Baller: An Interracial MMA Stepbrother Romance (4 page)

Chapter Nine

Hannibal

“Well, as I live and breathe,” the accent was grating and southern, and cut through the thumping bass music like a knife. “We’ve got a mother-fucking
celebrity
in the house.”

Hannibal, Kristen and Jules had clambered out of the Bentley and headed towards the warehouse – and that’s when a stranger had appeared to block their path.

He was a burly redheaded guy with a bushy ginger beard and a battered black cowboy hat that looked like it had survived one too many
Lynyrd Skynyrd
concerts.

He was flanked on both sides by more of the looming guards, in their cheap black suits. Neither of them looked that tough – big, fat fellas with round bellies – but they looked mean, and they were probably carrying guns.

Hannibal knew better than to mess with them.

His brother, apparently, wasn’t so smart.

“Yo, yo,” Jules loped over to the redheaded stranger and gave him a fist bump. “Let me introduce Red, bro. This is
his
league.”

Red returned Jules’ fistbump, and turned to Hannibal. The black fighter loomed over the burly redhead, but Red didn’t look scared.

“Well,
y’all
don’t need an introduction,” the redhead grinned, with a redneck accent that hovered between Texas and Atlanta. “’Baller’ Alexander. It’s fuckin’ pleasure, hoss.” He held out a big, calloused hand.

Hannibal stared at it, and then shook it cautiously.

“The name’s Rodney Callahan,” the stranger introduced himself, “but everybody calls me Red. And I’ve been lookin’ forward to meetin’ you, Baller – ever since your brother here started fightin’.”

Hannibal didn’t say anything. He just grunted.

If Red was offended, he didn’t show it. He just turned to Kristen, who was cowering behind Hannibal’s comforting bulk.

“An’ who’s this lovely lil’ lady?” Red offered his hand again. When Kristen meekly offered hers, the redneck lifted it to his mouth and planted a bristly kiss on it. “Ain’t you just a cool drink o’ water? You bangin’ one of these boys?” Then Red snorted lasciviously. “Or
both
of ‘em?”

“She’s our
stepsister
,” Hannibal growled, with an unspoken suggestion in his voice that Red ought to stop talking about her that way.

Red looked mean, but he was smart. He dropped the subject.

“You here to fight, Baller?” The cowboy asked. “Or just to watch?” He patted Jules on one of his skinny arms. “Your little bro here did good work last week.”

“You ain’t seen nuttin’ yet, Red,” Jules grinned. “I’ma be a mother fuckin’
champion
walking out of here tonight.”

“I’m sure you will,” Red grinned – and then his eyes narrowed. With an icy coldness in his voice, he demanded: “You’ve got your purse money, though, right son?”

Jules nodded eagerly, and produced his box of crumpled twenties.

“Five thousand dollars, Red.”

The redneck narrowed his eyes, and Hannibal could see that he was silently calculating how much was in the box. Hannibal had seen coke dealers on the strip work the same way.

“Looks good,” and just like the dealers did, the moment Red had determined that the cash was all there, he pretended like he didn’t give a shit about it. “You’re on at ten, son. Go prep.”

And, with that, Red passed the box of cash to one of his guards, and turned to Hannibal and Kristen.

“We’ll take good care of your lil’ brother,” the redneck promised, as one of the guards led Jules off to get ready. “But I wanna take good care of
you
.” He snorted loudly. “Ain’t all that often we have a
real
fighter down these parts. Let me get you a drink and show you around.”

Hannibal stood silently for a second, peering down at the bearded redneck.

The hairs on the back of Hannibal’s neck were standing up. He felt nervous – and that wasn’t a feeling that came easily to a guy like him.

But he was also curious. This underground fight league seemed like a big deal – much bigger than the basement fight clubs you read about in the crime section of the local paper.

“Sure,” swallowing his nerves, the big fighter forced himself to smile, and nodded at Red. “I’d like that.”

Red grinned, showing off his mismatched teeth.

“C’mon. I’ll show you around.” And then he was off, wordlessly expecting Hannibal to follow him.

Baller turned and looked down at Kristen. His stepsister looked even more nervous than he did.

Without even thinking about it, he offered her his big hand.

She entwined her pale fingers in his dark ones, and squeezed.

Hand in hand, they followed this loudmouth redneck into the warehouse.

Chapter Ten

Hannibal

Inside, the music was so loud they could barely hear each other speak. There must have been five hundred people crammed into the warehouse – all surrounding a makeshift MMA octagon made out of scaffolding and wire fencing.

