Fighting for Her Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Description

  CHAPTER ONE: Fiona Cassidy

  CHAPTER TWO: Nick Patron

  CHAPTER THREE: Fiona

  CHAPTER FOUR: Nick

  CHAPTER FIVE: Fiona

  CHAPTER SIX: Nick

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Fiona

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Nick

  CHAPTER NINE: Fiona

  CHAPTER TEN: Nick

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: Fiona

  CHAPTER TWELVE: Nick

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Fiona

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Nick

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Fiona

  CHAPTER EPILOG: Fiona

  Thank you

  Mr Perfect O

  Rub Me the Right Way

  Filthy Boss

  Boss Me Please

  More Steamy Romance by Amy Brent

  Check out my book shelf.

  Fighting for Her

  by

  Amy Brent

  Copyright © 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on life experiences and conclusions drawn from research, all names, characters, places and specific instances are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. No actual reference to any real person, living or dead, is intended or inferred.

  Description

  I was an MMA champion until a sucker punch from a sadistic opponent ended my career for good. Turned out the joke was on him. Today I’m the millionaire owner of a company that puts on MMA fights all over the world and he’s a lousy bodyguard, working for the one guy on earth besides him that I truly can’t stand, that piece of crap SOB, Kyle Cassidy.

  I have everything a man could wish for. I’m young, rich, good looking, with the body of an MMA champ and the sexual appetites of a Greek god. Women are drawn to me like moths to a flame, like magnets to steel. I could have a different woman in my bed every night if I wanted. Hell, some nights I have two or three.

  Then I meet her, Fiona, the tall blond who hypnotizes me with her eyes and mesmerizes me with her body. She makes me feel things no other woman has ever made me feel. In bed, she rocks me like a punch to head and leaves me flat of my back begging for more.

  But she has a secret, something she isn’t telling me, and when I discover what that secret is, people are going to get hurt. Some who deserve it, some who do not. Either way, I’m willing to fight for the woman I love, even if it turns my brain and heart to mush.

  CHAPTER ONE: Fiona Cassidy

  As crazy as it sounds, I think Kyle wanted me to catch him screwing Wendy Lowenstein in our bed that night. I mean, there was no way he couldn’t know that I would walk through the door just after ten o’clock. It was as if the whole thing was planned just to see the look of shock and disgust on my face.

  Wendy was the head of Public Relations at Kyle’s company, Cassidy Event Management. She was a short red head with oversized boobs and undersized expectations who would have jumped off a bridge if Kyle had told her to do so. She was pretty in a harsh, overly-made up kind of way, with trusting blue eyes and plump lips that she always seemed to be wetting with her tongue, especially when Kyle was in the room.

  It was sad, really, how pathetically taken she was with my husband. Granted, Kyle was a good-looking man; tall, fit, sandy blond hair, deep tan, bright green eyes, a quick smile that in the old days made me melt into my panties. He looked more like a surfer dude modeling an Armani suit than the CEO of a multimillion dollar event management company. And more often than not, he acted that way.

  He was also flirty, overly so when it came to women he wanted to sleep with. Kyle was a self-proclaimed toucher and hugger. If you were a woman he’d find a reason to touch your arm or put his hand on the small of your back to walk you out. He hugged you when you came into the room and hugged you when you left. Sometimes, the hug lingered a little too long to be anything other than suggestive. He used to hug me like that. I used to enjoy it. Now, not so much. I find his hugs repulsive.

  The most shocking thing about catching him fucking Wendy was that she was not his type. Wendy was short, full-figured, and a little too eager to please. Every woman he had cheated on me with, at least those that I knew about, had been tall and thin, with blonde hair and blue eyes, like me. Perhaps my bruised ego was assuming too much, thinking that I set the stereotype for women Kyle cheated with. Perhaps the fact that he cheated with women who looked like his wife was just a coincidence. Or maybe he never had a type at all. Maybe he had worked his way through tall blondes and was now moving on to chubby redheads.

  I was not surprised in the least that Wendy would fuck my husband. She would have fucked him in the town square at high noon if he wanted her to. She literally drooled when he looked at her. Her self-esteem wouldn’t even have registered on the scale if there was a way of measuring such things. She practically had the words “USE ME” tattooed to her forehead, at least as far as Kyle was concerned. I always felt a little sorry for her, until I found her fucking my husband in my home on my bed.

  It wouldn’t have bothered me so much if he had just bent Wendy over her desk and hammered it to her ample backside, but he brought her into my home, stripped off her clothes and fucked her on my bed. I had stopped caring long ago that Kyle fucked around, it was just a fact of life, but there had to be boundaries if he expected me to stay married to him. And my home was out of bounds.

  Kyle knew that the charity dinner I was attending with his parents, the dinner his company was sponsoring, would end around ten and that I’d come straight home, putting me there by ten-thirty at the latest.

