Baller: An Interracial MMA Stepbrother Romance Page 2
She sometimes wondered if he’d ever felt the same for her.
And there was something else to it, too. The fact that Hannibal was black. There was a frisson of the forbidden about Kristen’s attraction to him; and that just made her want it more.
For a few brief weeks, she wondered if she and Hannibal were going to get together – something new and exciting and beautiful out of all the chaos and heartache of her parent’s divorce.
But then everything went to shit.
Kristen’s feelings for Hannibal died he day Hannibal’s mom found Cornell in bed with Susie.
* * *
To this day, Kristen was still amazed she’d never seen the clues – but the affair between Susie and Cornell had apparently continued in secret for weeks, right under the noses of their kids.
And when it had all come out into the open, there was hell to pay.
Hannibal’s mother threw plates and smashed windows. There were calls to the cops – although thankfully no arrests.
She’d left him, of course. Trudy had walked out on Cornell, snapping her fingers as she went – the very epitome of the Angry Black Woman stereotype she bitterly complained about in the classes she taught.
To his credit, Cornell had tried to make things right. When he realized that things with Trudy weren’t going to work out, he at least offered to make an honest woman out of Susie – in the hope that creating a new union would make up for the one their infidelity had destroyed.
And Kristen’s mom had said yes, without even questioning it. She was a lonely divorcee with no friends in a new town. Cornell was like a life jacket to her, and she grabbed at him without even thinking of the consequences.
But there were consequences.
For a start, that’s how Kristen had ended up living in that big, old house in Hartford – the one Hannibal and Jules had grown up in. She went from being treated like their sister to actually being their step-sister.
For a while, Kristen had hoped it would work out – but divorce never works that way. She’d gained a new dad; but the two boys had lost theirs.
And Kristen’s heart ached for them. They were experiencing the same feelings she’d endured when Susie had divorced Kristen’s dad. Only it hit Hannibal and Jules much harder.
Suddenly, the smart kids with the bright futures had everything they knew, loved and relied upon taken away from them. And they reacted accordingly.
Jules got suspended for fighting, and then for smoking. He got caught with weed, and nearly wound up arrested. His grades plummeted and he started acting up in class.
And Hannibal got into a different addiction – the easy money of competitive fighting.
Soon he’d dropped out of Wesleyan to follow his new passion; and that had taken him to the bright lights of Las Vegas, where nobody gave a shit about what his parents had been doing, and nobody expected him to graduate top of his class.
He went there to fight, and his years of training made him a natural. Soon Hannibal caught a break, and matched that opportunity with his skill and ability. Within six months he was an MMA champion, with a made-up new persona full of streetwise quips and a swaggering, gangsta attitude.
And that left Jules all alone back in Hartford, with a bitter, angry mother and a stern, shameful father and everything the poor kid knew and loved in pieces all around him.
Hannibal had left Jules – and Kristen, to be fair – when they both needed him the most.
And she fucking hated him for it.
Chapter Four
Kristen
But hate is a luxury step-siblings don’t have.
Despite the feelings bubbling up inside of her, Kristen knew she had to behave. So she looked out of the window and watched her handsome stepbrother walk up the garden path, and then ring the doorbell.
Downstairs the dogs went crazy, barking and yapping. Kristen rolled her blue eyes in frustration.
Mom and her step-dad were out. She’d have to deal with Hannibal now he’d dragged his sorry ass back home.
Sighing, Kristen headed downstairs, listening to the wood creak underfoot. Popcorn and Buttons, their two Bichon Frisé dogs, scurried underfoot yapping wildly. She gently nudged them aside as she unlocked the front door and swung it open.
There, looming in the doorway, stood Hannibal.
Kristen shivered involuntarily.
Tall, dark and handsome, her swaggering African-American stepbrother was still infuriatingly good-looking.
While these days, she thought he was a piece of shit – he was still a good-looking, sexy, panties-dropping piece of shit.
