MMA Fighter’s Obsession Read online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Tags Authors:
Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28384 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)

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MMA Fighter's Obsession

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Flora Ferrari

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He’s never lost a fight and now this forty-two year old alpha male is set to go out with a bang on Fight Island in the Caribbean. I’m meant to be giving him an interview, but it’s just so hard to focus, with the way he’s looking at me. I think I’ve made the possessive older man angry at first.
But is there something more going on? And how the heck am I even letting myself think like this when Liam is also my dad’s best friend? I had a crush on him once, tall and steel-haired and muscular. But there’s no way he wants an inexperienced eighteen-year-old girl like me, is there?
I dream about him claiming me like the primal savage he is. I’m just a wannabe writer trying to decide what to do with my life, but this millionaire, confident cage fighter knows exactly what he wants and exactly how to take it.
But this silver fox might create a rift in my family. He and my dad grew up together and I just know he’s going to go berserk when he learns about the irrepressible passion and heat between us.
Are we destined to crash and burn? Can a naive younger woman really be with an accomplished, savage older man? Will I ever fulfill my dreams of being a writer?
And just what the hell is Dad going to say when he learns what happened with his best friend in the sultry sun of the Caribbean?
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Flora Ferrari

Chapter One


I stand at the window of the private jet and look down on the glistening Caribbean Sea, the water shining for miles and miles around. I shift my gaze to the island in the center of it all, just about making out the bespoke buildings constructed by Juggernaut Fighting Championship earlier in the year especially for this event, the biggest one they’ve ever held.

It’s the organization’s ten-year anniversary and my last fight. I hold a record of forty-one wins and zero losses, and there’s something poetic about the idea of going out with forty-two wins, the same number as my age.

“Incredible,” Caesar Dempsey, my couch, mutters from beside me. The short, grizzled-looking man’s lips twitch into a smile, and he turns to me with light shimmering in his pale green eyes. “Do you remember how small this organization was when we started fighting with them?”

“I do,” I mutter.

“You were a decent fighter then, Liam, but now you’re goddamn unstoppable. There’s never been a fighter with your record, not in MMA. In boxing, perhaps, but in mixed martial arts, so much more can go wrong.”

I roll my eyes, smirking. “You’re getting sentimental in your old age, Coach.”

He grins. “Maybe. I’m just proud of you. An undefeated career. A sportswear business. Enough money that you can settle down, find a lady, start a family …”

I wander to the plush leather chair of the private jet and drop down, feeling the material sink under my immense weight. I’m currently two hundred and seventy pounds, but after cutting water this evening for weigh-ins tomorrow morning, I’ll be two hundred and sixty of pure, lean muscle, my body like a hulking bear ready to do vicious, violent things.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I say. “We’ve still got to get through this Markus motherfucker.”

Coach nods as the seriousness of his task fills his expression. He strolls to the bar and rests his elbow against it, musing silently. Behind his eyes, I can see our game plan repeating as he mentally scours it for holes, imperfections, anything that might blot my legacy and bring me my first loss.

Through the other door, I can hear my training partners and other coaches talking loudly, their excitement fueling the cabin as the pilot politely asks us all to take our seats and strap ourselves in.

We’ve arrived at Fight Island, the nickname we’ve given to the Caribbean paradise where JFC has decided to host their ten-year blowout.

The main event consists of yours truly, the most dominant heavyweight in the history of the sport, against Markus “The Answer” Kowalski. He’s a twenty-two year old supposed wild man on a ten-fight winning streak, having ended his last nine fights in gruesome knockout.

He’s earned his title shot against me, but his hopes are going to break and shatter, like busted bone when he steps into the cage with me, when he looks across and the realization that he’s been locked in with a beast thunders through him.

“How are you feeling?” Caesar asks, as we both strap ourselves in.

“Good,” I tell him. “Loose. Focused.”

“Are you sure you want to do the media this afternoon?” he asks. “You’re the heavyweight champion of the world, Liam. This organization needs you a hell of a lot more than you need them. They know how much money you make with your other businesses, too. There’s no need to put yourself through that crap.”

“I know,” I mutter. “But I promised an old friend I’d do an exclusive one-on-one interview.”

“Annabelle Young?” Caesar asks. “She’s your best friend’s wife, correct?”

“Yep,” I say, nodding. “I was the one who got her involved in the business, actually. She wanted a change of career a couple of years back. She’s finally been allowed into the big leagues, and I promised Seb – Sebastian, her husband, my old friend – that I’d help her out.”

“You’re too damn humble,” Caesar jokes as the jet begins its descent, my stomach doing a somersault as the earth rushes up to meet us. “You’ve never forgotten where you came from, Liam.”

“Jesus, old man,” I say. “Next you’ll be singing me a damn song. I know this is our last fight together, but rein it in, eh?”

I smirk at him to let him know I’m joking. He flips me the bird and then sits back, a smile touching his lips as the wheels bash into the concrete of the runway.

I let my mind drift to the fight, mentally placing myself inside the cage, hearing the roar of the crowd as their desire for extreme violence rises into the air like a noxious gas. These are the most expensive tickets JFC has ever sold, and I know the crowd is going to want visceral value for their money.

I prepare to make myself go primal, to let out the hungry beast inside my chest, the one I keep locked in a cage inside myself until I’m in the cage. And then I let it free, and my opponent – no matter how well-prepared they think they are – is left to wither and panic under the weight of my furious attack.