  I should have known something was up when I saw that baboon Danny O’Shea standing outside the front of our apartment building smoking a fat cigar with the doorman. Kyle couldn’t have a bowel movement unless he knew Danny was guarding the door. It wasn’t like Kyle’s life was in any danger. He wasn’t a mobster, for petesake, though sometimes I think he pictured himself as one. His favorite show was The Sopranos. He loved Tony Soprano; the murderous, cheating, heartless, beefy mobster who did whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted without regard to the consequences. The thought of doing anything he wanted without accountability fascinated Kyle.

  “Imagine living life without repercussions,” he once said as we watched the show in bed after a half-hearted round of sex. “How fucking cool would that be?”

  That was his way of letting me know that I was a repercussion. I was the only one he answered to and he didn’t answer to me for much anymore. He didn’t care what I thought, so long as I kept up appearances and didn’t spend too much of the family fortune.

  The biggest difference between Tony Soprano and Kyle Cassidy was that Tony Soprano was a heartless mobster and Kyle was just a heartless prick.

  Danny O, as Kyle called his pet gorilla, didn’t say anything to me when I got out of the limo and waited for the doorman to open the door so I could go inside. Danny was a former MMA fighter whose face carried the marks and scars of a dozen years of having other large men slam their fists into his head. His forehead hung over his eyes like a caveman’s brow. His nose had been broken numerous times. The bridge had a large bump and the fatty tip skewed oddly to the right. His right ear had been beaten to cauliflower and his shaved head was lined with scars that he wore like badges of honor.

  He was big, with broad shoulders and thick
arms that looked like they might rip out the seams of the expensive suits he wore; suits purchased by my husband. The most threatening thing about Danny O’Shea, at least to me, were his eyes. Our eyes met just briefly when I got out of the limo and walked toward the door. It was like staring into the dead eyes of a shark right before it sank its teeth into your soft flesh. I couldn’t stand to be around Danny O’Shea and I knew he wasn’t too fond of me. He looked at me like he would just as soon kill and eat me as give me the time of day, but Kyle loved him like his pet pit bull. Danny would do whatever Kyle told him to do; things Kyle would never have the nerve to do himself.

  Once inside the elevator, I put my keycard in the slot and punched in the keypad numbers so the elevator would take me up to our thirtieth-floor penthouse apartment. I leaned back against the back wall and gave a heavy sigh. I stared at the woman staring back at me in the mirrored doors. I looked tired despite the professionally done makeup and perfectly styled hair. The little black party dress and heels made my toned, tanned legs look amazing, but the shoes were killing my feet and the thong I was wearing had wedged its way uncomfortably up my ass. I couldn’t wait to strip off everything and soak in the tub.

  I assumed Kyle was being alerted by Danny that I was on my way up. Kyle was probably drunk already, parked in front of the big screen watching some fight on TV. I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t show up at the charity event, even though he had sworn to me that he would. Kyle’s promises carried very little weight with me these days. I wasn’t sure why he even bothered lying to me since we both knew how full of shit he was. I guess it was just habit. We were just going through the motions. Sometimes I wondered how long we’d try to keep it up.

  Kyle hated anything that didn’t involve sweaty men beating the shit out of each other or women dancing naked around poles. The charity benefits were his mother Ramona’s pet projects and since Kyle’s father Edward, who owned the company and controlled the purse strings, had to attend, he wanted his only son there to share in the misery. Kyle typically came up with a last-minute excuse why he couldn’t go and I would go alone. That was fine. I actually liked his dad and could tolerate his mother. Plus, it was nice to get away from him, even if it was just for an evening.

  “I’ll meet you there, Fee” he had told me over the phone around eight. He called me Fee because Fiona took too much effort to say, I guess. When I tried to call him back around eight-thirty, his phone went directly to voicemail. His mother was disappointed. His father was furious. He’d give Kyle hell on Monday, not that it would do much good.

  The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to our foyer. The penthouse was huge, nearly six thousand square feet, an homage to gaudy decorating and indulgent spending. Kyle’s mother had insisted on decorating the penthouse as an anniversary gift to us and Kyle refused to let me redecorate because it would hurt his mother’s feelings. I fucking hated the place with its ornate fixtures, antique furniture, and heavy wallpaper and blinds. It looked like something out of an old movie. The day Kyle’s mother died would be the day redecorating began.

  The penthouse was also much more room than two people needed. Even two people who usually avoided each other by retreating to separate ends of the place. My bedroom was my sanctuary while Kyle spent most of his time in the media room watching the TV that covered one entire wall.

  When Kyle bought the place without even consulting me, he said it was because it would be the perfect place to start a family. Lots of room for lots of kids. That was five years ago and it was still just him and me. We tried to get pregnant for a while, then it seemed to become a burden for him, having sex with the intention of procreating rather than just for fun. Then the sex steadily decreased and talk of starting a family fell by the wayside. I was glad we’d never had kids. I wouldn’t wish our relationship on a child. I also couldn’t remember the last time we’d had sex. I would be willing to bet that it hadn’t been very good.

  When I stepped off the elevator the penthouse was quiet. I set my purse and keys on the little table in the foyer and slipped off the high heels that were killing my feet. I picked up the shoes and let them dangle from two fingers as I made my way toward our bedroom.

