Jag
The fuck. I roll over, immediately blinded by the sunlight soaking into the room. I shield my eyes and groan in pain when my skull cracks. I struggle to lick my dry lips and fail. I push myself into a sitting position, but the room spins out of control, so I flop back down.
I know by the popcorn texture on the ceiling I’m in Cruz’s spare room above the gym. Fucking great. Momma and Daddy Felix will be in here any minute now. I squeeze my eyes shut and try like hell to remember last night.
The dive bar.
Sunni.
Tequila.
My dick.
Puking.
Each action plays out in slow motion behind my closed eyelids. I cringe, remembering helicoptering my dick and then petting it as if it was a long-lost friend. I puked all over Sunni. Jesus, I was a wreck walking into that bar, and it seems I only made things worse.
“Wag!” Bella’s shrill cry makes me shudder because of the hammering drum beating a steady rhythm in my head.
I peer up to see Layla in the doorway with a hand perched on her hip. Bella’s dark black unruly hair bobs up and down beside the bed. I manage to reach over and tug her into the bed. She’s all high energy, what I’m used to; hell, it’s the way I was born too. But this morning, not so much.
“Wag!” Bella slaps my cheeks, straddling my chest. “Wag!”
“Sweet Bella.” I reach up and brush her chubby cheek.
Since the day this girl was born, she’s been my favorite person in the world. I’m the number motherfucking one uncle in the world. Bought her all the cheesy onesies with cool sayings about her sexy uncle and even a motorized Barbie jeep when she was three months old. She’s finally old enough to drive it.
“Fight. Fight.” She raises her balled fists up in the air.
“Jab. Jab,” I tell her.
She follows instructions, and we go through every single move. After the last instruction, she tilts her curious face, twisting up her lips.
“¿Te sientes mal?”
“Not sick, Bella. Tired.”
“Pop-Tart? Mmmmm.” She rubs her protruding belly. “Madré has them.”
With all the energy I have left in my abused body, I toss Bella up in the air and then catch her. “Let’s go raid Mommy’s Pop Tart stash, little one.”
She squeals then scrambles off me. The sound of her tiny feet pounding the hardwood floor makes me smile. Doesn’t matter how shitty I feel or how many broken bones I have, Bella always lights up my day.
Layla puts a hand on my chest before I have a chance to waltz past her. She never lets shit go. Ever.
“Are you fucking serious, Jag?” she hisses.
I shrug, knowing there’s nothing I can do right to get her off my ass.
“What is wrong with you? Dad said you’ve slacked off not training. You were right there with Cruz for your own title, but you threw it all away. What the hell gives?”
I run my hand over my head, slicking back my messy locks, and huff. “Just working on some shit, Layla.”
“I get that. We are your family, and you need to lean on us instead of pulling stunts like last night.” Layla takes a step back. “I mean, I know you’re a manwhore, but the parade of broads on continuous loop going in and out of your place is ridiculous, and now mixing alcohol into it. Not to even mention the poor woman you puked all over last night.”
“Yeah.” I tap her chin. “At least I don’t have a neon hot pink cast yet.”
She shakes her head. “We are just worried about you.”
“I know.”
She wraps her arms around my waist and presses her cheek to my chest. I’ll never let Layla know how worried I am about myself. I’m in self-destruction mode and can’t seem to claw my way out of it.
“Wag!” Bella races up the hallway. I don’t have time to react before she throws her arms up in the air. Each one of her tiny hands holds silver packages of Pop-Tarts and nails me right in the nuts.
“Son of a…” I catch the last word on the tip of my tongue. Bella is a damn parrot.
“Bitch!” she squeals.
Point proven. Layla whacks the back of my head, reminding me of the massive headache taking place there. I can’t catch a damn break. A low, evil chuckle floats in from the end of the hallway. I peer up to see Cruz with his hands on his hips, enjoying this situation way too much.
“Good thing my girls kicked your ass, because I was heading there to do it myself.”
“Papí!” Bella turns and streaks for her dad.
He’s more conditioned than me, crouching back, anticipating the nut shot. I follow Layla into the kitchen, toss the Pop-Tart on the counter, and help myself to a large mug of black coffee. The thought of it makes my stomach churn and protest, but my dehydrated body will appreciate it.
I lean back on the counter, crossing my feet at the ankles, and watch the happy family interact. My chest constricts at the sight. I love these people more than anyone or anything. I want what they have, but I know it will never happen, especially with the threat that has reentered my life. It’s been nine months of constant hell. At first, I blocked it out and avoided thinking about it at all costs.
