Free Senn (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel Book 5) by Lane Hart

biologically related,” I tease.
    She laughs before grabbing her own nacho chip and dipping it in salsa. “You know what I mean. So distract me with gossip. Tell me about Linc’s wedding. Was his bride hideous in a burgundy dress or something equally revolting?”
    That gets a smile out of me. “Nowhere near hideous,” I admit. “Claire wore a Princess Zelda dress.”
    “No shit!” Whitney giggles.
    “It was beautiful. Everything was. And Linc seemed ridiculously happy.”
    “Oh yeah?” she asks. “That sucks.”
    “I’m happy for him,” I tell her. “But I’m not sure it’s gonna last.”
    Of course I feel a tad guilty for what I plan to do and the problems it may cause, but I’m just trying to do what’s best for the baby. A little girl deserves to have a mother and a father.
     

Chapter Eight
    Senn
    The gym’s front door opens and in walks Luke, the cocky bastard, with a gym bag over his shoulder. I hate him because Abby lets him stick around. In fact, over the last week and a half while I haven’t seen her once, he’s probably been with her every damn night. Fucker.
    When he sees me and starts heading in the direction of the boxing ring where Mason and I are taking a breather, I straighten up from the ropes and pound my gloved fists together. There’s nothing I would love more than going a few rounds with him, even though I know it wouldn’t be a fair fight. I outweigh him by at least forty pounds and have years of experience under my belt.
    “Congrats on the big win,” Luke tells Mace with a grin. Reaching up, he offers a fist bump that Mace hits.
    “Thanks.” Mace looks back and forth between me and the blond asshole who’s not even old enough to drink yet. Hell, Mace isn’t either, but he just seems older and more mature than this prick.
    “Run along now,” I tell the boy when he keeps standing there, arms hanging casually over the lowest rope next to Mace. At least he’s smart enough to stay out of my reach. “Aren’t you late for the tween karate class?”
    “Abby has a doctor’s appointment Monday at eleven, Wake OBGYN at 2200 New Bern Avenue, Suite 314,” he quickly rattles off. “You should go.”
    That’s not what I expected to hear come out of his mouth. I assumed he wanted to linger around to tell me how good it feels to fuck her or brag about how many times they’ve screwed each other’s brains out.
    “She doesn’t want me there,” I reply when I recover from the shock.
    “It’s your baby, too,” he says with a shrug.
    “Why do you give a shit?” I ask curiously.
    “Because I care about Abby, and I think you do, too,” he says, and I would almost swear there was tremble in the pussy’s chin before he starts to walk away. “Let’s just say that I have my own selfish reasons, okay?”
    “What the hell was that about?” Mace asks when the underage douchebag is no longer in sight.
    “Not real sure,” I grumble. “All I know is that Abby’s been fucking him.”
    “Oh,” Mace mutters. “Well, in that case, I’m surprised you haven’t given him a beat down yet.”
    “Don’t tell Linc or Jude, but I actually have.” One of Havoc’s rules is that there’s no outside brawling allowed once you step out of the gym doors, especially with teammates. All offenders are immediately kicked out and never allowed back.
    “I hate to break it to you,” Mace says with a gloved hand on my shoulder. “But you’re already head over heels for Abby, bro. Alanis wrote a song all about that shit.” 
    “Who the fuck is Alanis?” I ask, refusing to acknowledge that he may be more right than I care to admit. There’s something gut-wrenchingly wrong with the idea of Abby being with someone else. It’s not reasonable or logical, but I can’t seem to shake the wrongness it causes inside me, bubbling like lava. One of these days I just might erupt. Erupt as in pound my fist into that fucker, Luke’s face over and over again.
    “Alanis Morissette,” Mace answers