I'm here because I'm tired of my rapidly increasin’ social withdrawal. Damn it, I want to get back to bein’ normal again. Before I watched the first Eve Kelly naughty school girl scene. Back to the good ole days when I occasionally fucked real beautiful, curvy women instead of imaginin’ I was fuckin’ a porn star.

  "Anyone else?" The group leader looks away from me, indicatin’ he wants me to shut the fuck up and sit down. I do, and then I listen to the other members in the classroom, a Chex Mix of ages, races and genders, discussin' their addiction, how many days since their last drink, how alcohol took over their lives, ruinin' their relationships. Amen to that one. I've tried to date, I really have, especially with all the free time I've had since I got nailed with my first serious injury, breakin’ my fuckin’ arm in a championship fight with Jude Malone. Losin’ my title, and then not bein’ able to get back in the cage to train in over two months sucks ass. There are too many hours in the day, and not enough shit for me to be doin’.

  Knowin’ I’ve been bored out of my mind, and watchin’ too much porn, my good friend Sadie took pity on me, settin’ me up on a few blind dates with her hot friends from Duke. Despite how beautiful, smart, and funny they were, it’s always the same by the end of the night. I can't fuckin' wait to leave the college chicks at their dorms and get back home to Eve.

  "I hit rock bottom the day I bought a fifth of liquor instead of food with my last five dollars, even though I hadn't had anything to eat in days," a young blonde woman says sadly from across the room. "That was when I realized how bad my addiction was. I knew it was time for me to finally face my demons before they consume me."

  Suddenly, the motherfucker of all ideas hits me like a lightnin' bolt.

  I need to confront my demons.

  I have to meet Eve Kelly.

  That's it! It's the only way to end this ridiculous obsession I've had with her goin' on for almost three years. The only way to get me the hell out of Fantasy Fuckland and bring me back to reality is to meet her face-to-face. I'm sure that the real thing is probably nothin' like the erotic perfection of the woman I watch deep throatin' on my flat screen.

  With this new, exciting plan on my mind, my knee bounces, impatiently waitin' until the meetin’ is over so I can whip out my phone to do an Internet search. Why didn't I think of this brilliant idea sooner?

  Thirty long minutes later, I stride out to the parkin’ lot and climb up in my big, neon green truck. The next second I'm on my phone, pullin' up Eve Kelly's website. I scan the page for a tour date calendar, but a few stunnin’ tits, I mean pics, grab my attention. Since I don’t have these particular images in my collection, I snap a screen shot of each to ogle later. In one particular photo, Eve's standin’ in nothin' but pure white, lacy lingerie that's a strikin' contrast to her tan, golden skin. Her full, red lips are suckin' on her index finger, and she's holdin' her chestnut hair up off of her shoulders, givin' the camera a sexy as fuck look that screams, "Will you pull my hair while I suck your cock?" Jesus.

  I don't know what the hell it is about the simple sight of this particular woman that sets me off. My hand automatically dives into my pants and squeezes my rock hard shaft every single time I look at her, without fail. It's so bad that I can't even wear a belt anymore. Screw that. Those leather bastards are
nothin' but fuckin' hindrances, gettin' in the way of me and my fantasy girl.

  Tellin’ my dick he’ll have to just wait until I get home before I choke him out, I click on the website link for tour information and start scrollin’ through the cities.

  Sonofabitch!

  It's like the universe is alignin’ or some shit, because ironically enough, Eve's comin' to Raleigh in just two short weeks.

  …

  A week later, my boys and I are all hangin’ around the front desk of the newly renovated Havoc facility cooling off after our five mile run. The gym may be named by Sadie’s father, Don Briggs, but Jude Malone and I went halfsies on this franchise location. We both had plenty of money, him after beatin’ me to become the new World Welterweight Champion, and even my loser purse was substantial at half a million fuckin’ dollars. What was left over from that chunk of change went right on top of the other millions accumulatin’ in my savings, stocks, bonds, and all the other places my accountant decides to plant and grow more money. Jude figured the buyout and turnover of my old gym, Evolution, would be smoother if all our guys know I'm part owner, too, so I figured what the hell. Plannin’ and organizin’ the new business has given me a little somethin’ to do over the nine weeks I've been waitin’ for the doctor to let me back in the cage. I've been goin’ to therapy several times a week to rebuild the strength in my arm that still has an annoyin’ black brace on it to help stabilize it. I had no idea injuries were such a pain in the ass.

