Smash:A Stepbrother MMA Romance

By: B. B. Hamel



It was the opportunity of a lifetime. Skad was legendary in the fighting community, and he took only three students every year for an intensive training course. Every one of his students had gone on to do special things, and so I knew that I could catapult my career into stardom if I could get his training.

I was lucky. He must have watched the tape I sent him, because I was invited out only a few weeks after I sent it. I wasn’t sure what he saw in me, but I figured I was about to find out.

And it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. The word “intensive” didn’t do it justice. We lived, breathed, ate, fucked, and shit fighting. Learning Skad’s techniques, training under his tutelage, was the air we breathed and the food we ate. There were no cellphones, no Internet, no television, nothing.

There was only violence and hard work.

And I fucking thrived on it.

I was a hard man before I met Skad. I grew up in the octagon, training from a young age. I used to get in street fights just to test my skills. I was undefeated and had a reputation for violent aggression, a reputation I loved and built lovingly for myself.

But I was nothing compared to the man Skad made me. Before I was all untapped potential. I had so much more inside me but couldn’t get to it. Skad refined my edges, made me faster and more dangerous. Skad changed me from a talented fighter to a deadly killer.

All it cost me was a single year of my life.

I thought I was ready to come back to civilization. Compared to the deep silence of the jungle, though, the airport was like a chaotic mess of sights and sounds and noises.

There were people everywhere. I hadn’t seen more than a handful of people my entire time out in the jungle, and suddenly I was shoved into a crowd of total strangers.

But it was my time, and I knew it. As soon as Skad said I was ready, I got back on that bus and got my ass to civilization.

There was only so much time I could spend in the jungle before I completely lost my fucking mind.

Still, the crowds of cow-eyed people annoyed the shit out of me as I made my way across the terminal and toward baggage claim. I was meeting my mother, or at least my mother’s driver, out front. I was running a little late already, which was of course going to be blamed on me and not on the airline.

My mother was a hard ass. We got along if you considered not talking often as getting along. When we did talk, it was mainly about her work since she basically ignored my fighting career.

Fine by me. I didn’t need or particularly want my mother’s approval.

Once I found the driver, I gave him directions to my storage unit just outside the city. He gave me a look like it was the last thing he wanted to do, but I slipped him a twenty and hopped into the back.

Apparently, that was enough. We were on the road, heading toward my destination.

The plan was simple. I had a bunch of shit kept at the storage unit, the most important of which was my motorcycle. I’d drop my bag off there and take the bike over to my mother’s new husband’s place, pay my respects, and then be done with that.

The sooner I got it over with, the sooner I could find a cheap room and get back in the fighting game.

We made it to the unit with no problem, and I had the driver drop me off. He clearly had instructions to drag me to Cindy himself, but I wasn’t some kid he could just order around. I gave him a nod and walked into the storage facility, leaving him stuck outside.

The unit was right where I left it. I unlocked the door and found everything exactly as I wanted it to be.

I smiled to myself and took a deep breath. It was finally feeling like home.

I didn’t have much time to waste, though. I got changed and looked over my bike, satisfied that it was in pretty good condition despite having sat around for the better part of a year.

I hopped on and kicked it started, moving slowly out toward the exit. The bike made a deep hum as I rode it through traffic. I was running a little late, but that couldn’t be helped. I passed a few slow cars in the right lane and wove my way over to the left, dodging in and out, loving the feeling of the speed and the power between my legs. The only things better were fighting and fucking.

Finally, I pulled up outside an expensive-looking brownstone, the sort of thing only millionaires could afford in San Francisco. That made sense, since I couldn’t imagine Cindy marrying anyone with less than a few million in the bank. She wasn’t a gold digger, not at all. She had her own money. Rather, she was attracted to power, and money brought power, at least according to people like her.

I knew better than that. Real power came from training your body, pushing it to its limits. Real power was mastering yourself and your opponents.

As I cut the bike’s engine and climbed off, three people emerged out onto the stoop. Instantly I recognized my mother and her stern expression. She was clearly pissed off that I was late and had ditched the car. My new stepfather looked pretty typical, like your classic old and white business CEO, not too fit but not flabby either. He had a warm smile on his face.

And finally, my gaze fell on her.

I had a brief moment of full-on shock as my eyes ran up and down her body.

It was her, my paradise bride. Alexa, the girl I hadn’t stopped dreaming about ever since I went to train in the jungle.

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