The Yoga Master Fighter: Yoga Master Fighter, #1

By Rich Cole

Hugh Benton is a slacker. He doesn't aspire to much. He just wants to coast and do some yoga, but that all changes when he performs the mystical and forbidden 85th pose of yoga. Suddenly, Hugh, the slacker becomes Hugh the hunted. Hunted by cults, secret societies, the police, and even the U.S. Government wants what is in Hugh's head. Yoga Master Fighter is an action-adventure with thrills and spills with a dash of romance.

Yoga Master Fighter is an action-adventure romance with gritty real drama.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seagull Editions
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223193852

Book preview

The Yoga Master Fighter

© 2021 Seagull Editions s.r.l.

www.seagulleditions.com

Chapter 1

It was as though God was stabbing him in the brain with an ice pick. Hugh rolled over in his bed. His eye cracked open as he stared at the blue numbers on the digital clock where the offending sound bleating from its black plastic frame. With razor-sharp precision, his hand nailed the snooze hard and rolled back to his original position before his brain even registered the action as he blacked out again. An hour later he eyed the clock again. His body pushed itself up on instinct, Fuck! he blasted from his bed his eyes wide as he stumbled around the room grabbing items of clothing: black and white striped yoga pants, black toe shoes, a Namaste t-shirt, and topped with a hot pink Baja hoodie, One of a kind. he said to himself in the mirror as he admired the outfit.

Outside he hopped onto his bicycle and sped down the road. Hollywood, CA was bustling as he wove through traffic. He rumbled over pitted asphalt and the struts of the bike responding haphazardly as he crossed in front of a red Mustang. The bumper missed him by inches as he shunted between vehicles with his head low, the Clash bellowing in his ear, London calling to the zombies of death! Quit holding out and draw another breath! His eyes forward as his head was bopping in time with the music. A semi lurched into the intersection in front of him. He shifted his weight further to the left and felt the sound of the horn in his abdomen as he skinnied by the front of the truck.

The smell of smog, the furious pulse of the traffic were all like this great vibe for Hugh. Rusted Root, Cruel Sun started on his headphones, Shit, I haven't heard this in forever. He said to himself as he narrowly missed a homeless man's overburdened shopping cart. The vibe of the song was hitting him strong as a crowd of people crossed the street, Thank you Spotify. he said much louder then he had intended as he phased through the line like a ghost. He barely had to look at them as he cut across the line with razor-sharp precision, not slowing or altering his vibe-y jam band mood.

The dreaded job interview had been a nemesis of Hugh's for a long time, but his ideology was pretty clear on the subject, as he had told a pretty black girl he was flirting with the previous evening I'm selling me, and I should be as me as possible for every interview I go out for, that way I know it's a solid fit. It sounded really profound last night and it was exactly the excuse he told himself when he woke up late and grabbed what was pretty close to his signature outfit. He dug the stripey pants and the hot pink Baja hoodie was probably his all-time favorite article of clothing. The t-shirt just felt, kind of, on the nose for him. It was pretty obvious he was into yoga, he had a man bun and wore toe shoes for god's sake, why get so redundant. Chet Faker's version of No Diggity came on as he entered the gold-framed office building. This mix is all over the place yo. He nodded his approval and was quietly hoping that something like Portishead, or maybe Peaches came up next (definitely a female vocalist.). Hugh headed to the elevators and quickly realized he didn't need the elevator. There was a hazy recollection that the woman who called yesterday told him the interview was on the ground floor in room 117b towards the back of the campus. Still, great song list, Hugh thought to himself.

* * *

Leanne Denning was up with the sun. She did lay in bed for a while feeling the rays of the sun warm her skin. She loved days like this, no schedule, no deadlines, no meetings, everything felt right. Normally anxiety had a tendency to creep in even in the most serene moments, but not today. She slowly lifted herself from her bed in a long slow stretch. A glance at the mirror informed her that her long blonde hair was a mess, but she didn't care, Not today Satan. she said to herself as she groaned with the stretch. Today was for relaxation and enjoyment. Today was for tea and yoga, and maybe a vodka soda somewhere in Santa Monica after the sun went down. Best of all, she recalled as warm wakeful blood flooded her brain, her boyfriend Derek was coming back from Ibiza. She hadn't seen him in almost a month. 

Leanne padded across her kitchen and put the kettle on. Derek was due to touchdown in three hours and she planned to be there to surprise him in something saucy and sexy. He had said he'd call a cab and save her the trouble with L.A, traffic. She loved his humility, but she had other plans. She was going to surprise him. 