  With a winnin’ record, my fights usually don't last past the first round, and I barely break a sweat. Then Jude came along and kicked my ass all the way into the third round where he trapped me in an armbar and I was too arrogant to submit. Even after his arm was raised as the new champion, I couldn't believe that I had not only lost but lost badly. And the excruciating pain in my arm, well that shit had me worryin’ about whether or not my fightin’ days were over. I'm sure as fuck not ready to throw in the towel at twenty-four years old. Fightin’ for me is not about the money or fame. No, maybe that's why I got into MMA in high school, but really, it's about tamin’ the beast inside me. See, there's this testosterone crazed maniac who has been possessin’ me for the past five years, or maybe he's always been there, lyin’ dormant until a few hours before midnight that New Year's Eve.

  Hell, maybe I owe Abby, the bitch who wasted three years of my life, for my success, because from that day on, the monster lurked just underneath my skin like never before, demandin’ that I give him an escape, that I inflict physical pain and push my own body to the limits. I let all of the rage out on my opponents in the cage and on the punchin’ bags, along with the anger, the sadness, and the heartbreak. I started kickin’ ass with first round knockouts, and ended up winnin’ my first championship title a few months later. Now fightin’ keeps me feelin’ like my old self - cool, calm and level-headed. Without the physical exertion and release, I could very well lose control again, and that scares the shit out of me. So, there's no doubt that I need to get my arm back in shape and fight again, to set the beast free on my rivals and not some random person I flip out on. And to keep my emotions in check, I haven't seriously dated anyone since Abby.

  To most people it probably looks like I live an incredibly awesome life. Yeah, I may have won four Welterweight World Champion titles, and have more money than I know what to do with, but all that shit’s worthless when the one person I loved and was certain I wanted to spend the rest of my life decided she didn’t want to be with me.

  Abby not only ripped my fuckin’ heart out, but she made sure to shred it into a million pieces. That's why I prefer the companionship of a porn star a million miles away on the screen to takin’ the chance of losin’ myself and my grip on the beast because of the brutality inflicted on me by another woman.

  "So, I'm hittin' up The Playhouse this Friday,” I tell my boys after we all rehydrate and catch our breath. I’m ready to meet Eve and get out of my rut. “Who's in?"

  "Hell yes, I'm in," Senn responds, swingin’ his white towel over his topknot like a helicopter. "Show me the titties!"

  "You know I'm in," Nate, the freckle-face ginger, and my longtime sparrin’ partner says, offerin’ me a fist bump which I hit.

  "Fuck yes!" Josh, the shrimp, exclaims to which we all three respond in unison with, "Fuck, no."

  "What? Why can't I go?" the youngest and dumbest of our group whines.

  "Too young and too stupid," I grumble, and then turn my back on him, ignorin’ his further protests. There's no way I'm gonna be stuck babysittin’ that dipshit on the night I might finally get to meet Eve Kelly. "What about you, Jude?"

  When he lowers the water bottle he was drinkin’ from givin’ me a shit eatin’ grin, I already know his answer. "Well, unlike you ugly fuckers, I actually have a gorgeous woman at home with perfect tits that I don't have to pay to see. Oh, and she actually lets me touch them whenever I want!"

  "Kiss my ass," I reply. Am I jealous of Jude? Hell yes! Not of him with Sadie, but of what they have together, the real, long term kind of love. Datin’ sucks big, fat donkey dicks…just not as much as gettin’ cheated on.

  When my legs continue to protest the run I just gave them, I hop up on the counter before I drop the bombshell on them. "You're gonna be missin’ out, because you'll never believe who's gonna be showin’ her tits on stage Friday night.”

  "Who?" Senn asks, and then we all laugh when he flicks his sweaty towel at the back of Josh’s head, finally runnin’ the annoyin’ juvenile off with a muttered curse.

  "Eve Kelly,” I answer, unable to prevent the smile that stretches across my face at just the mention of her.

  "No fucking way." Nate laughs, leanin’ his elbows on the counter. "You've been collecting and wearing out her DVDs for years." Of course they know I watch porn, what guy doesn't? They just don't have any idea about the full extent of my depravity.