It fucked up my fight season. I stood by watching my teammate win his championship, and I should’ve been doing the same in my weight division. Didn’t happen.
“You ready to roll?” Cruz eyes me.
“Fuck,” I groan under my breath then reach for a bottle of aspirin. I down four of them with my coffee and hope like hell they dull the pain just a tick.
“Boss is going to kick your ass today.” Cruz ends his sentence with a hearty chuckle.
“Why?” I push off the counter. “He has no idea I got trashed last night.”
Cruz shakes his head, kisses his girls goodbye, and opens the door for us. I swoop in, giving Bella a quick kiss before following her dad out the door.
“Man, you tried showing him your dick trick last night when I was trying to haul your ass up here.”
“Shit.” I cover my face. “My ass is grass.”
“Fair warning. He was not impressed at all over the fact you came home drunker than shit then insisted on flashing your peen to him.”
My joints already ache imagining the hell Boss is going to put me through today. I thought about this exact moment when I walked into the bar. Knew it was wrong and I’d let him down, but after that first shot of tequila went down, I couldn’t stop. Feeling numb exhilarated me and gave my mind a chance to slow down and relax. It worked for the time being. Now it’s time to pay the price.
“Jag.” My name booms out in the gym, echoing off the walls as soon as I take my first step. “Your ass is mine!”
I find the source of the voice—Boss. His fists are clenched at his sides, the veins in his neck throb, and the glare he sends me downright terrifies me. I am well and truly fucked.
I jog over until I’m facing Boss. I don’t cower or offer up any excuses, because there are none. I stand in front of him ready to take it like a man. Boss gets right up in my face to the point I can feel his breath tickle my flesh.
“What in the fuck is wrong with you, Jag?” He grips my shoulders and shakes me. I don’t flinch. I know the man would never lay a hand on me. “I’ve stood by and watched you go downhill the last several months. What the fuck gives?”
“Just been off.”
“No shit. There’s more to it. And you’re going to run your ass on that treadmill until you fucking break, Jag.” He slaps both of his palms on my face and drops his forehead to mine with his eyebrows scrunched. “I want my Jag back. Don’t let whatever is threatening to pull you down win. I need my champion back.”
I’m not the crying type. Can count on three fingers how many times I remember crying. The tears well up, but none ever fall. I keep my head held high and square my shoulders, then walk over to the treadmill.
Trick is bent over on a bench lacing up his shoes. I bop him on the back of the head and then grab his headphones.
“Thanks, pussy,” I holler, twirling them above my head.
It feels good to slide back into the façade of being the carefree, lovable asshole.
“Bitch,” Trick grumbles but never comes for his headphones.
I blast the music, making sure to skip my intro song for fights. It’s too fucking painful to listen to in my broken state. The hangover kills me as my feet slam down on the treadmill. I glance down to see I’ve only run three miles, and I feel like I’m going to die. I push forward, ignoring my screaming muscles and the echoing drum beat in my skull. There’s no option to stop. I refuse to let the ghosts of my past haunt me. I’m better than that. Now I just have to convince myself.
***
“Heading out.” I toss my duffle over my shoulder.
“My fucking ass,” Boss growls, his towering frame eating up the distance between us. “Self-defense class tonight.”
I stare up at the ceiling, biting down on my bottom lip. I totally forgot about the damn class. I want more than anything to go home, flop on my bed, and die. After my ten-mile run, Boss put me through hell. I haven’t worked out that hard in a decade. I never cracked, mustering up the energy to complete each task.
All I do know is my head needs to get on straight, and I have no idea how to go about it. I drop my duffle to the ground, stifling the groan wanting to escape from deep in my chest. This class means the world to Layla and Cruz. It might be the one thing that saved her life. This is something I can’t bag out on.
“Need a tampon, bitch?” Trick nudges my side.
The asshole has taken way too much glee in my misery today. Can’t fault him since I’ve ridden his ass and pulled his hair in the past when he’s been in the doghouse.
“Go fuck a cactus.” I shove his shoulder and wait for instructions.
Layla is in her power gym boss mode wearing a Diablo’s Throne black tee and black yoga pants. She bustles around getting everyone signed up for the class. This is her baby, and it’s thriving with her structure. The little shit has become quite the fighter as well. It’s not lost on me how life has evolved, and the loved ones around me have found their way, except for me. I’ve felt like the lost little boy I once used to be more and more every day.
