Cutter: A Fight or Flight Novel Read online

  Cutter is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2016 by Ashley Suzanne

  Excerpt from Raven by Ashley Suzanne copyright © 2015 by Ashley Suzanne

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  ebook ISBN 9781101965023

  Cover design: Diane Luger

  Cover photograph: okssi68/Can Stock Photo

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Raven

  Prologue

  Cutter

  PRESENT

  Across the table from me a reporter sits, gathering her thoughts before she drills me with the questions I’m sure she’ll ask. They’re the same questions they all ask. When did I start fighting?…How do I feel tonight’s match went?…Who am I looking forward to getting in the cage with?…Do any other fighters intimidate me?…It’s all redundant and I wish, for the love of everything holy, that just one reporter would come to me and ask a question worth answering. I’d even settle for one that you couldn’t Google the answer to.

  “Are you ready to get started, Mr. Greer?” the woman asks, clicking open her pen and placing the tip of it near her pad of paper. Christ, it’s going to take her forever to write down the answers. Why can’t she use a recorder like everyone else?

  “Fire when ready.” With each interview I learn a little more about the process, and I’ve effectively mastered the art of distraction. I give the reporter my most charming grin and wave her on.

  “There’s not much mention of you before you started your MMA career. Where were you before you wound up in the gym?” Fire she does. Instead of catching her off guard with my grin, I’m the one stuttering my response.

  “W-what do you mean?”

  “Precisely what I asked, Mr. Greer. Before Lexington, where’d you come from?”

  My thoughts drift back to a place they haven’t been for some time now. Suddenly, visions of my stepdad and my mom wrestling over the last drop of whiskey, busted lips and black eyes along with a little bit of peeing blood for a few days after the most recent ass-beating, the verbal abuse that had the most lasting effect, and finally being left by the people who were supposed to love me more than anything.

  “Ohio,” I stoically respond. “I’m originally from a little town outside Columbus.”

  “Were you always interested in fighting?” She doesn’t waste a beat, moving on to her next question.

  “I didn’t really think about it much until I was seventeen.”

  Seventeen. Even though this question is more along the lines of what I’m used to answering, I can’t stop my train of thought. Fighting was the absolute last thing I wanted. It just happened to become my way of life.

  “Hmmm, everything I could find on you said you didn’t enter your first formal match until you were twenty-one. Were you training all that time?”

  “You could say that,” I mutter, my heart starting to race.

  Being homeless at any age is terrifying, but at seventeen, it’s so much worse. Fighting was all I could do. I fought for every meal, every place to sleep, and any money I came across. Most of it was mental, but the others who lived in the campsites—they were the real animals. They’d kill you for your backpack if they thought you had something valuable inside. Fighting was how I survived. It’s how I made it out. How I found that good people in this world still existed.

  “If you could offer your younger self a piece of advice, what would you say?” What the hell is it with this woman and her off-the-wall questions? This is what I get for wishing for something different. I make a mental note to never do that again. Hell, I might talk to my manager about finding someone else to handle the media for me.

  “To my younger self? I’d have to say…‘Don’t worry, it gets a lot better.’ ” Now, if I could really go back in time and hear those words, I might not have gone through everything I did. But then again, there are no wrong choices, only forks in the road. One might take you longer, but eventually, you’ll reach the final destination you’re destined for.

  “Thanks so much for the interview, Mr. Greer. It’s been a pleasure,” she says when she finishes jotting down my answers to the few routine questions she was able to get in. As she rises, I follow suit, stick out my hand for a shake, and hold the door open while she walks out of the locker room into the crowd gathering in the hallway.

  Before the groupies start to line the hall, I decide to wait until I’m back at the hotel to change and shower. Texting my driver to be ready in five, I gather up my belongings, shrug into a sweatshirt, pull the hood over my head, and rush out of the locker room. As expected, my driver’s waiting right outside the back door and I waste no time hurling myself in the backseat as I see a flock of fans coming right toward me.

  “Where to, Mr. Greer? Hotel?”

  “Yes, please,” I answer Gavin, my driver. Technically, he’s supposed to be my bodyguard. Apparently, fighting outside of the cage can land me in some hot water. He’s there to handle issues so I don’t get in trouble, but he also drives me where I need to go.

  —

  I quickly shower, rinsing off the grime from the night, and throw on a pair of sweatpants. I plug my phone into the charger and flick on the TV. I debate purchasing a movie, but something about watching reruns of Scrubs reminds me of Josette and eases my spirits after an intense day. Things with her could have gone so differently. We could have really been something. I’ve met a lot of women over the years, had plenty of them throw themselves at me, and, sure, I’ve partaken in some fun, but not a single one can hold a candle to the first and only girl I ever loved. It could have all been so different.