  "That's exactly why we're goin’,” I reply. “I'm gonna meet this woman, and then once and for all, get the fuck over her."

  "Ha! I'll believe that when I see it," Nate says.

  "Oh, you're gonna see it all right. Friday night and then I’m done with Eve Kelly’s fine ass for good."

  Chapter Two

  Claire Reed

  I hate my sister.

  That's an all too familiar, sarcastic phrase I've been muttering for years, but now, at this very moment, with the spotlights blinding me and a crowd of pervy men screaming at me to, "Come on, baby, show us your titties!" I really freaking loathe her.

  Mandy, aka the kinky porn star Eve Kelly, is passed out high as a kite in a hotel room, while I stand on stage in nothing but a white thong bikini pretending to be her slutty alter ego. As far as my squinting eyes can see, the entire strip club is packed full of disgusting, horny men. It's standing room only, and all eyes are on me. Now I know how all those deer feel when they’re stunned frozen by headlights. Thankfully, my heavy makeup is hiding my blush of extreme and utter embarrassment, not that any of these lovely gentlemen are looking at me above the neck. I know without a doubt these assholes are all thinking about what it'd be like to fuck me, or more specifically, my little sister in a multitude of dirty ways.

  Since I'm only thirteen months older, most people assume Mandy and I are twins. We're pretty much identical, except I have more meat on my bones compared to my sister's skeleton that's unfortunately sustained only by illegal substances nowadays. My thick, bronze colored hair is a touch shorter, just brushing my shoulders, and my eyes are light blue where hers are more of an in-between bluish-green hazel. Those three minor differences go unnoticed by all of her adoring fans in this crowd. In fact, her own asshole manager/boyfriend couldn't tell us apart, which is how I ended up here tonight, filling in for her. James is not happy with me at the moment, though, because I refused to go full nude. Nope. Not gonna happen. And even if the material I'm wearing is see through and doesn't leave much to the imagination, I refuse to flash these creeps my private girly parts, despite how many time
s they yell out the crude suggestion or how many green bills they wave at me.

  Knowing I can’t keep standing here frozen like Bambi, I reluctantly start swaying my hips and dropping it like it's hot on the pole as seductively as I can manage. Drop it like it's sort of lukewarm is a much more accurate description. There's no hiding the fact that I have zero rhythm, unlike my sister who could make even the cabbage patch and running man look sexy.

  Plastering on a fake smile and thrusting out my ample chest, I hope to distract from my incoordination. I stay in the middle of the stage as far away as possible from all the greedy hands reaching for me like a gang of hungry, flesh-eating zombies from The Walking Dead. Mentally I’m trying to concentrate on counting all the green currency raining down instead of having a full blown panic attack. My body feels like it’s overheating, making me wonder if I’ve actually died and gone to hell. I can’t imagine a more frightening place than the one I’m currently suffering in.

  Trying to cool myself down and look flirty, I lift my hair off my neck and wrap my legs around the pole, posing in what I hope is a provocative stance for one loonnngg, painfully awkward Nine Inch Nails song. It’s a lovely, ear-splitting ballad about a man who is desperate to fuck someone like an animal. What a sweet talker he is.

  Having never stepped foot inside of a strip club before, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do up here. When I asked, James told me to just shake my tits and ass. He’s so very helpful, but offered more advice than my sister whose response before we left the hotel was to simply continue drooling and snoring.

  Before the last notes of the perverted rock song, I quickly flee the stage. For the next two hours I'll be signing autographs and taking selfies with all these drunk bastards, while flirting with them like I'm a huge slut who loves sucking cock. Awesome. But at the end of the night, I'll have made five thousand dollars out of this little charade, putting us that much closer to finally paying off the thirty thousand my sister owes one of the local meathead loan sharks for advances on her drugs. Although, at the outrageous interest rate of twenty percent or some shit a day, the debt is likely more than that now. At least I'll have something to give Bobby Manus tomorrow when he tracks us down. Enough to hopefully keep him off our asses for another few days. Mandy better be glad our younger brother, Mason, and I both love her so much, otherwise we'd leave our sister to deal with her nine hundred ninety-ninth fuck up all on her own.