“You okay?” Layla bumps me with her hip.
I turn to look at her and realize I’ve been lost in my thoughts for way too long once again. It’s a torrid of never-ending emotions and self-destruction. I haven’t come this far to let him win. I will no longer be the victim.
“What’s that?” I point my finger at her chest.
I damn near bust up laughing when she falls for the oldest trick in the book. Once Layla glances down, my finger races up to flick her nose. She startles and jumps back. It only takes her a second to react. She lunges forward, fists balled up and ready to attack. I’m quicker and smarter, grabbing her in a headlock and spinning her around.
“Goddamit, Jag, let me go!” Her arms wave, slapping the thin air.
“What do you say?” I taunt her, taking her down to the mats, pinning her hands behind her back.
“Never,” she hollers. It comes out muffled with her cheek pressed into the mat.
“Mmmmm.” I scratch my chin with my free hand, easily holding both of her wrists in one hand. “Should I check for new tattoos?”
“Don’t you dare!” She kicks the toes of her sneakers into the mats.
I throw my head back, laughing, remembering the last time I depantsed her in the middle of the gym.
I keep Layla pinned down, enjoying her misery while laughing my ass off. I wonder if Cruz has signed his autograph across her ass like last time. That shit was classic, and I thought Boss was going to blow a gasket seeing a fighter’s name scribbled across his daughter’s ass in the middle of his gym.
I hear the grumbles and Cruz yelling at me to get off his wife before he kicks my ass, but I ignore all of it. With my free hand, I grab the hem of her pants, pretending I’m about to yank them down in front of everybody. Of course, I would never do that with her customers here. It’s just a little fun.
At this moment, I’m grounded in the man I want to be. Nothing is going to take that away. A hard object whacks the back of my head, causing me to yelp. I reach up and rub out the pain. When I glance up, Cruz is pissed off. He always gets this way when I screw around with Layla. It’s part of the game.
“Get your dumb ass up and get ready for class. Got all kinds of women terrified that you’re over here beating the crap out of Layla.”
I shake my head and stand up, extending a hand down to Layla. She grabs onto it, pops to her feet, and pretends to brush her ass off.
“I’m not scaring them. Just putting your woman here, Layla, in her place.” I smirk.
Layla hits me with her bitch, don’t you even stare. I ignore it; that was my first mistake. I throw an arm over her shoulder and give her a squeeze. The girl is the closest thing to a sister I’ll ever have. I consider myself a damn good brother considering the amount of hell and torture I put her through. Number one fucking brother, I should say.
Layla wraps her arm around my waist, giving me a gentle tug of her own. The little shit moves so fast I don’t see it coming. She goes right for my weak spot, and I’m not talking my cojones. Both of her hands go to my nipples, and she squeezes and twists them as hard as she can before I scream and jump back. When a man is working out, his nipples are extra sensitive. It fucking hurts.
I have no shame. I drop to my knees, howling like a little bitch. The roar of laughter from my teammates echoes around the gym. I rub out the pain and shake my head, ignoring all the jabs about tits.
I send Layla a glare. I make the stare intense and mean as possible but end up erupting in laughter. I lean back on the counter, cross my feet at the ankles, and sip from the water bottle, waiting for the class to start.
Layla has brought the community together with this self-defense class, and it is empowering women left and right. It’s no damn cookie cutter class. Hell, it’s far from that, with every type of woman represented from senior citizens right down to tweens.
Layla calls for everybody’s attention. The chatter in the room dies down as she welcomes new members to the class and ensures everyone signed a waiver form. Then she begins introducing the fighters and other staff from the gym since there are so many new students. Trick blushes like a little schoolgirl when he’s introduced. The man is shy as fuck, which I’ve always found so odd since he’s a savage in the ring. Sometimes he scares the shit out of me with the amount of rage he unleashes on his opponents.
Right before Layla begins to introduce me, the bell above the door rings, alerting everyone to a newcomer.
Sunni.
My jaw drops to the floor when she walks in. A flood of regret from last night and my cock copter show strikes me hard. Fuck, I’m an idiot. The regrets don’t have much time to sink in as she strides up to the rest of the class.
Holy shit! I stand up a little taller, realizing that it wasn’t last night’s drunken haze remembering how smoking hot she was. Her diner uniform has never done any of this to me. So why now? These last two times I’ve seen her have nearly knocked me on my ass. Sunni tucks a curl behind her ear then continues striding to the center of the group. She sticks out like a diamond in the rough. My cock comes to life just like last night, karate kicking against my boxers. I stifle a groan and move around a bit since gym shorts do nothing to conceal boners, especially the size of my dick.
