The Dirty Dozen: Alpha Edition Read online

  The Dirty Dozen

  ALPHA EDITION

  AN ALPHA ANTHOLOGY BROUGHT TO YOU BY

  KAY MAREE

  Contents:

  COPYRIGHT

  WARNING

  The Fighter

  The Doms

  The British Hunk

  Londyn for Christmas

  Doc Steel

  Going Down in Flames

  Come the Fall

  Plucked

  Coming Home

  How About Never

  His Warrior’s Heart

  COPYRIGHT

  © 2019 by following Authors:

  The Fighter – S.E. Rose

  The Doms – Sammy King

  The British Hunk – Gemma Arlington

  Londyn for Christmas – Lana Cohen

  Doc Steel – DL Gallie

  Going Down in Flames – Natasha Thomas & Kay Maree

  Come the Fall – Jolie Vines

  Plucked – MV Ellis

  Coming Home – Cari Robe

  Jasper – Gemma Arlington

  His Warrior’s Heart – Ann Mickan

  How About Never – Leela Lou Dahlin

  The right of the above authors to be identified as the authors of these works has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the authors.

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

  WARNING

  The following stories have adult content.

  Some may contain graphic violence and dark emotional scenarios which may trigger some readers.

  Proceed with caution.

  You have been warned.

  Cover Design– Susan Horsnell and Kay Maree

  Format – Susan Horsnell

  The Fighter

  S.E. ROSE

  THE FIGHTER

  Copyright © 2019 S. E. Rose

  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 author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.seroseauthor.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book contains descriptions of adult relationships and violence as well as derogatory language. If such things offend you, this book is not for you. The book is intended for mature readers.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MAVERICK

  A fighter. That’s what I am. That’s what the world made me.

  I take my anger out on the bag. Thwack. I let my rage channel through my arms. Thwack. I recite my mantra in my head: I’m a fighter. Thwack.

  Jab, cross. Jab, cross. Jab, cross. The repetitive motion lets my mind wander. I’m in my zone. That’s what Z calls it.

  “You gonna let that bag live?” I hear him call out from the doorway. I keep my hands up as I turn, ready for anything because that’s what Z taught me.

  “You wanna come take it instead, old man?”

  Z laughs. “You wouldn’t stand a chance,” he replies as he hobbles inside. His knee needs replacing but he won’t do it. He says the damn co-pay is too crazy. I know he’ll cave, eventually. And I’ll be there to help him recover. He deserves the best care because that’s exactly what he’s given me. He’s the only human who’s ever given two shits about me, well, him and his family.

  Z looks around. There are a few guys punching bags, but it’s fairly quiet for a weeknight.

  “No classes tonight?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Mark was running them, but his kid is sick tonight and his wife works the night shift,” I explain. Mark is my one full-time employee. He’s young and is training to be an Olympic boxer. He’s good, really good.

  “You need backup?” Z asks. I shake my head.

  “I’m good. What’s up?”

  “Just going for a walk. Thought I’d stop in and see how things were going,” he answers, looking around at the walls that still have old photos of him. Z had been a professional boxer for a short stint before creating the gym.

  “We should grab dinner this week,” I offer.

  “Sounds like a plan. Now, you stay outta trouble, you hear?” Z says as he shakes my hand before turning back to the door.

  “Night, Z.”

  “Night, Mav.”

  I turn back to the bag as the door chimes, letting me know he’s gone. Z is always checking in on me. It’s taken me a long time to accept that this is because he cares and not because he wants to make sure I’m not fucking up his legacy. I don’t trust easily, my past has taught me to question people, and depend only on myself. Even a tour in Afghanistan hadn’t changed my willingness to trust. I trusted my fellow soldiers when we were in battle, but outside of the combat zone, they were just like everyone else. That lesson, I learned the hard way.

  I focus on my punches, the movement and the power behind them. I half nod to two of my regulars as they finish up and wish me a good night. But I remain focused, until I’m a dripping puddle, my muscles shaking from overexertion.

  I lower my arms and shake them out before downing some water. I’m about to go lock the door and call it a night when I hear the chime. I turn quickly and find a young girl standing at the door. She can’t be more than fourteen. She’s rail-thin and way too pale. Her stringy blonde hair sticks to her face, but it doesn’t hide the bruise I see on her cheek.

  I walk toward her, and she shrinks back against the glass door. I slow out of instinct; she’s like a wild animal, ready to bolt.

  “Can I help you?” I ask her.

  “I-I…” She trails off as she surveys the gym. I see her take a deep breath and square her shoulders.

  “How much are lessons?” she asks, looking me square in the eye. This surprises me. I know what I look like, and to a scrawny little kid, I probably look like a dude you shouldn’t fuck around with.

