Fighting For The Forbidden: Worth The Fight Series Read online

  Fighting For The Forbidden

  Worth The Fight Series

  Frankie Love

  Copyright © 2020 by Frankie Love

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  About

  1. Titus

  2. Tink

  3. Titus

  4. Tink

  5. Titus

  6. Tink

  7. Titus

  8. Tink

  9. Titus

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  More in the WORTH THE FIGHT SERIES!

  My Other Alpha Athlete Romances

  About the Author

  About

  Fighting For The Forbidden

  Her name’s Tink.

  She’s a tiny little thing in a sparkling green dress. She has blonde hair swept up in a bun and brilliant blue eyes.

  She’s goddamn gorgeous.

  But it’s her voice that has me stopping in my tracks.

  Someone’s getting rough with her and even though there will be hell to pay, I raise my fists.

  No one’s going to hurt Tink.

  She’s mine now.

  Just don’t tell her grandpa.

  Because he invented the word overprotective.

  And a mountain man like me, with a past in the ring, isn’t exactly the sort of guy he wants her to end up with.

  But this is one fight I won’t lose.

  Dear Reader,

  Titus is an alpha fighter who’s ready to claim his hot-tempered, sassy-ass girl.

  He’s a brawny beast and she’s a petite virgin whose bark is bigger than her bite.

  Good thing Titus knows how to tame her… for his big bone, she’ll get on her hands and knees and beg.

  It’s a dirty one, darling!

  xo, frankie

  Chapter One

  Titus

  It's a rowdy bar full of locals with thick Boston accents and men with plenty of tattoos playing pool, letting off steam. Everyone's drinking dark beer and eating fish and chips and it's not the kind of place I usually frequent. Hell, in the last six months, there's not any place I frequent.

  I've been sticking to the family cabin up in the Fells Mountain about twenty minutes outside of Boston. I don't have much reason to come into town, but I had to meet with my lawyer today to get some shit squared away, so now here I am looking for a cold beer before I head back to my place in the woods.

  There's a reason I'm up there in the mountains, growing out my beard and shying away from the general population. It turns out the world's a fucked-up place and I don't have much reason to give it my attention. My new plan is to keep my head down and my fists lowered. I spent enough time in the ring to know fighting isn't going to get me anywhere except six feet under the ground.

  Damn, it's been six months since Jordan died. My best friend, my brother for all intents and purposes, but he's gone now. And I’m still here, guilty as fuck because it should have me that died.

  Instead, here I am, breathing, ordering a beer and a basket of fries. The bar is packed, and I realize it's a Friday night, and also the last day of the month, which means it's payday. And I can tell the locals who are here are enjoying it. The bartender named Eddie asks if I'd like another round.

  “I’ll take a whiskey. Neat,” I say. “Make it a double.”

  He nods, pouring me some Maker's Mark. I drink it while looking around the room. Places like this used to be my old stomping grounds, even though I'm not a Boston boy. I'm from middle America, cornfields and shit. Raised to be a farmer, I suppose. But I left that life behind when I made it in the ring, a Pound and Ground champion four times running.

  My agent said I was a fool to walk away. But leaving was the only way I knew how to deal with Jordan's death. Now though, six months in, being in the woods all by my lonesome, I wonder what else I'm gonna do with my life. I thought maybe I'd write a book, tell my damn story, but I realized pretty quickly I was never one to wax poetic, never one to put words on a page.

  The only way I know how to express myself is with my body. Now I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. Sure, I’d love someone warm beside me at night, but I’m picky as fuck. And I’m holding out for a girl who really gets me going. I realize as I look around this crowded bar, where people are laughing, dancing, and clapping each other on the back, that what I miss is company. Someone to talk to, someone to shoot the shit with, someone to remind me of why we’re living at all.

  Fuck, I'm getting emotional as shit while I sit here finishing my whiskey. I suppose I'd be lying if I said I wasn't lonely. I am and being here in this bar has reminded me of that sad fact.

  I order another whiskey, well aware that it's going to be my last. I gotta sober up enough to drive home tonight. My cabin, the one my distant uncle built, is small but sturdy and provides me with what I need. I can go hiking every day and so that's what I'm doing. Trying to find solace with my feet. Moving my body is the only way I know how to get through this world. One foot in front of the other, but damn, each step I take reminds me of how badly I miss the ring, how badly I miss the fight.

  A woman walks into the bar, laughing and joking around with a pack of guys. It's clear she knows her way around this place. Everyone pauses as she walks through the crowd.

  She’s standing with a redheaded guy, laughing, and she shoves him in the chest playfully. He’s a big guy, but he’s not a threat. It’s clear the two are friends.

  She's a little slip of a thing. Probably half my size and even sitting here at the bar, I feel my shoulders broaden, my chest lift as I straighten my spine. She's the kind of girl I could probably tuck under my arm, who would be safe there.