“C’mon up to the VIP section,” Red grinned, shouldering his way through the crowd. Hannibal noticed that the folks gathered for the fight got out of the cowboy’s way real quick – like he was some kind of celebrity or something.

The crowd gathered there was an unusual bunch. There were a lot of white trash folks in baseball caps and t-shirts. A sea of brown faces suggested the Hispanic contingent was big as well. Then Hannibal saw enough African-American folks to make him wonder if Jules had sent the word around his run-down housing development.

All in all, it was a pretty multicultural crowd. The only difference from a real MMA venue being that these folks looked mean and hungry.

“Up here,” Red had led them to a trailer, parked incongruously in the middle of the warehouse. Two men in cheap suits guarded a staircase up to the trailer, and stepped out of the way as Red approached.

Three steps up and Hannibal and Kristen found themselves in the best seats of the house – with a clear view of the makeshift octagon, and luxurious seating in the form of old patio furniture and a couple of beer coolers.

Red offered them seats, and Kristen and Hannibal sat down cautiously in rickety lawn chairs. Grinning, Red sat down opposite, and reached into the cooler next to him for two cans of Miller Lite.

He flung them over.

“Neck these suckers, and let’s talk,” the redneck grinned.

Hannibal picked up the beer suspiciously. He wasn’t much of a beer drinker – as a top-tier fighter, he ate far too clean for that. But he went along with it, and popped the top – gulping down two long swallows of the frothy brew before Red pulled out his next trick – a mason jar full of clear liquid.

“My boys bring this up from North Carolina.” Red popped the top, and took a long swallow from the jar. Then he passed it over. “Get some that down you, son. It’ll put hairs on your chest.”

Hannibal snorted. He shaved his chest.

But, once again, he did as he was asked; and brought the Mason jar to his lips.

Moonshine.

The alcohol fumes made his eyes tear up, and that was even before he’d let the glass touch his lips. He gulped down two searing swallows before he had to pass the jar over to Kristen, gasping as the ‘shine burned on the way down.

“That’s the good stuff,” Red grinned. “Whaddya think?”

“I think I’ll stick to Hennessey,” Hannibal gasped.

Kristen didn’t fare much better. She coughed and spluttered as she handed the Mason jar back. Then she eagerly washed down the firewater with the cold Miller Lite.

Red grinned. The moonshine was clearly a test – and one the two of them had failed.

“So what d’y’all think of my little set-up?” Red asked, as Hannibal blinked away tears. “I know it ain’t as fancy as your big league getup over in Las Vegas, but you can’t deny I can bring in a crowd.”

Hannibal surveyed the crowd of roaring patrons and nodded. It was pretty impressive.

“So this venture’s
illegal
, right?” he asked.

“Shit yeah,” Red snorted. “I tried to go legit when I was younger, but there are too many hoops to jump through.” He gulped down some more moonshine. “Besides, the money’s better this way.”

Hannibal surveyed the crowd.

“You’ve got spotlights. They can probably hear the music all the way over in Hartford.” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you get worried about the cops?”

Red shrugged.

“Let’s just say the cops and I have an agreement.”

Hannibal pursed his lips. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“I know you might turn your nose up at this lil’ setup,” Red leaned closer, “but it’s a startin’ point for a lot of young fighters. Not everybody had the advantages you did, gettin’ into the sport. Take your lil’ brother, for example. He has to work for it.”

Hannibal snorted.

“My only ‘advantage’ was fifteen years studying martial arts,” he growled. “If my brother had stuck to his karate lessons, he’d be where I am now.”

“Yeah, well, your lil’ bro has ambitions to make it there anyway,” Red grinned. “How do you think his chances are?”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes.

“I think he’s gonna get his ass kicked,” Baller admitted. “And I don’t think it’ll have happened nearly soon enough.”

Red’s eyes opened wide.

“That’s
cold
, son. That’s your own flesh and blood you’re talkin’ about there.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes my own flesh and blood needs to learn a lesson,” Hannibal growled. “Which is why I’m tolerating this.”

Red snorted. A wicked smile curled across his face.

“Why you’re ‘tolerating’ this?” He chuckled. “Like, you got some kind of say in the matter?” He jerked his thumb towards the octagon. “Your brother’s full grown, son. He’s old enough and dumb enough to make decisions for himself.”

“Yeah,” Hannibal growled. “That’s the problem.”

“Well, let’s see how he does tonight. Your boy might surprise you yet, son.”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes. He doubted that. He just wanted to be sure Julius didn’t get hurt learning this expensive lesson.

Before they could continue talking, there was a commotion in the crowd. Making his way up the steps into the redneck ‘VIP section’ was a beast of a man, practically bursting out of a skin-tight cotton tank top.