Hannibal pulled off his dark glasses and looked down at Kristen with disdain.
“Hey, Krissie,” he purred, in that sexy baritone of his. “Jules or Pop at home?”
“Cornell’s out with Mom,” Kristen didn’t invite him in. “They went to Home Depot or something to pick up some plants. And Jules?” She sniffed. “Haven’t seen him in a week. He moved out to an apartment near school. He only ever comes back when he’s hungry, or he needs to do his laundry.”
Hannibal’s broad shoulders visibly slumped.
For a second, the two of them just stood there in silence.
It was infuriating. Kristen desperately wanted him to leave, but she felt obligated to invite her sexy stepbrother in. After all, he’d lived his whole life in this house, and she’d been here less than a year. She’d never feel like this was her home when he was around.
“Look, I don’t know when your dad is going to be back,” Kristen finally relented. “I mean, it could be hours,” she made a silent prayer he’d just come back later, “but if you want to, I suppose you can come in and wait for him.”
And, just as she’d feared, Hannibal nodded and brushed past her.
The dogs barked even more fiercely, dancing around Hannibal’s ankles and snarling. They’d never liked him – not since they’d arrived when Kristen and her mom moved in. Hannibal’s dad used to joke that they were ‘furry little racists’ because of the way they’d bark at him and his two sons.
But if Hannibal was bothered by the dogs, he didn’t look like it. He just walked into the kitchen like he owned the place, and opened up the fridge. He helped himself to a bottle of water.
“Make yourself at home,” Kristen snapped, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.
Hannibal didn’t take the bait. He just sat down at the kitchen table, tore the top off his bottle of water and gulped down two long, slow swallows.
And, as he did so, the handsome black fighter looked Kristen up and down appraisingly – with those predatory brown eyes of his that always made her shiver.
“So, Krissie,” Hannibal purred. “What’s up?”
Chapter Four
Hannibal
Snooty little bitch.
That’s what Hannibal thought, as he lounged in the kitchen table, sipping his water.
There was Kristen, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, like she owned the place.
This was his house. This was where he’d grown up, with Mom and Dad and his little brother, Julius.
All until last year, when his dad had finalized the divorce, and Mom had moved out to that shitty little townhouse she hated.
So Hannibal had his reasons for not liking the unspoken attitude Kristen was giving him.
What made it worse was that she was looking good, too – in a tight white t-shirt and shorts. A little on the plump side, but with acres of legs and arms exposed, all burned a delicious, sun-kissed brown. Her long, dirty blond hair was tumbled down around her shoulders, and her face was fresh and clear without a touch of makeup.
For a moment, they were silent. Then Hannibal reluctantly broke the silence by asking: “So, Krissie. What’s up?”
Krissie stayed standing in the doorway.
“Not a lot,” she said, clearly not interested in a discussion. “Still at school. I’m working down at Chili’s to pay my tuition.”
Hannibal snorted.
Kristen narrowed her eyes.
“So Dad doing okay?” He asked as a follow-up question. “And your moms?”
Hannibal had reverted to saying ‘moms’ in that adopted ‘straight outta Compton’ accent he’d been practicing. He’d been away from home so long, he’d almost forgotten that the public face of ‘Baller’ Alexander – the rough, tough, badass fighter – was incongruent with the clean-cut, teacher’s son reality – the kid who’d gone to private school, and been attending karate school since he was 4 years old.
But the moment the words left his mouth, they sounded wrong. Six months living like a gangster couldn’t erase twenty years growing up in this old, timber house.
The house he was now feeling like a stranger in.
Noticing that Kristen hadn’t replied to his question about their parents, Hannibal followed up: “So where’s Jules at? You said he’d moved out. When did that happen?”
Kristen sniffed.
“A couple of weeks ago. First he got a dorm over at college. He and your Dad were always fighting.” She narrowed her eyes. “And then he blew that place off to move to a shitty apartment in the north of town.”