  “What type of lessons?” I ask her.

  Her eyes widen. “B-boxing lessons?” she stutters.

  “How many do you want?”

  “I…how much is one lesson?” she asks.

  I’ve had neighborhood kids stop in here before, wanting to learn to fight. Most of them are being bullied. I typically can give them a lesson or two and teach them some self-defense moves, and then they are on their way. I’m not a role model, and I certainly am not a coach, that’s Mark’s job.

  “Twenty dollars for the first one,” I answer, giving her a hard look that says “scram, kid” because I really don’t want to deal with this tonight.

  “Really?” she asks, her eyes widen even further, which makes her look like her face is about thirty percent eyes.

  “Yeah. I was just gonna close up, but I can give you a quick lesson now if you like?”

  “Uh, I…” She trails off as she s
earches the pockets of her hoodie and comes up with six dollars and some change. Her face is tinged pink with embarrassment. I study her as I motion toward the ring.

  “I’ll give you a discount, but just this once,” I say sternly.

  The kids always get a kick out of being in the ring. “I…we can just do it here,” she says, motioning toward the open space by the door. I shrug and grab some equipment. “I can help or clean or something. You know, to make up the difference.” She motions to the mop and cleaning spray sitting in the corner of the gym.

  I cock my head to one side as I study her once more. I’ll give it to the kid, she’s braver than you’d expect. I consider her offer. Our cleaning lady, Janet, is on vacation this week, so I’ve been doing it after I lock up at night.

  “Fine,” I say to her.

  I spend the next hour showing her the basics. I’m mildly impressed that her punch is stronger than I would anticipate for her size. She asks specifically about blocking.

  “We can work on blocking another time,” I say, glancing at the wall clock. “It’s getting late.”

  Her eyes glaze over a bit. “Please,” she whispers. I don’t have much in the way of heartstrings left, but what little I do have get tugged by this vulnerable young lady.

  “Fine,” I huff. I show her a few before pointing to the mop.

  “Mop the floor in this area and spray the equipment with the spray next to it,” I instruct her. “I need to close up in the back.”

  She nods. “Thank you…” She trails off because we haven’t exchanged names.

  “Mav,” I say to her.

  “Thank you, Mav. I’m Cam.”

  “Well, get to it, Cam,” I say as I turn and walk toward my office.

  I can hear her humming to herself as she cleans. I ignore the fact that she seems happy even though everything about her is telling me she shouldn’t be happy.

  I do my best to focus on paperwork as I enter information about new clients on my computer and pay some bills. Thirty minutes later, I head out front to see Cam spraying the leather seat of a weight machine.

  “All done?” I ask.

  “Uh, yeah,” she replies as she glances around, obviously checking out her work.

  “OK, skedaddle then.”

  She puts the spray down and hurries to the door. “Mav?”

  I grunt in response.

  “Thank you,” she says softly as she quickly closes the door behind her. I stand staring at it for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what just occurred. Was this girl a mirage? Did that just happen? I shake my head after a moment and finish locking up before I head home for the night, which means I walk upstairs to the apartment above the gym.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BRIDGET

  “Camden?” I whisper after I change out of my work clothes.

  She stirs and her eyes open slightly. “Whatttt?” she moans.

  “I brought you some food,” I say to her as I hand her the bag of leftovers my manager gave me after my shift ended. It’s not nearly enough, but it’ll have to do. I know Brad didn’t feed her. I can’t remember a time when he ever did.

  She scoots up in the bed and grabs the paper bag, pulling out a container of coleslaw and a few dinner rolls.

  “That’s it?” she whines, but I can’t scold her, she’s hungry and this is probably the first meal she’s had today.

  “Sorry, kiddo, it’s all that was left. It was busy tonight,” I explain to her as I grab a brush and crawl onto the bed to brush her long blonde tresses as she eats the measly amount of food that I was able to bring her. It’s our routine, or at least it’s our current routine since Mom left, and we got stuck with our asshole stepdad, Brad. If we had any other place to go, we’d leave. And if Brad wasn’t getting money from the State to act as our foster parent, he would kick our asses to the curb. But what Brad doesn’t know is that I’ve been saving money. Last month, I got a raise at work. I bought myself a cheap laptop that I keep hidden in my drawer. I’m finally able to pay for the fees not covered under my scholarship at the community college. And now, I have a small nest egg. It’s not enough for us to leave yet, but soon it will be.

  “How was your day?” I ask her.

  She shrugs. “Fine,” she mutters with a mouth full of bread.

  “Fine, fine or just OK?” I prod as I start braiding her hair.

  She shrugs again. “Good, I guess,” she mumbles.

