Bain

  AN UNDEFEATED STREAK NOVEL

  BAIN

  WRITTEN BY

  @2015 A.L. Wood (Andrea Wood)

  Published in 2015. All rights reserved. This book is copyright. Apart from the fair purpose of the study, research, or review as permitted by the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced without written permission.

  BAIN: AN UNDEFEATED STREAK NOVEL is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to the actual, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental, and not intended by the author.

  This book is licensed for your purposeful enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it and buy your copy.

  Photo Credit to Golden Czermak of Furious Fotog

  Cover Design to Rachel Olsen of No Sweat Graphics

  Editing credit to Casey Harvell

  For the ones flying through the winds, as free as you dreamt.

  How I envy you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Prologue

  An inkling, that’s how it always starts. Something that can’t be seen—only felt—hardens into knots in your gut. It catches you off guard, unaware as to why you feel that way. You start to question everything around you. You wonder what’s going to go off like a bomb because this feeling always comes back to something bad. I couldn’t have predicted that the something bad was going to be horrific…no one could have known.

  Yes, the possibilities are endless as to what could cause the feeling of my stomach sinking, the nausea that threatens to exhale what I ate earlier for lunch. I don’t expect a phone call as I stand in line at airport security to change my life forever—to cause irreversible damage.

  “Lawson, what’s up?”

  “You need to meet me at your place, immediately.” I hear Lawson say over the line in a haunting tone.

  “You know I can’t, I’m headed to Vegas. Remember, the meeting you sat up?”

  “Bain, that can wait—this cant. Please, I can’t explain over the phone.”

  Something about Lawson’s tone tells me I shouldn’t argue, that he needs me to just shut my mouth and do as he asks. He wouldn’t have called me without reason.

  Even while running out of the airport and hailing a cab with my baggage in hand, I don’t recognize the sickening twist of my stomach to be a sign of what’s about to come.

  Tossing money to the cab driver, I haul ass into Sara’s and my apartment. The door opens as I approach it and Lawson’s face greeting me. His eyes are drawn down, looking away from me.

  It’s bad.

  I know it is.

  “Tell me.”

  His eyes meet mine and he breaks. Fucking folds right in half like his weight is too much to hold up underneath the stress of whatever it is he has to tell me.

  My gut. The feeling.

  This is why. This moment right here—it’s going to define my life.

  “There’s been an accident…we need to get to hospital. I’m driving us.”

  Sara.

  Samantha.

  My world. My life. The reason I’m doing what I do with such devotion.

  “What?” I pause and my thoughts leave me. I stumble back, falling on my ass. On my front porch. I just…this can’t be real.

  This isn’t real.

  It’s just a horrible nightmare that I’m bound to wake up from at any minute.

  No.

  “Bain, get in my truck. Now.” Lawson says with renewed strength.

  I stare at him, one million questions on the tip of my tongue.

  I couldn’t tell you about the drive from the apartment to the hospital. My last memory was falling on my ass. My second is falling to my knees in the emergency room foyer.

  No one has to tell me that someone has died.

  I can read it on every single one of their faces.

  Griffin, Jade, Mom, Dad. They all look to me with empathy—maybe even pity. They’re as lost as I am.

  I haven’t shed a tear since I was twelve because men don’t cry. Okay, I shed a few when Samantha was born—but no one saw so it didn’t count.

  Today though, I shed more than just a tear. I drown in them. My breath is stolen, my throat constricts and my heart shatters into fragments.

  When I manage to find my voice, I ask the question I don’t want the answer to. I brace myself for the impact the loss is about to attack me with.

  “Who?” I whisper into the air.

  It’s Lawson who tells me.

  The only one with enough strength to carry us both through this nightmare.

  “Sara.”

  I scream at the world.

  I break at the suffering, sobbing.

  I shake in pain.

  This is too much for one person to handle.

  Chapter One

  Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I gaze behind me to see that the strange man is still following me. I’ve been running for at least an hour by now and he’s been keeping pace with me. Never running ahead, but staying only a few feet behind me. Normally I would’ve jogged back home by now since my cardio workout is complete for the day.

  This stranger has effectively fucked with my morning, though. I don’t carry my phone with me while I run for fear of losing it somehow so calling the police is out of the question…even then, if I did what would I say? “Sorry officer, but I think this guy who’s jogging behind me might be following me.” They’d probably laugh my concern off. I’ve attempted to lose him, and failed. The only other possible solution would be to confront him.

  Luckily, I know how to defend myself—although he is quite large in stature. I finish jogging to the end of the street that meets a main intersection so that the confrontation is public, just in case this crazy turns psycho. I come to a sudden halt when I reach the end the curb and turn around.

  To discover stalker has come to a sudden stop as well.

  He holds his hand out, “Lawson.”