“Aww, shit,” Red grinned. “My other guest of honor is here. Can’t wait for you two to become acquainted.”

Red pushed back his chair and stood up to welcome his guest. Turning in their seats, Hannibal and Kristen looked up as he arrived; watching Red embrace this looming, muscular black man enthusiastically.

“Guys,” Red grinned, turning to his two guests. “I’d like to introduce you to my star fighter – Rashaan Jackson.”

Hannibal didn’t stand up or shake the new arrival’s hand. He just looked up at him, and narrowed his eyes.

There’d been a lot of showboating and loud noises that evening, but Hannibal had yet to see anything remotely resembling a real fighter. The fact that his skinny brother was getting into the octagon reinforced his suspicions about the whole event.

But this guy Red was introducing them too?

He was tall, and muscular – a figurative brick shithouse. And with his mean-looking face and big, calloused hands, there was no doubt that Rasheen Jackson was the real deal.

Right up until that moment, Hannibal had been worried that this whole underground fight league was some kind of scam. But the moment he laid eyes on this towering stranger, he started to wonder if there was an even more terrifying possibility.

That this fighting circuit was the
real thing
.

Chapter Eleven

Kristen

Up until then, Kristen had kept her mouth shut, and her fingers tightly wrapped around Hannibal’s.

This whole setup was incredibly intimidating. The loud music, the angry crowd and the looming promise of organized violence. The fact that she was with Hannibal was the only thing that let her keep her nerve.

But the moment this stranger – Rasheen Jackson – appeared, the atmosphere in that redneck trailer subtly changed.

Up until then, Hannibal had been wary, but confident – and not without good reason. Red was a loudmouthed asshole, and his guards looked like thugs. But if shit went down, it was clear that Hannibal was the toughest guy in that warehouse, and he’d look after her.

But Hannibal’s reaction to Rasheen’s arrival had been unmistakable. It was like two pit bulls being introduced – they both got their heckles up immediately.

And, the truth be told, Kristen didn’t blame Hannibal for being wary. This Rasheen kid looked like a mean son of a bitch. He was all burly bulk where Hannibal was lean muscle. He had a flat, rugged face and was bristling with tattoos. The Mohawk haircut and big, black beard just added to his intimidating appearance.

From the way Hannibal squeezed her hand, and his shoulders hunched up, it was clear he saw Rasheen as somebody dangerous. Perhaps the only man in that warehouse who was a match for him.

Red clearly spotted the tension between the two fighters, and his eyes flashed in delight.

“So Rasheen here is my star fighter,” he grinned at Hannibal. “Twelve fights, undefeated. One of these days we’re gonna get him in a legitimate league, and then y’all better watch your ass.” Red winked. “Be careful, Baller. He’ll be after you.”

Rasheen snorted at the introduction.

“And this here…” Red began, but Rasheen cut him off.

“I know who
this
is.” Jackson crossed his beefy arms. “Baller Alexander. Watched all your fights. Up until that white boy busted your ass in that hotel lobby.”

Hannibal tensed up when he heard that.

The fight with James MacDonald – the one that had led to Hannibal’s three month suspension – was still a hot-button topic for him.

“You fightin’ tonight?” Rasheen asked. He turned to Red. “I reckon I could take him, Boss.”

Red grinned, clapping his hands together.

“I reckon too, son,” he grinned. “But Baller’s just here to watch tonight. His lil’ brother’s in the cage.”

Rasheen snorted.

“Well, if you ever find the balls to get in the octagon with me,” he sneered, “tell Red here. He’ll hook us up good.”

Hannibal’s eyes were narrow slits.

“I’m a
real
fighter,” he growled at Rashaan. “I fight in
real
leagues.”

Rashaan wasn’t impressed.

“Sounds like that’s your excuse for chicken-shitting out of fighting me.”

Kristen felt Hannibal’s grip tighten around her fingers.

“Now, now boys,” Red grinned. “Save that shit for the octagon. We’re all friends here.” He offered Rasheen a Miller Lite. “Take a seat. The fights are about to begin.”

Rasheen growled, and refused the beer.

“I’m fightin’ tonight,” he reminded his boss. Instead he grabbed a bottle of water and nodded at his boss. “I’m gonna go and get ready.”

And then, giving Hannibal one last sneer, the fighter wheeled around and headed for the stairs.

A moment later he was gone – disappearing into the crowd at the exact moment the lights started fading and the music died.

Kristen and Hannibal turned towards the makeshift octagon.

It looked like the entertainment was about to begin.