  “What’d you do?” I urge her, wanting details. Cam’s at the stage where she doesn’t talk, or at least I hope it’s a stage and not permanent mental scarring from our living predicament.

  “Just stuff,” she says. “I’m trying to get in shape.”

  “In shape?”

  “Yeah, you know, get stronger,” she adds, her voice muffled again with a mouth full of food.

  “You working out, Bunny Foo?” I ask, using my silly childhood nickname for her.

  She nods.

  “That’s good. Good for you,” I say. I worry about her because it’s winter vacation and she has nowhere to go all day. I know she’ll sometimes hunker down at the library, so she doesn’t get the drunken wrath of Brad. Brad, the guy passed out in the living room surrounded by beer cans. Brad, the guy who slaps us when we don’t do what he wants. Brad, the guy who thinks we are his free slave labor. I cringe at the thought of Brad.

  “How was work?” Cam asks.

  It’s my turn to shrug. “OK, busy,” I say. I watch her finish the rolls. I can see right through Cam. She’s not telling me something, and we don’t keep secrets from each other.

  She turns to me after she crumples up the bag and puts it in the front pocket of my backpack, so I can throw it out tomorrow at work. It’s our routine, so Brad doesn’t see it.

  “I’m going to protect us, Bridge,” she says, looking up at me with giant blue eyes.

  “You don’t have to protect us, Cam. I’ll get us out of here, soon. I promise,” I say to her as I pull her in to hug her. I snuggle us down on the bed we share, and pull the covers over us, reaching for the light.

  I lie awake for hours after Cam falls asleep. We have to get out of here and soon. I see how Brad looks at us. I’m almost twenty now. He doesn’t get anything from the State anymore for me. I think the only reason he lets me stay here is to take care of Cam and because I give him money from my job. Luckily, I’m never home, but Cam…I need to find somewhere else for us, and it can’t wait. There’s no knight in shining armor coming to rescue us.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MAVERICK

  I duck, and George misses me.

  “Damn, you’re quick,” he mutters as I bounce to his left.

  We’d been sparring for the past thirty minutes. George had been my sparring partner for the last few months. He was a professional boxer and did his training here when he was home. He has been trying to get me back into it.

  We take a water break, and I hear George laugh. “You getting into female boxing, then?”

  “What?” I ask as I squeeze the water bottle and down the water. My gaze follows his, my arm lowering as I see the girl from the night before standing in the doorway. She nervously steps toward the mop.

  “What are you doing?” I ask her.

  “Cleaning,” she says, her head held high with determination.

  “Uh, George, let’s call it a day,” I say to him as I lean forward on the ropes so Mark can take off my gloves before I climb down and walk straight over to her. She’s already got the mop in her hand and is turning away from me. I go to grab her arm, and she flinches before steadying herself and casting her gaze downward. Shit. I can see a bruise slightly hidden under the arm of her t-shirt. This isn’t a bully. I should have fucking seen it last night. This is abuse.

  I take a deep breath. “What’s your name, again?” I ask her.

  “Camden, Cam,” she mutters as she continues staring at the floor.

  I grab a stool from behind me and sit down
on it, so I’m slightly lower than her head. I know I’m a big guy. And now that I suspect Camden’s problem, I know that me being a big man is likely intimidating and slightly scary for her. Because I was once intimidated and scared of men, too.

  “Camden, are you cleaning because you want another lesson?” I ask her, leaning forward, so she’s looking down at my face.

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  I smile at her. “OK, but cleaning happens at the end of the day. And it’s early,” I look up at the clock on the wall. It’s only ten in the morning.

  “Shouldn’t you be at school?” I ask her in a harsh tone.

  She shakes her head vigorously. “Winter break,” she says softly.

  “Ahhh, right.”

  She glances up and looks around, as though searching for something that will keep her here. Her eye catches the bookshelf I have by some chairs in the front. It has some brochures and some books about boxing and fitness, but it also has a shelf that I call the “take one and leave one” shelf. My patrons aren’t all brawn.

  “Do you like to read?” I ask her.

  She nods. “Yes, very much,” she responds, biting her bottom lip.

  “Well, I have some things to take care of right now, but you can wait over there. Feel free to borrow a book.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I reply. She grins at me, and it’s so genuine, so unexpected, that a little piece of my frozen heart melts.

  She puts the mop down and nearly sprints over to the bookshelf. I watch her sit cross-legged in front of the books, pulling them out, one by one, and reading the back.

  Mark walks over to me. “Who’s your new disciple?”

  I shrug. “Some neighborhood kid. Came in last night wanting lessons.”

  “You gonna teach her?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

  I glare at him. “Yes, I’m gonna teach her.”