She’s wearing tight, tight black yoga pants. I’m fucking jealous of the material hugging her sweet perfection of a taut ass. Her top is the cherry on top of a horny bastard’s sundae. A neon purple tank made of spandex material pushes up her breasts, exposing the perfect amount of cleavage. God bless cleavage. Ample olive, tanned skin is tantalizing and begging for my touch.
“Jag.” My name is repeated for a third time before I have the nerve and willpower to look away from Sunni. She makes eye contact with me. It’s the light blush dancing on her cheeks that makes me think she’s on the same page as me.
I find Layla and the whole gym, including Cruz, staring at me, waiting for me to respond. I slick my hand back through my long hair on top and shake my head, waiting on Layla to ask the question again.
Layla plants a hand on her hip and cocks her head to the side.
“I introduced you three times, Jag, and asked you to say something about yourself. Is there a problem?”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. I don’t miss the sparkling gleam in Layla’s eyes. She’s been eager and overzealous about setting me up with someone. I’ve been able to dodge her efforts with my manwhore ways. She knows me better than most and knows exactly what has me so flustered right now. I shake my head and turn back to the crowd.
“Like she said, my name is Jag. I’ve been fighting since I was thirteen years old. I’m one sexy motherfucker, and I like to get down as often as I can.”
There’s a few gasps, a lot of giggles, and one thwack to the back of the head. I don’t have to look to know it was Boss. My hand goes to the pain point, rubbing it.
“He does get down quite well.” Bev struts up to me in a velvet gym pants and gold rings adorning each of her fingers. This woman is my damn idol; I can only hope I’m half as cool as her when I grow up.
“Ah, my favorite student. I know I shouldn’t have favorites, but damn woman.” I hold my arms open for her.
Bev flattens her front to my chest. Her gray hair, curled to perfection and cemented by hairspray, pokes my face. She faces the class after a few seconds.
“Ladies, this one is mine.”
“Sure am, Bev.” I glance down and wink at her.
“He loves my cookies,” she announces, pursing her bright red lips.
“The best around.” I wink again.
I make eye contact with Sunni to find her holding her hand over her mouth as if she’s hiding her laughter. Her eyes give it all away, though. The corners of my lips tilt up in a smile, imagining how crazy this looks with me embracing a seventy-five-year-old woman. I’m betting the fact laying claim to Bev’s cookies is what has Sunni about to erupt in laughter.
Layla clears her throat, getting the class’ attention. She divides the women into five groups. Of course, Bev and her naughty friends are in my group the first rotation. They spend more time manhandling me and petting the goods than listening and learning. At first, I tried like hell to keep them on task. That lasted about a whopping fifteen seconds before I gave in.
I watch Sunni as she makes her way through the stations. My jaw ticks and blood boils as each one of my teammates grabs Sunni by the hips, showing her the moves. Fucking Trick is on my shit list. He played it up the most, making sure his hands were all over Sunni. Jesus, was I that obvious when she waltzed in this gym? Apparently.
I throw down the punching bag in my arms and march over to Trick, who has his arms wrapped around Sunni. His front pushes into her back. There’s absolutely no fucking need for this. He hasn’t done it with any other damn student.
“Enough,” I growl between clenched teeth. My jaw cramps from the anger boiling inside of me.
The smug bastard grins at me, then dares to wink. “Not your turn, Jag. Teaching Sunni how to throw a jab here.”
“You. Are. Done.” I grab Sunni’s wrist and tug her to me.
She flinches for the briefest of seconds before willingly coming to me. I don’t say another word before stomping back to my station with Sunni in tow.
“Jag.”
I ignore her and don’t stop until we are at my station. I drop her wrist and drag my hands through my hair, feeling like I’ve leaped off the fucking deep end.
“Um. Jag, I wasn’t finished and have two more stations until yours.”
“Can’t see that shit.”
“What shit?” She plants her palms on her hips.
“Them.” I throw my arms up in the air.
Before she has a chance to respond, Layla whistles, getting everyone’s attention. She changes up the stations to a whole class session. She’s a quick one, and I’m sure she picked up on my temper tantrum. Sunni walks to the center of the gym, joining everyone else. I can’t watch this shit show anymore with my emotions all over the goddamn map. I slam the door to the locker room and take a well-needed shower. I was damn well ready to leave before this class.