  “Listen stalker—I don’t care what your name is, but you need to stop following me. I can defend myself and I will hurt you. I’m not some weak female that you can take advantage of so move along.” I say sternly.

  He laughs, hysterically.

  Like clutching his stomach, eyes watering laugh.

  This aggravates me. “You don’t seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. You’ve been following me for an hour at the very least, tailing right behind me. Clearly, he’s following me—stalking me and trailing behind. Either way it’s fucking creepy and I’m done with it. So please stop following me.” I turn to the intersection to see that the walk sign is lit up for me to cross. I jog along the crosswalk and leave him to catch his breath.

  Minutes later I hear a deep voice booming from behind me, “Lady, stop. I wasn’t following you. Lady!”

  Fuck me! It’s him, again. “You’re following me, again!” I pick up my pace in an effort to escape him once again.

  “I am following you, but not for the reasons you think. If you’d just stop and let me
explain you’ll know I don’t mean to harm you. Christ—you’re a woman, I wouldn’t lay a hand on a woman. I promise.” He yells to me.

  I can keep running away from him, in the end only leading him to my miniscule studio apartment so then he’d know where I live…or I can stop for a moment to hear what the stalker has to say, kick him in the balls to teach him a lesson then run home. Kicking him in that region will certainly unman him for more than a second, enough time for me to escape effectively.

  “You have three minutes, then I’m gone.” I say impatiently.

  “Let’s try this again. I’m not stalking you to be a creep for starters. My name is Lawson Mallory. I own LAWS Fitness a few miles from here. I jog daily and see you out here frequently doing the same. I only followed you today to approach you because I’ve been interested in taking a female mixed martial artist on and I’d like to see if you’d be curious as to trying out.”

  “What like an audition or something? Not interested.” I reply.

  “Wait, wait, hear me out before you say no. You’re the first person I’ve approached—the first female to have made an impression with your daily self-discipline. You have to notice that I’m going out on a limb here by even asking you—by ‘stalking’ you as you said. You mentioned that you could defend yourself and that’s a good start. I don’t know what other abilities you possess and I’m still here offering to see if you have the potential to become a fighter. I manage a male mixed martial artist at the moment and his career is taking off like a fucking rocket.”

  “So what, I come into your gym, fight someone and then you tell me if I have the potential or not? That still sounds like an audition to me.” I’m not about to audition for this creep.

  “I can already see the potential. It’s up to you if the potential becomes an ability. I can offer you the coaching and the tools—a gym even, but at the end of the day it would be up to you if you succeed. I could train you and get certain doors opened for you—I could get you on a roster to fight someone, but you’d have to earn it. That’s not up to me, but you. We can start out small. You can come to my gym, train with me and my people—and then we could go from there.”

  “Is this real life? Who just approaches someone like this? Lawson Mallory you are one strange person.” I glance down to the dirty cement that makes up the sidewalk we stand upon. I look to my feet that are currently hidden by thrift store Nikes that I paid ten dollars for last week. Just so I can continue jogging as my last pair of second hand sneakers had seen its last days. I look to his feet and see that they’re currently encased in top of the line Nikes, the tongue of his sneakers bare his name—custom made I assume. Lawson deserves a chance for the sneakers alone.

  Sneakers.

  That’s exactly how I judge someone. The first impression is made when I see what they put on their feet. It’s an odd trait, I’d admit to that. In my twenty three years of inhabiting earth, it’s always done me right. It’s saved me lots of heartache, failure and disappointment.

  I can’t walk away from someone wearing a pair of Nikes.

  “I’ll do it. See where this goes, I guess. Names Rumer.”

  “You won’t regret this, Rumer.” His lips curve up into a smile.

  Chapter Two

  “Hey, am I meeting you at the apartment or the gym tonight? I need to know so I can call Jade and let her know what’s up.”

  “I have to swing by the apartment to change before we go to the fight so just meet me there.”

  “Okay, I’m getting Sammie from school now. I’ll make something quick for dinner and get her all set with Jade. Before you ask, yes I’ll save you something to eat,” I say before disconnecting the call with Lawson.

  I have a fight tonight that will bank fifty thousand when I win—money that I can put into a savings account for Samantha for her future. Lawson is my coach and manager in one. A fucking miracle worker is what he is. He and I come from nothing and nowhere, doors had to be pried open by us to get this kind of fortune.

  I’ve worked hard for it.

  He’s worked hard for it.

  Two years of daily training, two years of studying legends, two years of working my ass off at a full time job to get this far. Only recently was I able to walk away from my job. I worked construction Monday through Friday during Samantha’s school hours. Jade would come over and sit Samantha early in the morning so I could get my gym time in then she’d stop by after bed time so I could hit my cardio by jogging. On the weekends that I didn’t have to fight I’d bring Samantha with me to the gym, letting her color in Law’s office. Instead of jogging for cardio I’d tow her behind me while I pedaled a bike.

