Sneak Peek
Xander – Kings of Denver (Book 3)
Chapter 1
Xander
New year, new me. Yeah, fucking right! It’s my Junior year of college and my dick of a father has just pulled every damn string to get me transferred to the Denver University, just so I can be a part of the same damn hockey team that he was part of. How fucking great for me.
I get it though, he was a Dragons player, the captain in his senior year and got himself a one-way ticket into the NHL. I can’t blame him for wanting the same for me, the only problem is that any other option simply just isn’t an option. It’s get into the NHL just like my father did so he can show off how talented his son is and what a great job of raising me he did or suffer the consequences, which consists of being cut off, lose my trust fund, lose my living arrangements and pretty much lose everything I hold close to me. I’d be homeless, a bum, a nothing.
And what does my mother do about it? Nothing.
Great fucking parents I have.
So, what do I do? I skate. Day in and day out. Though not to toot my own horn or anything, I’m pretty damn good, actually, apart from Jaxon and Bobby, I’d be the best. Just the way my father ensured I would be. Hell, I was only eleven when he set me up with a damn Personal Trainer. But seriously? What kind of eleven-year-old kid should be sweating it out in a gym with a trainer?
I’ve only been here in Denver a few weeks and I can already see it in Coach Harris’ eyes. He wants to offer me the role of Captain for next year, though obviously, it’s way too early to be thinking about that shit. If only that’s what I actually wanted.
Coach Harris knows exactly who I am and who my father is and I know without a doubt, he expects me to be just like him. The shining star, the golden boy, the kid who is going to lead the dragons to victory next year but if I get a say in it, it isn’t going to happen. It’s not who I am, not who I want to be.
My blades cut through the ice as we finish off our morning training session and I must admit, I’m already exhausted. Jaxon, this year’s captain has us up early every freaking morning running and then working out in a field before we head to classes or to our on-ice training sessions, not to mention all the added gym time we have to be doing. My last team was nothing like this. We showed up for training, worked our asses off and went home. It’s no surprise Dad wanted me here, especially after their epic win last year.
Though, in all honesty, Jaxon is a great captain and I have no doubt we will be Champions come the end of the season. Coach and Jaxon together are a deadly team, it’s admirable really. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy but every player on this team, come their senior year will have the eyes of every scout across the country on them.
Being a part of this team sure has its perks though. Everywhere I go, whether it be to Micky’s, a club, a house or frat party, there is a line-up of chicks just wanting to get with me just for the label of being on the Dragon’s hockey team. Drinks are thrown my way, dudes want to be me while chicks want to be with me. No matter how the season goes, it’s going to be an epic year.
I hop off the ice, dripping with sweat as I make my way down to the locker room. “Good job, boys,” Jaxon says, clapping me on the back as he passes and takes his seat. We all murmur a ‘thanks’ as we get started on stripping off our Hockey gear.
Moments later, after throwing my skates into my bag, I grab a towel from my locker and head into the showers. I pull off my sweaty shirt and drop my pants before reaching in and turning the taps. I step straight into the cool water and an instant relief comes over my sore muscles. My eyes close for a brief moment before I pull my shit together and get my ass out of there.
I grab my bag and head out of the locker room without a glance back. “Hey, kid,” I hear being called from behind me.
I turn and find Coach Harris jogging to catch up. “What’s up, Coach?” I ask as he finally catches up.
“Just wanted to check how you’re settling in?” He asks.
“Oh, fine, I guess,” I respond, wanting to cut the conversation short and get going.
“Good,” he says with a slight nod. “How’s your independent training going? I’ve noticed you don’t have many hours logged in the campus gym.”
Shit. I should have known he would have been checking up on this shit. “Yeah, about that, I actually prefer not to train in campus gyms,” I explain.
“Right,” he says narrowing his eyes on me suspiciously, “But the training is still getting done?”
“Yes, coach,” I nod.
I see the moment he decided to give me the benefit of the doubt, after all he has no reason not to trust me. If only he knew. “Alright, but if you start to slacken off on the ice, you’ll be back in the campus gym where the other boys can keep an eye on you.”
“Thanks, boss,” I say, giving him a tight smile.
His lips press together as he continues studying me, “Get out of here,” he finally says, dismissing me.
With pleasure. I tighten my hold on my bag and get my ass out of there before anyone else decides they want a moment of my time. I throw my bag into the back of my truck and get in.
I take myself home, to the place my Dad currently rents off the University for me. I push through the door, thankful for my Dad’s strict rules about not having roommates to distract me from my goal.
I immediately collapse on my bed and fall into a deep sleep. I wake a few hours later and head downstairs to fix myself some lunch before realising I’m almost late for my Business lecture.
I grab my things and dash out the door, only to sit through a deathly boring lecture. I return home not long after and head straight for my garage. I push through the door and enter into what I now consider my personal gym. My eyes lock onto the punching bag in the corner and a desperate need comes through me, there is nothing quite like throwing a good punch but I know I shouldn’t. I need to concentrate on hockey training.
I’ve always hated training by myself. I guess since my Dad set me up with a trainer as a kid, I’ve always relied on having someone there to push me harder. Before I even get started on my session, I’m already out the door.
I get straight into my truck and head downtown in search of this one particular gym I’d overheard some losers talking about. My eyes scan up and down the streets and finally come to a rest on a beat down looking place with nothing but a sign above the door with a pair of boxing gloves declaring the place as Rebels Advocate.