  But by the way she’s talking, laughing, and making jokes, I don't suppose she's the kind of girl who needs any sort of protection. She's a feisty little thing in a green dress, which is barely covering her ass. Lots of sparkling sequins. Her hair is tied into a bun on the top of her head with tendrils of her blonde curls falling out.

  She walks over to the bar, her black jean jacket falling off her shoulder while her curvy butt is bouncing with each step she takes. I can't help but keep my eyes on her, watching her every move. There's something about her that has me focused.

  “I’ll have an apple martini, Eddie,” she says.

  He leans over the counter with a smile on his face, much more friendly than he was with me. “All right, Tink. This one’s on me.”

  She rolls her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you I don't need free drinks?” She pulls out her wallet and hands him a credit card.

  “You this hard on every man who tries to hit on you?” he asks.

  She rolls her eyes. “Yes, my grandpa taught me two things in life.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Eddie asks. “And what are those?”

  “One, how to deliver a tough uppercut and two,” she says, holding up her fingers, “to never trust a man who buys me liquor.”

  “And why is that?” Eddie chuckles.

  “Because if a guy buys me drinks, it means he wants to get in my pants.”

  I smile, unable to help myself. This girl has attitude. Enough sass to get herself in trouble, but enough sense to stay on this side of the law. My cock twitches as I watch her sign the receipt and take her apple martini, which is the same bright green as her dress, and sashay away from the bar back to her friends.

  She lifts her glass. “Cheers, bi
tches!” They toast before taking a drink. The bartender and I make eye contact.

  “That girl doesn't take any trouble from anyone,” he says with a laugh.

  I jut out my chin. “I can see that.” I don’t say more. It's not that I have a problem with making conversation, but small talk, especially about a woman, has never been my style.

  When I see something I want, I go after it and it's none of this bartender’s business. Besides, there are about a hundred reasons why this girl, Tink, is wrong for me. I've made a plan to keep my head down and a girl like her is front and center.

  I finish my drink and toss money on the counter before walking away to take a piss and then leaving for the night. As I'm leaving the bathroom, I see that sparkly green dress down the hallway. Another man is talking to her, his arms have her pinned against the wall.

  She’s struggling; she can't get out. “Get away from me, Marco,” she says.

  “I need it, girl,” he grunts.

  “I told you no. Get away!”

  “You're not going anywhere, Tink. Enough of this cock tease. I want you and I always get what I want.”

  Anger bursts through me like a flame, all pistons fired. She said no. She said stop. She said get away and all I know is I need to step in so she can get out. The man she is up against has a solid build, is about my size, has tats along his forearms, and a scar above his eye. He looks like a dozen other fighters I know. Except this one is manhandling a woman who wants to be left alone.

  She pushes at his chest, but he doesn't move. He only cackles, his voice a little too sinister, a little too low. My blood boils and I charge down the hall.

  “Get the fuck away from her,” I growl, pulling him back by his shoulders. Tink’s eyes widen and I see they are pools of dark blue. The kind of blue a man could drown in, the kind of blue that understands my sorrow. The kind of blue that has seen sadness and could understand mine. “Get the fuck away from her,” I repeat.

  Marco snarls. “Oh, yeah. And what are you going to do about it, Grizzly Adams?” He raises his fist, but I raise mine faster. I punch the motherfucker, square across his jaw. He shakes his head to clear the dancing stars, then raises his fist.

  Okay, fine. This is going to be more than a single punch. He wants this to be a fight. He punches me in my stomach, but my body is pure muscle. A ladder of abs. Zero fat. I am pure, corded strength. And this man’s fist slams against brick.

  I punch him again, square in the jaw. Blood splatters against the wall. I swear I hear the rattle of his teeth. My knuckles are bloody and Marco falters as his knees go out.

  I take hold of Tink’s waist as some guys notice what's going on.

  “Out here,” she says. “Through the back door.” Tink pushes open a door, leading us outside away from Marco's buddies who run over to make sure he's okay.

  But I don't give a shit about them. My only concern is the girl beside me. Tink is running and I'm running with her.

  There's no way in hell I'm letting this girl out of my sight.

  Chapter Two

  Tink

  We run down the back alley of a Boston side street. The beast of a man whose wrist I take hold of has my entire body on fire.

  Yes, it's hot to watch a man fight for you. And yes, there was an adrenaline boost with him stepping out from the darkened hallway and punching Marco squarely in his face. But it's more than just the rush of a stranger defending your honor. It's the way this beast of a man moved.

  He didn't hesitate. He knew how to land a punch on the best fighter at my grandfather's gym. Grandpa Teddy is going to be pissed off when he finds out what Marco has been up to. I know Grandpa has a lot riding on this creep.

  He's supposed to bring home the gold, the bacon, whatever you want to call it. And now with his front teeth missing and my story about him trying to force me into his bed… it’s going to mean Marco no longer has a spot at the gym.

  I hate Marco for that. He didn't just screw me over. He's screwed over Grandpa Teddy, and nobody messes with my grandpa. He's the best man I know. The most honorable, the most generous; a man with a big heart who has looked out for me all my life.

