Baller: An Interracial MMA Stepbrother Romance by Simone Scarlet MMA Read Free Book Online

talkin’ about,” Red laughed. “Looked legit to me.”
    And then, on stage, the white kid was handed his winnings and walked off stage swaggering like a rock star.
    Hannibal didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.
    But Red dismissed his suspicions.
    “Catch these next fights,” he warned. “Then tell me it’s fixed.”
    And Hannibal turned back to the octagon, and watched Red proven right.

Chapter Fourteen
     
    Hannibal
     
    Hannibal had fought in the octagon over a hundred times, and he’d never seen anything like what happened next.
    Compared to the tepid bullshit of the Logrono/Rodriguez fight, the two brawlers who swaggered into the octagon next looked like rabid pit bulls.
    Steven ‘Batshit’ Barthe was a mean-looking African-American sonofabitch with prison tattoos. The other guy just went by the name Sanchez – and he looked like Danny Trejo’s meaner older brother.
    The moment the air horn sounded, and the fight began, Hannibal realized there was nothing fake about it.
    Barthe and Sanchez went at each other prison style .
    It was brutal. Punches, and kicks, and clawing and spitting. Within seconds, blood splattered the dirty canvas of the octagon and by the end of the first round somebody’s tooth was on the floor.
    “Holy shit,” Hannibal breathed. Kristen couldn’t even watch.
    Shit like this was why fight clubs went underground. It was brutal, dehumanizing violence – about as far removed from the realm of Hannibal’s professional MMA league as it was possible to get.
    In Hannibal’s world, fighters entered the octagon to win , not to injure. There were rules in place, and standards people lived up to.
    None of that shit mattered here.
    Sanchez and Barthe were going at each other like rabid animals, and the crowd was going nuts .
    It all came to a head in the third round, in which Barthe threw a punch a little too wide – and Sanchez returned it with a roundhouse kick.
    His shin impacted with Barthe’s nose, and Barthe’s nose exploded like an overripe tomato. Blood splattered the crowd, and the African American fighter went down like a sack of potatoes.
    “Holy shit,” Hannibal repeated.
    “Yeah,” Red grinned, punching him in the arm. “ Yeah . Now you look at me and tell me that shit’s fake.”
    The ref split the fight up, and only after confirming that Barthe was still breathing did they hoist Sanchez’ arm high above his head and declare him the winner.
    “See that guy?” Red slurped his beer. “Convicted felon. Deported three times. The chances of seeing him in a legitimate MMA fight are slim to none.” He drained his can of Miller Lite. “But here? I don’t care about your back story. I only care that you can fight.”
    Hannibal watched as Barthe was lugged off stage. If he survived without a concussion or a detached retina, he’d be surprised. It was the sort of shit professional MMA leagues were created to prevent happening – but down in the dirty world of underground fighting, unscrupulous crooks like Red were all too happy to have his fighters mutilate each other.
    Next up came a different style of fighting all over again – two good-looking girls in sports bras and Lycra shorts. With cornrows and mouthguards, neither of them looked ‘hot’ – but they were certainly more sexed up than the competitive female athletes Hannibal normally shared a billing with.
    “Man, the crowd love catfights,” Red grinned, popping another can of beer. “Watch the reaction.”
    And Hannibal did. The crowd went wild as the two girls started fighting – and the kicking, punching and scratching that followed was enough to make even the Sanchez fight look respectable.
    “I used to be a bouncer,” Red grinned, as the ref called the first round, and the two girls staggered off to have their cuts treated. “I’ll tell you what – ain’t nothin’ meaner than two girls going at each other.”
    And that seemed true enough. As the air horn announced the start of the next