  The master bedroom was at the end of a long hallway. I was halfway down the hall when I heard the moans coming through the bedroom door, which had been left open a crack. I immediately knew what was going on inside my bedroom. I vaguely recognized Kyle’s wheezes and grunts. They were sounds that I hadn’t heard in a while. I couldn’t believe I’d ever found such sounds sexy.

  I crept to the door and peered in through the crack. Wendy was lying on my bed with her ass hanging off the edge. Her legs were spread wide and her feet were in the air. Her toes were curled into tight balls. Kyle was standing between her thighs, holding her legs up by the ankles as he rammed in and out of her in a jerky motion that made him look like he was riding a mechanical bull.

  I focused on Wendy for some reason. Probably because I’d seen Kyle fuck and it was never that impressive. Her big tits flounced like water balloons on her chest. She clutched at them, digging her fingers into the flesh to hold them steady. She took her pudgy nipples between her thumbs and fingers and stretched them away from her breasts (ouch). She had her eyes closed and was biting her lower lip. She was making little squealing noises each time Kyle thrust into her, like her balloons were losing air through her stretched nipples.

  Kyle was going at it hard and fast, pulling almost all the way out of her skanky pussy, then slamming back in so hard that his balls slapped against her meaty ass and caused her whole body to jump. Kyle’s cock wasn’t long, but it was oddly thick, more like a fat pickle than a penis. I had to give him credit. Back in the day, he made great use of what he had. Apparently, he had not lost his touch because Wendy was wailing like a banshee being set free from Pandora’s box.

  “Fuck… me… fuck… baby…” Wendy moaned, tugging so hard on her nipples it made me wince. Christ, how long would those things stretch?? She barked out the words. “I’m gonna… cum… baby… make… your baby… cum…”

  “Yeah, baby,” Kyle said, panting, wheezing, his narrow hips jerking back and forth. “Cum baby… cum for daddy… gush that sweet pussy juice all over my cock… baby… cum with me…”

  Cum for daddy?

  Gush that sweet pussy juice all over my cock?

  Seriously?

  Dirty talk was a new weapon in Kyle’s arsenal.

  My God, how fucking pathetic.

  Wendy squealed like a stuck pig and arched her back so Kyle’s cock could go deeper into her cunt, which probably had the tightness of a stretched rubber band (wow, too catty?). Kyle leaned his head back and roared, pushing his hips into her as he came. The whole scene would have been comical if it had not been my husband fucking another woman on my bed.

  When it was over, Wendy dropped her legs and collapsed in a trembling heap. She lay there panting like a dog, massaging her poor abused tits.

  When I looked back toward Kyle, he was still standing next to the bed, staring back at me with a greasy smile on his face. His pickle cock had deflated and hung sadly between his legs like a used rubber.

  Without a word, I walked back through the penthouse with my shoes still dangling at my side. I slipped the shoes back on, picked up my purse, got into the elevator, and rode it down to the lobby.

  Danny O was standing at the elevator when the doors parted, like he knew I was on my way down and had orders to stop me. I jumped when I saw him, then shot him a hateful glare, daring him to say anything to me. He narrowed his eyes at me for a second, then silently stepped aside and held out his hand to let me pass. I could feel his cold eyes on me as I walked across the lobby and pushed past the doorman who was holding the door. When I looked back, Danny had gotten into the elevator, undoubtedly heading up to the penthouse to wash off his master’s disgusting cock.

  I emerged onto the sidewalk and stopped for a moment to catch my breath, thankful for the fresh air. The doorman asked if I w
as okay, but I ignored him and walked away. I walked for a couple of blocks until my feet started screaming bloody murder, then decided to hail a cab.

  “Where to?” the driver asked without turning around. He leered at me in the rearview mirror. He was a fat man who smelled like sausage and peppers. His license on the back of the seat said his name was VITO. I wondered if he liked The Sopranos.

  “The Haven Club,” I said.

  He set the meter and pulled away from the curb. I settled into the back seat and pushed out a long breath. I leaned my head back against the rest and closed my eyes. The movie of Kyle standing by my bed grinning at me while Wendy wallowed on our bed played on the back of my eyelids. I rubbed my eyes until the movie went away.

  Kyle had finally done it.

  He had pushed me over the edge.

  There was no going back now.

  Now I needed a stiff drink.

  And maybe a stiff something else.

  CHAPTER TWO: Nick Patron

  I could give you a hundred reasons why I hated Kyle Cassidy, but that would take up too much of your time and mine, so I’ll just give you the main reason.

  Kyle Cassidy is an arrogant prick who goes out of his way to be a thorn in my side; personally, and professionally. Our companies often do business together, albeit reluctantly on my part. My company, Patron Sports Entertainment (PSE), stages mixed martial arts tournaments all over the country. MMA, it’s called. It’s the hottest thing going. Millions of people around the globe tune in to watch MMA bouts on ESPN, and millions more fill huge arenas to see rock hard men (and women) beat the living shit out of each other for prize money, a title, and a gaudy gold belt.