Baller: An Interracial MMA Stepbrother Romance Read Online Free PDF Page A

rolled forward.
    Soon they were out of the city streets and rolling onto Interstate 84.
    “Head north,” Jules ordered. “They hold the fights at a warehouse out of town.”
    “Sounds legit,” Hannibal said mockingly.
    “Yeah, well, I don’t know if the shit’s strictly legal ,” Jules growled. “But it’s legit , bro.”
    Hannibal said nothing. He just narrowed his eyes and eased his foot down – rolling the big Bentley up to nearly 90 miles an hour as they roared north.
    It didn’t take them long to get there. Jules directed them off a slip road and the Bentley purred into a rundown industrial part of town, full of darkened warehouses and garages.
    “Cross the railroad tracks,” Jules ordered – which was always a bad indication as far as Hannibal was concerned.
    He was already wondering about how smart the decision to drive Jules to his ‘fight’ was – and how clever he’d been to bring his Bentley. The beautiful grey car was pretty much the only valuable thing he owned at that point in time, and he didn’t like the idea of watching his brother get a beat down, and then coming outside to find his car on blocks.
    But, as it turned out, he needn’t have worried.
    At the end of the road, a warehouse lay behind towering wire fences. Spotlights seared through the darkness, and music thumped through speakers. Parked in the lot were dozens of high end and customized cars – Hummers, Toyota Supras and enough aftermarket neon and chrome to equip a Fast and Furious sequel.
    “See?” Jules saw the look on his brother’s face. “I told you, bro. It’s legit .”
    Hannibal whistled through his teeth. Shit, maybe his brother was right .
    But that didn’t stop an uneasy feeling swimming around in his belly, and that just intensified as the Bentley rolled up to the entrance to this warehouse lot – and two men walked out to block its approach.
    They were big, white guys in cheap suits. One held up his hand, and indicated that Hannibal should stop the car. The other marched to the car window, one hand held behind his back.
    There was probably a gun tucked into the back of his pants. Hannibal had been to enough illegal raves and parties while in Vegas to recognize that trick.
    The towering guard rapped on the window, and Hannibal rolled it down.
    “Yo, yo, it’s okay,” Jules leaned over, and peered at the guard. “I’m here to fight, bro. Just ask Red.”
    The guard nodded, recognizing Hannibal’s brother. Silently, he indicated that Hannibal should drive on – and the other guard stepped out of the way and let the Bentley past.
    “Man, I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” from the back seat, Kristen finally spoke up.
    “Nah, nah,” Jules waved his hand dismissively. “It’s all cool.”
    But Hannibal narrowed his eyes, as he pulled the Bentley to a halt beside a chromed-out Chrysler 300.
    He shared Kristen’s concern.

Chapter Nine
     
    Hannibal
     
    “Well, as I live and breathe,” the accent was grating and southern, and cut through the thumping bass music like a knife. “We’ve got a mother-fucking celebrity in the house.”
    Hannibal, Kristen and Jules had clambered out of the Bentley and headed towards the warehouse – and that’s when a stranger had appeared to block their path.
    He was a burly redheaded guy with a bushy ginger beard and a battered black cowboy hat that looked like it had survived one too many Lynyrd Skynyrd concerts.
    He was flanked on both sides by more of the looming guards, in their cheap black suits. Neither of them looked that tough – big, fat fellas with round bellies – but they looked mean, and they were probably carrying guns.
    Hannibal knew better than to mess with them.
    His brother, apparently, wasn’t so smart.
    “Yo, yo,” Jules loped over to the redheaded stranger and gave him a fist bump. “Let me introduce Red, bro. This is his league.”
    Red returned Jules’ fistbump, and turned to Hannibal. The black fighter loomed over the burly