Fight

by London Casey

  The only way to save my life is to save hers…

  FIGHT

  Karolyn is the author of the bestselling rockstar romance series BROTHERS OF ROCK. Under the pen name London Casey, she has written the chart topping motorcycle romance series BACK DOWN DEVIL MC.

  Don’t miss any releases from Karolyn by signing up for her mailing list here (also includes mailing list ONLY contest, offers, ARC books, etc.):

  www.tinyurl.com/KJSignup

  Stay social with Karolyn here…

  www.KarolynWrites.com

  On Twitter @KarolynWrites

  https://www.facebook.com/KarolynJamesAuthor

  Stock up on Karolyn James books on Amazon:

  http://amzn.to/1N2DEXp

  *

  Ana is the author of the bestselling motorcycle romance serial series, DEVIL CALL MC. Other projects have included BY HIS COMMAND, FULL MOON MERCY, & RAW RIVER WILD.

  Don’t miss out on new releases excerpts cover reveals and some great contests … sign up for the official Ana W. Fawkes newsletter RIGHT NOW: http://eepurl.com/ADM0j

  Stock up on Ana Fawkes books on Amazon:

  http://amzn.to/1EyGl1z

  FIGHT

  The only way to save my life is to save hers.

  The one thing that was never supposed to happen did – I lost a fight. There’s a bullet waiting for me as punishment, but in the meantime, I’m sent to protect Winter from someone who wants to kill her.

  Our destination for the grave isn’t the only thing we have in common. The attraction is instant. But she’s grieving and I’m broken. She comes with more than natural curves and enough beauty to tame a fighter’s wild heart.

  She comes with secrets.

  I need to focus on keeping her alive and nothing else. But then I start asking questions… and the truth changes us both forever.

  They told me to protect her. I didn’t plan on falling for her.

  1.

  (Tripp)

  A thick fog of sweat lingered low like a dirty blanket as I walked the hallway, hood up, head down, keeping to my personal code to never look at the circle before I was inside it. The smell of the sweat was pretty nasty, but it was better than shit. And that was the damn truth. Sometimes guys shit themselves when they fought. Sometimes it happened before the fight, during the fight, or after the fight. Rightfully, I guess, if you weren’t properly prepared.

  This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t some fucking game either.

  There were powerful men behind the fights, putting up money, scheduling murders, using these nights to conduct their business. Think of it this way - you know how a normal guy would call up his buddy to go to a baseball game or a hockey game? Or maybe some salesman looking to close a deal will grab box seats, right? That’s what this was for all these pieces of shit in the crowd. Crooked people everywhere. That was another reason not to look. Because if you did, the shock would get to you. Beyond the layers of people and their drunken screams for violence, there were people there who you’d never think would be. Cops, doctors, lawyers, teachers, politicians.

  To me, it didn’t matter. What mattered were two things.

  First, that I win the goddamn fight.

  Two, I get paid for winning the goddamn fight.

  As I walked through the opening to the circle, the crowd got louder. Sometimes I wished I had music to walk to. You know, like on television. Some kind of wild mix between boxing, MMA, or even professional wrestling. I used to have a wicked elbow drop as a kid. Diving from the top of the couch onto a pile of stuffed animals. That’s when life was so easy. So beautiful. So perfect.

  One thing I’ve learned about beautiful and perfect is that it’s all bullshit. It’s a cloak to try and hide behind, but it eventually gets ripped away. That’s just the hard truth of life. Sometimes you took a beating and sometimes you had to give a beating. The best thing I ever learned was to give a beating. Because if you did it right, you walked away. You became a hero to someone, even if it was for a few seconds.

  I threw my hood off and opened my arms. I squeezed my eyes shut and put my head back. The underground fighting stuff was intense. We were in an old warehouse that had three levels of railings for those in attendance to watch the brutal fights. Of course, if you paid more money, you got closer to the fight. The best seats were the ones on the actual floor. There was a ring made by cinderblocks that came up maybe two feet tall. All along the border were the high profile men. Fat cigars in their mouths, most in fancy suits with loose ties. The majority of them were drunk as fuck, wanting to live out a fantasy of seeing hardcore violence in person.

  Then they’d probably go home and fuck the shit out of their wives. Or maybe tie up their girlfriends and mistresses and live out even more fantasies.

  I opened my eyes and looked around.

  The night was in full swing. Technically, it was morning. We were well past midnight. There had been five other fights, all of them mostly entertaining. There was a single punch knockout for the second fight. The previous fight lasted a good twenty minutes, the two guys beating each other until their eyes were shut. Eventually, someone would pass out from pain or blood loss.