  Peeking around the corner of the building, I watch the man get in his truck. Craning my neck to look at the clock tower in the median, I see it’s the same time he left yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. All three nights he didn’t return and nobody else came. Feeling a little glimmer of hope spring to life in the pit of my stomach, I wait a few more minutes before hoisting myself up on the rusty dumpster underneath a window. As the plastic lid of the dumpster dents with my weight, I put my hands on the wooden window frame and push upward as hard but delicately as I can. Squeaking and almost bucking me each step of the way, the window finally creaks open, inch by inch, until there’s just enough room for me to fit through. I rub my palms together, brace them on the cement sill, and take a deep breath. With all the upper body strength I
can muster, I lift my lower half and inch off the dumpster, letting my sneakers claw against the brick face. The moment my belly hits the sill, I breathe again, a sigh of relief this time, and then carefully maneuver myself inside the building, making sure to close the window behind me.

  My first stop once inside is to the restroom to relieve myself and wash up a little. I make sure the door is shut behind me before I dare switch on the light, as I don’t want to alert anyone to an intruder and have the cops show up asking questions. It’s bad enough I’m twenty years old, with no high school education and homeless…add in that I have a criminal record, and I’ll never get through this rough patch.

  I finish my business, turn off the light, open the door, and walk straight into the barrel of a gun being held by the man I saw leave earlier.

  “Stop right where you are, asshole,” he growls. I’ve already stopped, but I instinctively put my hands in the air to show I’m not a threat.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” I whisper, wishing my voice would come out stronger.

  “You’re fucking right you’re leaving. In the back of a cop car.”

  “Sir, please. I’ll go. I didn’t take anything or break anything. Please don’t have me arrested. I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again. Please, just don’t call the cops.”

  The man flicks on a light, never lowering the gun pointed at my head, and studies me before he speaks again. “Why are you here if you’re not stealing shit?” he asks, furrowing his brows in confusion.

  “I just needed a place to sleep, sir. I was going to leave before anyone knew I was here. That’s all, I swear.”

  “You’re nothing but a kid. Give me your address, I’ll take you home and tell your parents what you’re up to. They’re probably worried sick.” He finally lowers the gun and tucks it into the holster on his hip.

  “Sir, I’m twenty years old. I ran away three years ago. My family didn’t miss me then, I’m sure they don’t miss me now. I’m also not sure where my mom lives.”

  “Come on with me.” The man walks past me and toward the back door. Unsure why, I follow instead of running. He leads me to a staircase just outside and up to the top. When he opens the door, a fully furnished apartment awaits me. “This was my place. You can stay here for the night. We’ll figure out something more permanent in the morning.”

  “Why are you helping me?” I stupidly ask. I should just take his kindness and roll with it, but after three years of being out there with the worst of the worst, it’s hard to take people at face value, especially strangers.

  “I’ve got a feeling about you, kid. And I like to help. My wife says it’s my best and worst quality.” He gives me a brief tour of the place, shows me where some clean clothes are stashed and even a few groceries, mostly TV dinners in the freezer, and leaves me on my own.

  “I’ve got a feeling about you, too,” I mutter to myself as I look around, finally able to feel some sort of peace after leaving home. This could be the fresh start I set out to find. This could be my good luck.

  Pulling myself from the dreams of my past, I curse the reporter who started digging and opened a box I had buried in the back of my mind. There’s only one thing for me to do.

  Grabbing my phone from the charger, I dial the man who helped me get my life together. The man I owe all of this to.

  “Speak of the devil,” he says.

  “I’m shocked you’re awake,” I joke, grinning as soon as he answers.

  “Greg’s been sick, kept us up most of last night, so we slept all day. Now we can’t sleep again. Vicious cycle, kid. Saw the fight, though. Looks like I trained you well.”

  “You did have great material to work with.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t say all that,” Garrett laughs, and in the background, Rian yells to give her the phone.

  “Thinking about coming home for a bit before my next fight. The apartment still available? Might be a nice place to lie low for a couple days.”

  “Same way you left it, kid. Come on home.”

  “See ya tomorrow.”

  It’s been at least two years since I’ve been back to Lexington. I got picked up to fight professionally at the perfect time. Shit with Josette didn’t end too well and it was easier to stay away. I wanted to give her the time she needed to work through whatever demon she was wrestling and figured it would be best if she didn’t have to stare at my face the whole visit. Who am I kidding? There’s no way I could get over us not being an us anymore if I had to be around her all day. I’ve missed Garrett and Rian, though. They’ve been out to a few of my fights, stayed at the hotel with me, but it’s not the same as being back in my apartment. A trip home could do me some good, especially with all the thoughts of my past swirling around in my head. A break sounds fantastic right about now.