I eye the place down, knowing this couldn’t possibly be the place I was thinking of but what the hell, I’m already here, I may as well check it out. I park my truck in the few available spaces out the front and make my way to the door.
I push my way inside and can’t help standing in the reception area looking completely dumbfounded as I take the place in. The place is filled with punching bags that are being used and abused. Free weights are being stacked together and ringing through the place as each weight is dropped on top of the other. Old school boxing rings line the back of the room, with a few fights currently going on.
The light filters through the windows, shining on the dust particles that float around the room, reminding me of all those old fight movies. It’s clear that this is a gym dedicated to producing MMA Fighters, I realise in an instant that this place is going to be home. I don’t care that it isn’t traditional for a hockey player to train here, this is where I belong.
I make my way deeper into the gym and my eyes lock on a fighter in the ring who looks like he has given his absolute all for his trainer. The kid climbs out of the ring and grabs his drink bottle before heading towards the bathroom.
“Can I help you?” The trainer from inside the ring asks as he climbs out.
“Yeah, what have I got to do to train here?” I ask.
The trainer straightens up as he narrows his eyes at me. I watch as his eyes lower to my shirt that declares me a player for the Denver Dragons. “Look, kid, I think you’re better off in the campus gym. This isn’t the place for you,” he says before dismissing me and starting to walk away.
“I think you’re wrong,” I tell him.
He stops in his tracks and turns back to look at me. “Look around, kid. We’re an MMA gym, we train fighters, not college kids looking for a step up in their hockey team.” I ignore his comments and make my way up into the ring. “What do you think you’re doing?” he questions.
I pull my shirt up over my head and look the guy in the eye. “Proving myself.”
He considers me for a moment before shrugging his shoulder and making his way back in the ring. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he declares as he stands before me and gets himself into position.
The familiar adrenalin starts pumping through my body and it feels glorious, like welcoming home an old friend. We begin circling each other and I decide in order to prove myself, I need to make this quick and exciting.
I notice a few guys who were on the punching bags earlier have stopped to see what is going on and it pushes me into action. My fist strikes out and I nail the guy in the shoulder, making it past his block by just milliseconds. The guy is fast, but no one is faster than me.
He immediately launches into a counter-attack as he strikes back but only manages to get a hit to my forearm as I block his advance. On and on it goes. This guy is very well matched to my skill level, however, he is slightly stronger while I am slightly faster.
I watch as he smirks at me, clearly impressed with what he is seeing but obviously not wanting to give in. I push myself forward, knowing I can finish this. I deliver a swift uppercut followed by a combination of punches and kicks before I completely take him down. His chest to the floor with my knee firmly in his back and his right arm twisted behind him
Moments later he taps out. “Alright,” he says. “I give in.”
I get up off him and watch as he gets himself to his feet. He eyes me once again. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he says.
“No shit,” I laugh as I run my fingers back through my hair to stop it sticking to the sweat on my face.
“What’s your name?” he asks as he grabs a towel and wipes down his face.
“Xander Phillips,” I tell him.
“I’m Cole, by the way. This is my gym that I own with three of my friends, Harley, Luke, and Jace,” he explains as he climbs out of the ring. I follow behind as he continues. “What’s your story, Xander?”
I pull my shirt back over my head and follow him into what must be his office. I take the room in and instantly see his back wall is lined with photographs of himself in competition and some others which must be his students, all winners, of course. “I started training in MMA when I was a kid. My trainer passed a few years ago.”
“So, what’s with the Ice Hockey then?”
“Consider it a requirement of being my father’s son,” I explain.
“Right, so I’m assuming he doesn’t know about this, then?” he asks as he gestures to the gym around him.
“Nope and neither do any of my team. If I get caught fighting, I’m off the team and lose any chance of signing with the NHL.”
“Well, that explains why I’ve never seen you on the competition rounds but correct me if I’m wrong but I don’t get the impression that you are really interested in the NHL,” he questions.
“No, sir. I want to fight,” I tell him before explaining my father and his conditions a little further.
He considers me for a moment. “You’re serious about fighting?”
“I am,” I tell him, letting him see just how serious I am.
“Look, I think you’re good. One of the best I’ve seen come through that door in a while and with the right training, I think you could go all the way,” Cole says. “So, competing publicly isn’t an option. What If there was another way?” he asks with an excited gleam in his eye.
“What do you mean another way?”
“Ever heard of underground? The new season starts in a few weeks.”
Holy shit. Of course, I’d heard of underground fighting. You can earn a shit load of money but it’s dangerous and not to mention illegal. Hardly any rules. It’s basically an illegal fighting competition where anything can and does go wrong. It’s complete with drugs, alcohol, betting, dirty money and probably mob bosses and of course, there is always the risk of death for the fighters. All it takes is one wrong punch to the head and its lights out.
If I fought in the underground and actually succeeded, I’d be raking it in, it would be dirty money but it’s all the same to me but that money would be just what I needed to get out from under my father’s umbrella. I could quit the team, get my own place without relying on my father, start competing legitimately and eventually buy my own gym. Though, there is always the risk of getting caught early on and getting kicked off the team only to be left with nothing.
It would be a massive risk, extremely dangerous and incredibly stupid but in the end, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
A grin creeps over my face and I look Cole in the eye. “I’m in.”