  Now Marco not only disrespected me. He disrespected Teddy.

  But there was another man here tonight. A man who's running by my side at this exact moment who didn't fuck up. In fact, he proved himself more than worthy and I don't even know his name.

  Of course, I saw him at the bar earlier, drinking his whiskey neat. Like a real man. While I ordered my apple martini, I know he was looking at me and I did my best to focus on Eddie because if I looked at this man for more than a moment, my body would betray me.

  I'm a virgin who is longing to be taken by a man, and a man like this is the kind I want to take me. By the looks of him, his sheer size, and I'm not just talking about his shoe size, I have a feeling he would know exactly what to do with me. All of me — head to toe.

  As we run, I moan in agony over wanting a man I don’t know. My voice makes this beast of a man pause.

  “You okay, Tink?” he asks.

  I lick my lips before turning to him and realize we're five blocks from the bar and no one's chasing us. We don't have to keep running. I would keep running though, preferably into his arms, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Making presumptions, which if the tables were turned, I would probably get haughty about.

  “You know my name,” I say, clutching my side. I may work at my grandpa’s gym, but it doesn’t mean I work out.

  He nods, stepping toward me. I don't let go of him though. My fingers don't come close to circling his wrist. “I saw you back in the bar talking to the bartender.”

  “Oh, Eddie?” I ask nonchalantly as if I have no idea what he's talking about.

  “Yeah, I saw you telling him to stick it where the sun don't shine.”

  I can't help but laugh. “Oh, and what'd you think of that? Me telling him not to buy me any drinks. Usually scares guys off.”

  “Then they’re the wrong guys because I thought it was sexy as fuck,” the beast tells me. My eyes widen and I let out a loud laugh.

  “I see. So…” I say, standing on my tiptoes, pointing a finger at his chest. “I don't scare you?”

  “No, darling. You don't scare me.”

  I cross my arms. “Usually, I scare men. It's kind of my specialty.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, I have a feeling that your bark is bigger than your bite.”

  I push my lips out and narrow my eyes, refusing to smile even though I want to. “The problem is, you don't know me that well. And you’re wrong about my bite. I can fight.”

  “Yeah, I heard you say your grandpa taught you a mean uppercut.”

  “He did,” I say it with pride. “But before we can talk about my family, I need to know your name.”

  “I'm Titus,” he tells me, taking my hand and kissing it. My heart flip-flops.

  “Okay, Titus,” I say, looking him up and down, wondering what I need to do to make this conversation last a heck of a lot longer. “Your hand is going to be a mess tomorrow. Let me take you somewhere so I can clean you up.”

  He chuckles. “You want to take me somewhere? A little vague, isn't it? I think I ought to know where some strange woman is planning on dragging me off to.”

  “You don't trust me?” I ask.

  “Why should I?” He gives me a smile that has my panties wet. He has a big thick beard and eyes as blue as mine. I know I'm petite, but he is the exact opposite of me in every way. He's at least three heads taller than me. The man is huge.

  When I say beast, I mean it. He's a brawny mountain man who looks like he hasn't been in public in a long while. His flannel shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, while dark denim jeans and work boots encase his lower half. He has a beanie on his head and tattoos on his forearms. I want to unbutton his shirt to see what other ink covers him and what it says about him. Because if it tells a story, I'd like to read it.

  But of course, I don't start undressing the stranger on t
he street. Even though my every impulse is screaming at me to do that very thing.

  “It's the least I can do,” I manage to say. “Your knuckles are bloody and badly bruised, and I know a place around the corner where I can bandage you up.”

  “You think a Band-Aid will make it all better?” he asks.

  “At least this way you won’t get an infection.” I shake my head. “I still can’t believe what happened tonight. Marco is an asshole. I thought he was a creep, but tonight…” I shake my head. “Honestly, I'm a little rattled by the whole thing. Maybe I shouldn't have been so friendly to him. He trains with my grandpa and I… well, I thought I had reason to trust him.”

  Titus places a hand on my arm. “Don't apologize for being nice to a man. You have every right to act however the fuck you want. It doesn't mean he can demand anything of you. Doesn't mean he can tell you where you belong.”

  My eyes lift and so does my heart. The power of his words hit me hard. A man telling me that I have no reason to apologize for being who I am, for dressing the way I dress, or for talking how I talk — it slays me.

  Titus isn't telling me it's my fault for leading Marco on, and I respect him at that moment more than he could know. Most guys around here would say I'm leading them on because I like short skirts, but the truth is I'm not. I'm just being me.

  I shouldn't have to make myself small in order to feel safe. And Titus seems to understand that. It draws me to him in a way I wasn't expecting. He makes me want to take him back to Grandpa's gym and clean him up and thank him by taking off all of my clothing. And that's not just because I'm twenty-one and horny as hell. It's because this single situation shows me what kind of man Titus is. He's a good one.