Hannibal said nothing. The tone of Kristen’s voice was almost like she was blaming him for Jules’ departure.
And from the way she continued talking, maybe that wasn’t so far from the truth.
“You know he’s into all that MMA shit now? Trying to follow in your footsteps?”
Hannibal shuddered.
“Yeah, Moms told me.”
“Well, you do alright with it.”
“I’ve been studying martial arts since I was four,” Hannibal growled. “Jules quit that to do guitar instead. And then he quit guitar to do gymnastics.” He didn’t remember what hobby his brother had adopted following that – but it had been equally short-lived.
A little aggressively, Hannibal growled: “I only do alright because I’ve been studying martial arts my whole life. If Jules thinks he can just turn up, strap on some gloves and start fighting – he’s gonna get himself hurt. Or worse.”
“Yeah, well,” Kristen crossed her arms, “we told him all that, and he didn’t listen.” She sniffed. “Seems to be a family trait with you boys.”
Hannibal pursed his lips.
“Sounds like I need to go and talk some sense into him.”
“Well, good luck with that. We’ve tried.”
Hannibal looked up at the curvy white girl.
“Well, no offense,” the fighter growled, “but why the hell is he gonna listen to you?”
Kristen said nothing.
Hannibal snorted, and checked the time on his G-Shock.
“Well, if Pops ain’t here, maybe I’ll go and try and find him.” He looked up at Kristen. “Where’s he at, Krissie?”
“He’s got some shithole apartment in the Woodland Village,” she sniffed. That was north of the I-84, and a pretty dangerous part of town. “You gonna roll that big, beautiful Bentley up there? I’m sure they’ll love that.”
Hannibal growled.
Hartford was a pretty weird city. Some parts were beautiful and safe, like this neighborhood where he’d grown up. But just a few miles away were some of the most dangerous ghettos in America; and even Hannibal’s bad-boy, wannabe gangster façade wouldn’t protect him there.
And the Bentley? A $200,000 customized luxury car? It would be sitting on cinderblocks within the hour.
“Okay,” Hannibal looked up at Kristen. “You still driving that beat-up Camry? Can I take that?”
“Can you drive stick?”
Hannibal’s cheeks burned.
Kristen snorted.
“Let me get changed. I’ll take you.”
Chapter Five
Kristen
Fifteen minutes later, Kristen was guiding her ’98 Camry through the streets of northern Hartford – rolling past closed up stores and run down hours.
In the passenger seat – looking undignified with his bowed head scraping the headliner – was Hannibal.
“Shit,” the big man growled, peering out of the window as they rolled past a burned out car. “This place makes Detroit look like Disneyland.”
“It’s not that bad,” Kristen shrugged. “In fact, if you really want all your fans to think you’re gangster, maybe you should hang out here.”
Hannibal’s head swiveled as he watched a group of guys in wife beaters, playing dice outside a liquor store.
“Yeah,” he growled. “Maybe not.”
Kristen snorted, with a wry smirk.
“Don’t give me that attitude,” Hannibal side-eyed her. “I’m not faking it. It’s part of a character I play.” He turned and looked at her. “When I got my first fight, my manager, Delwood, suggested I get a little edgier. He said the fans wouldn’t like me if I looked like one of the Huxtables.”
“So this,” Kristen looked Hannibal up and down – his tattoos, and streetwear. “That’s a costume?” She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that more WWE than MMA?”
Hannibal’s cheeks burned.
“Well, that might be true,” Kristen continued, “but Jules doesn’t get that. He’s really trying to live the ghetto life.” And as the Camry rolled into the streets of the Woodland Village housing estate, Hannibal started realizing just how true that was.
Chapter Six
Hannibal
There was an engine block in the overgrown yard. The air conditioner hung out of the window frame. The door had gang symbols spray-painted across it.