  Now that I’m getting offers on a constant basis to fight Jade has become my permanent babysitter, helping with the daily duties of parenting a child. Thank God for her, though. Sammie needs a maternal influence—a positive one like Jade at that.

  “Daddy, do you have to work tonight?” Samantha asks as she takes hold of my hand and we walk to the car.

  She doesn’t know that I beat the fuck out of guys for a living. A five year old child isn’t mature enough to handle something as terrifying as that. I know she’s seen the bruises…not that I haven’t tried to hide them.

  She’s inquisitive by nature, something she inherited from her mother. I’m go with the flow of the current. Wherever I land, I know I’ll do so on my feet.

  “Yeah, I have to work tonight,” Her eyes lose their glow. “You get to spend the night with Jade and maybe she’ll bake cookies with you, if you behave.” The light comes back in her eyes once again, something I’ll never stop trying to keep there.

  Innocence.

  Happiness.

  Stability.

  That’s all that I want for my girl.

  Chapter Three

  Beyond my first impression of someone being labeled by their sneaker choice, instantly I place people into a category. Now, there isn’t any rules on how one should categorize people, I just made up my own. Sneakers are just the beginning. I have a keen sense of knowing. There are always tell signs that jump out to me—whether it be the squinting of eyes, a head jerk, the nervous shifting of feet—I see them all.

  Category one is made up of liars. I have no room for them in my life. I don’t care about the reasoning behind said lies, a lie is a lie and to me honesty is all that matters. I don’t give second chances. I don’t have time for those. If anything, my experience has taught me that life’s too short. If you’re in the category of a liar, you won’t be seeing me again.

  Category two is made up of snobbery egotistical beings, those flaws speak for themselves and as such I don’t have time to waste on people like that.

  Over time I’ve narrowed my categories down to three—the third being the only good one. Category three makes up people that I’ll give a second thought to, feel them out so to speak. Doesn’t mean they can’t be thrown out and placed in category one at any time, it just means that maybe I can waste some time to discover if they’re worth my category three.

  Three makes up people whom are good natured and kind. Honest beings whom actually care about mankind. Let’s just say that in my fucked up jaded view on the world, it’s very hard to stay in this category and I have yet to meet anyone who rightly belongs there. Every person that I placed there has only caused me regret.

  Lawson is the first person I haven’t placed in a category. So far he belongs nowhere. There is nothing to categorize him. He’s a mystery that I’ve yet to unravel. Usually I wouldn’t waste my time, but I’m human after all and like every other human, I’m out for myself. If he can offer me something that will essentially better my life in anyway (be it small or big) I can’t turn away.

  Because as it turns out as of right now my life is pretty fucking shitty.

  Not only do I categorize people when I first meet them, I’m also a realist and I have rules. Rules on how to survive. These rules have helped me manage twenty-four years of being alive.

  Rule number one: Don�
�t depend on anyone other than yourself. There’s nothing forcing someone to be in your life. No one has to be there for you—family or not. Essentially, everyone’s out for themselves. As shaded as that may sound, it’s the truth. I’ve been around every bend, narrow and wide. There are billions of people on this planet and though I’ve only met a handful of humans that’s the one quality we all share. It doesn’t have to be a bad quality—although it is with most. It’s something I managed to figure out early on in life…I count it as a lesson learned.

  Rule number two: Don’t fall in love. Ever. I’ve been able to steer clear of this possibility easily. I choose men that are only aesthetically pleasing to the eye. I don’t care whom they are, what they do and personal facts don’t matter. I don’t ask questions, they don’t ask me questions. It’s worked for me just fine over the last few years. I know my type, what I’d believe my fantasy partner would be and I stay far away from that. I’ve seen too much hurt come from love. I’d rather not experience love if all it comes with is hurt. And I do just fine.

  And finally, rule number three: Don’t get close. This is a mistake I’ve done in the past and it didn’t end well. When you allow someone to get close to you—a friend maybe—they ask questions and I’m a person that’s all about honesty. I can’t necessarily allow someone to be my friend if I’m point blank ignoring their questions. At some point they’ll give up. They’ll walk away like everyone else. When I finally did take that chance to answer questions, it just blew up in my face and completely ruined the blossoming friendship I’d been building. Staying closed-off is a much better option.

  Lawson’s already attempting to break some of my rules. “Where are you from?” He asks, while showing me around his gym.

  “Here and there,” I brush him off. “So tell me, how am I going to audition?”

  Lawson’s face tinges pink, “It’s not an audition. You’re here, right? That tells me that you want something more. If you didn’t, I don’t think you would’ve showed up here.”