In her daydream of events, they would embrace longingly in the terminal with his bags scattered around them. She would crawl up his body and make out with his face. He would obviously respond with equal or greater enthusiasm. The image shifted in her mind to an empty desert road kissing passionately while jet after jet ascended behind them. The jet's exhaust trails colored the sky in cotton candy pink and baby blue plumes. After they made love on the heated asphalt they would go to some hip club where everyone would greet them. She would demurely drink her vodka tonic while he sipped on his whiskey neat. People would speak to them and enjoy their company all the while they would be eye-fucking each other knowing that the sex on the road was just an hors d'oeuvre for the earth-shattering sex they would have when they crossed the threshold of their shared apartment. Somehow Matthew McConaughey showed up with bongos, Alright, alright, alright, he said. She giggled at the mental image and then shivered with excitement at her plan for the day.

She and Derek had a minor argument before he left for his assignment. He was a photographer and had been pressuring her about getting a real job. I have a real job. She stated with gusto, My blog is fire and I have nearly 6 thousand followers on Instagram. She stomped her foot in protest when he simply shook his head.

Free yoga pants and makeup don't pay the rent baby. he condescended.

I have a Patreon and sponsors! She yelled. She did, but the sponsors didn't do much more than pay for travel expenses for events where she did get some pay as a spokesperson and her Patreon had a healthy amount of subscribers, but it was still a meager amount compared to what her boyfriend brought in for his photography. She was establishing her brand she told herself. She sighed, no relationship was perfect, but she sometimes felt like their relationship was transactional. That was the first sign of the usual anxiety, sure, he often tabulated their expenditures and if her total was more then his he would gently suggest she pay this time out. Still, he was just being frugal, she told herself. She shook the anxiety away with a toss of her hair

He walked out with his travel suitcase and while they did apologize via text they only actually spoke twice since he left. One was through Facetime, the other was an actual phone call where they engaged in some dirty phone sex. That was more fun then she expected and left her primed for his return. She was enjoying his Snapchat and his Instagram feed and pined for the time when they could go to Ibiza together, or anywhere. Derek hadn't let her accompany him yet, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of you babe. was all he ever said about it, but she was hoping he'd pop the question soon. The farthest she had gotten from California was Costa Rica, which was great and paid for by one of her sponsors. She let her thoughts drift to a future where she and Derek were intrepid travelers across the world. She could do something culturally appropriate for her army of followers in the countries they visited while he worked and hobnobbed with the models and the moguls. At night they would schmooze the wealthy. Together they would be a kind of stealth power couple, like Brangelina for social media. 

She found herself on the couch, The dregs of her Oolong tea formed a puddle at the bottom of her mug. Her brain took notice that the tea leaves settled into a form resembling a mushroom cloud. She turned her attention back to her phone and found she had landed on a picture of a dreadlocked tattooed girl with an amazing body almost dressed in an over-sized Frankenstein assemblage of Punk Band T-shirts which the model wore like a mini-dress. Her name was Thessalia Suicide according to her bio. Leanne admired the girl, they were close to the same age, but the confidence in her face as she let her ragged top slip tantalizingly close to revealing a nipple was what caught her imagination. She looked free. She looked like the kind of girl that would smoke weed outside of a dive bar and look great doing it. Leanne couldn't do that. Sure she smoked weed, who in Cali didn't? But she would stick out like a sore thumb and somebody would probably call her Becky or something. She admired the Suicide girl because she represented a freedom Leanne didn't feel she had. The tattoo on Thessalia’s  neck resembled a stained glass mosaic of a rose, the center of the blossom on her gorgeous larynx, Damn! she said out loud, If I had more tattoos I could be a Suicide Girl. She nodded with certainty as the words escaped her lips. What's stopping me? Her brain naturally jumped to her Instagram feed. Most were workout videos displaying proper technique, some were videos of her offering sage advice for self-actualization and the rest were photos of her enjoying her life. Tattoos and dreadlocks seemed completely at odds with the conservative image she had been cultivating. Leanne looked closer to a Fox anchor then a Suicide Girl, so she banished the thought from her head and found herself alone in a big empty sunlit room. She let out a loud sigh and could almost feel the emptiness around her. The warm sun and the relaxation were great, but she suddenly felt antsy and needed to move so she put herself together, took a long luxurious shower that did wonders in banishing the slow creeping anxiety about her personal expectations, relationship, and her brand image that seemed to occupy her thoughts over the last few hours. As she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower she decided a trip to the gym was in order, she was planning on yoga anyway so the stretch would be that much sweeter with a taut well-worked body.

She was loving her day off. 

* * *

Hugh Benton! The receptionist called out.

Hugh perked, pulled the headphones from his head and waved, Namaste. He stood and strode to her. His long hair bounced as he moved to shake the woman's hand.

She didn't take his hand, You were scheduled fifteen minutes ago. she stated matter-of-factly as she eyed him from toe to crown, Follow me. She said with a practiced lack of inflection.

The receptionist was called Pam, that much Hugh discerned from the coworker that had passed her in the hall, Pam, he said with an excited rise in his voice like he was introducing the next performer at a comedy showcase. She responded with a much more subdued, Behave Tad. the monotone she greeted