  Before I change into my street clothes, I send a quick text to my manager: Get me on the first flight to Lexington. One way. I’ll let you know when I’m coming back.

  Chapter 1

  Cutter

  FOUR YEARS EARLIER

  If you’d told me two weeks ago that I’d have my own apartment, a job, and some pretty decent people in my life, I would have called you a liar. The best thing that’s happened to me since leaving home was breaking into the gym. Since then, Garrett’s put me up in his apartment upstairs until I get my shit together. Not only that, but he gave me a job at the gym to pay my way so I’m not freeloading. The work’s not glamorous—mostly picking up after the fighters he trains and taking out the trash—but I feel pretty damn good about myself when I go upstairs knowing that I’m contributing.

  Garrett helped me get a new driver’s license, since mine would expire today, on my twenty-first birthday. Only problem is…a few of the guys found out today’s my birthday and are insisting on taking me out for a celebration. If they knew the life I ran from—a drunk mom, an abusive stepdad, and a childhood filled with broken promises and broken bones—they wouldn’t push the issue. I thought about canceling on them, but I’ve proven I can run from my past, although the memories might be a little harder. I just have to remind myself that I’m not my mom and I’m allowed to celebrate all that I’ve accomplished and my birthday without blacking out.

  “If you guys need a ride tonight, you better call me. I’d rather be pissed about getting out of bed at two in the morning than getting a phone call to identify bodies,” Rian, Garrett’s wife, harps at me and a couple of the guys, James and Randy, as we climb into the truck to take off for the night.

  “I promise.” I run across the parking lot to give Rian a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. Over the weeks, she’s been more of a mother to me than my own was my entire life. If my mom were a real mom, this is something I would have done to her, and judging by Rian’s smile and wink, it’s exactly what she was expecting.

  After a quick drive, we pull up at a bar close to campus, the blue-and-white flags of U.K. flying high and promoted in almost every window. I was on the campus once, talking to an admissions advisor because of Garrett’s insistence. I could totally see myself being a regular college guy like the ones walking up and down the street. I’ve always wanted to be a normal kid, but due to my home situation, that wasn’t ever an option.

  I follow James and Randy through the doors of a bar aptly named The Wildcat, proudly show my ID, and make my way to the bartender. I order a beer, unsure what the options are since drinking has never been a pastime of mine. The woman behind the bar, dressed in tiny black shorts and a knockoff University of Kentucky jersey, passes me a longneck in exchange for a few dollars.

  Glancing around, I notice James and Randy have already found themselves a pair of girls to occupy their time. Two girls dressed in less clothing than the bartender are standing around a tall table, with drinks in their hands, laughing with my friends. Then I notice her.

  She’s with the gigglers, but she looks as out of place as I am. She’s a short girl, maybe a head and a half shorter than me, wearing a simple tank top and a pair of jeans tha
t hug her curves in a sexy-without-trying way. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m walking in her direction; the pull to her is undeniable. Maneuvering myself around James, Randy, and the gigglers, I scoot next to her and her eyes meet mine almost instantly.

  “Hey,” she says with a genuine smile.

  “Hey.” It’s a simple response, but I feel like it says more than anything else would.

  “Josette.” She sticks out her hand for a shake and the moment my palm touches hers, the spark surprises me.

  “Cutter.”

  “Is that your real name? Or a nickname?” Over the music, her laugh fills my ears.

  I pull out my driver’s license and pass it to her, shrugging.

  “Well, Cutter James Greer, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine.” I don’t know if it’s the hops in the beer or the embarrassment I feel saying something so ridiculous, but I can feel my face getting hotter. This isn’t going so well.

  “Do you go to U.K.?” she asks while stirring her drink around with the little straw inside the glass.

  “No, but I’m thinking about it.”

  “How do you know these two jackasses then? I’ve not seen you out with them before.”

  “I work with them at the gym.”

  “Oh, you’re a fighter?” Her eyes look genuinely interested.

  “Yep,” I lie, embarrassed to tell her I’m the glorified janitor. “How do you know James and Randy?”

  “Nichelle and Karinna are always with those two. And by the looks of it, they’ll end up at our house tonight.” Josette rolls her eyes, then stares daggers at my friends.

  “Are they dating or something?”

  “Or something,” she waves her hand dismissively. “I’m pretty sure Niche and Kar are in some kind of experimental phase, screwing their way through all the morons they run across. I’m hoping it passes quickly. No offense—you seem like a nice guy—but your friends are dumb as dirt.”