Gingerly, Hannibal weaved his way through the trash, up the pathway towards the bottom apartment of this run-down housing estate.
The doorbell didn’t work. He rapped his knuckles on the door loudly.
Kristen was following Hannibal closely – a little more closely than she’d have wanted to. Arms wrapped tightly around her torso, she kept close to her towering stepbrother, and looked around the run down estate nervously.
Bang, bang, bang! Hannibal rapped his knuckles on the door again.
“Yo, fuck!” A muffled cry from within. “I’m fucking coming, yo.” And then the door rattled, and Hannibal heard deadbolts and locks being opened, and finally the door swung inward, and a cloud of pungent marijuana smoke drifted out.
Standing in the doorway in boxer shorts and a wife-beater was Hannibal’s younger brother, Julius.
“Baller!” Jule’s red-rimmed eyes opened wide, and he flung open his arms to embrace his brother. “What are you doin’ here, blood?” He embraced Hannibal tightly. “Yo, dawg. This is tight seein’ you.”
Hannibal peeled his brother off him. He stank of weed and body odor.
“Hey, Jules,” Hannibal peered distastefully in through the door. A ratty couch, empty pizza boxes and an X-Box 360 comprised all of the furniture. “What’s cracking?”
“C’mon in,” Jules ushered them into the smoky apartment. His eyes flashed when he saw Kristen hiding behind his brother. “And Krissie! Yo!” He made a move to go and kiss her, but she backed off. “Come in, girl.”
Reluctantly, Hannibal and Kristen stepped into the dingy apartment.
It was a wreck. The white walls were stained nicotine yellow. The blinds over the windows were greasy and dark. It looked like a crack den, only without the luxury of any crack.
“Whattya doing here, brother?” Jules swaggered over to the corner, and picked up a half-finished bottle of Red Stripe from the floor. He swigged it. “You come to watch me fight tonight?”
Hannibal wasn’t listening. He was peering around the apartment, skin crawling. For all his bad-boy, gangster wannabe schtick, being this close to the real thing grossed him out. Their mom had always been fastidious about cleaning, so how Jules could even live in this pigsty was beyond him.
Kristen heard, though, and asked: “You’re fighting tonight?”
“Yeah, girl,” Jules swigged his beer. “I figured you’d
come to watch.” He swaggered over and punched his muscular brother in the arm. “Bro, it’ll be tight to have you in the crowd. The Alexander brothers, yo! MMA’s first family.”
Hannibal finally tuned in at that point.
He turned to his brother and looked down at him.
“What are you jabbering about?”
“MMA’s first family, bro,” Jules grinned. “Like the president, or some shit. I thought of it myself. When I move up into the real leagues, we’ll take the championship family style, yo.”
Hannibal narrowed his eyes.
“Move up into the real leagues?” He shook his head. “Shit, Jules. You’ve gotta start at the beginning.”
“Beginning.”
“Of the story. What’s this about you fighting?”
“You didn’t hear?”
“Moms told me you’d got mixed up in some MMA shit and I needed to come and talk some sense into you – but I don’t even know where to start.”
Hannibal looked his skinny brother up and down.
“What’s this nonsense about you fighting all about?”
Jules looked like Hannibal had slapped him in the face.
“It’s not nonsense, yo,” he snapped. Pounding his chest, Jules explained: “A couple of weeks ago I got talking with a guy who runs a fight circuit down here. Told me I should try out – that I’d get a fight easy, ‘cos I’m brothers with you.”
He grinned a little woozily.
“So I try it, right? And I kick the guy’s ass.” He gestured towards the TV in the corner – gleaming and shiny, compared to everything else in the apartment. “Bought that with the purse money, yo.”
Then he snorted.
“Next fight’s tonight. And this time I’m gonna make bank.”
Hannibal stared down at his little brother.
This was all surreal. Little skinny Jules – smart, and sassy, and always into a million things at once – wasn’t fight club material. Who’d let him enter an octagon?