  There was always a fucking winner. And a fucking loser.

  I didn’t lose.

  My backing came from a man named Aldo. He was as far up the food chain as you could go. After him were the guys who never showed their faces. Aldo threw money down on me and I always won. He’d make a killing, pay his tribute up higher, and give me a kickback for the win. During the other fights, he would coordinate the rest of his business with all those in attendance.

  I was the catalyst.

  I was the fighter.

  I stared forward at my opponent, a man in a white t-shirt that clung to his body from the sweat. His right eye had a scar that hooked down to the corner of his mouth. He made fists and lifted them. There were roman numerals on his knuckles. He spit on the ground and started to gently jump.

  He was ready to fight.

  So was I.

  I was in a foul fucking mood. I hadn’t had a good fuck in a while. The noise around me seemed louder than normal. I wasn’t in the mood to be here.

  But one thing was for sure… if I couldn’t get a good fuck, I’d take it all out on the asshole staring me down.

  The guy had no idea what he was about to experience.

  Neither did I.

  2.

  (Winter)

  I couldn’t even cry anymore. It was hard to do when the tears were fake. I sat at the kitchen table with at least fifty pictures spread out across it. My job was to pick out a picture of Rocky that I liked best. I didn’t like any of the pictures. I didn’t even like Rocky, even if I was his old lady. I had to keep face in the situation and go with the motions of it all. Tomorrow, he’d be buried and then I’d be somewhat free. I’d still be tied down to the MC for a while - maybe the rest of my life - but I wouldn’t have to deal with Rocky.

  He was the VP for the Red Aces MC and he took a bullet to the throat. Then five to the chest, through his heart. I heard that the throat shot took him down and the five to the heart were for good measure. And for fun.

  Which made me a little sick.

  Funny how that kind of stuff still got to me.

  I’d been living this kind of life as long as I could remember. From the time I was eighteen, and got too drunk and took my top off at a strip club to win enough money to pay the rent, it was all the same shit. I thought getting tied up with the MC would offer protection, which it did, for the most part. Only I didn’t want the man who loved me. I didn’t want him to touch me, fuck me, anything. But he did. Because I had to let him. When he spoke, I listened. If I didn’t… well, I never dared to find out what would happen.

  I lifted a pictu
re of Rocky as he sat on his motorcycle. His sunglasses were back on his bald head. His eyes were narrow, the viper eyes of a snake. His lip curled, head slightly back, the tattoos on his neck visible. He gave the middle finger. Rocky knew how to ruin any picture.

  I dropped the picture and grabbed my coffee cup. I sipped it. It was ice cold. It had been sitting there for an hour, just like me. There was no good reason to be drinking coffee after midnight. Then again, this had been my schedule for years. Day was night and night was day. There was no such thing as normal. No nine-to-five stuff. No worrying about paying the car insurance on time. No forgetting to buy the spaghetti sauce for pasta night and needing an emergency trip to the grocery store.

  That life passed me by too long ago to care.

  There was a knock at the door and then it opened.

  Sarah came walking in, carrying a bag of groceries. She was Harlan’s old lady. She was in her mid-thirties, looked ten years younger, and seemed to be the voice of reason throughout the MC. Mostly because she wore low cut shirts and loved to show off her breast implants. They were big but not too big. I never commented on them because she had always been jealous of my natural breasts. I guess I was considered lucky I didn’t need to change anything about myself.

  She was skinny, wore a tight black top with a crashing V line, and had blood red nails and lipstick that matched. Her hair was pitch black, pulled back in a tight ponytail. She smelled of smoke as she put the bag down on the table. Her shirt pulled up on her body, showing off tattoos that were on her hips. She told me that her hips were too wide so she got tattoos to distract from them. Her hips were made for babies, but Sarah could never have kids. Harlan didn’t want kids and he liked to grab her hips when he fucked her. I knew this because Sarah told me and I’d seen her and Harlan having sex a few times. Her tattoos were angel wings, and she always joked saying that Harlan liked to hold her wings more than her tits.

  “It’s late,” Sarah said. “You should sleep. We have to ride in the morning.”

  I nodded.

  The ride.

  Where we’d take Rocky’s body to the cemetery and say goodbye.

  Bad enough we had the viewing just a few hours ago. Seeing his corpse in a black casket. His face was so pale. So dead. The work done on his neck wasn’t all that great. I couldn’t stop looking at it.

  They were burying him with his leather cut, the ultimate sign of respect for Rocky. Which made sense since he was the VP of the club.

  “I got you some stuff,” Sarah said. “I know your mind is scattered right now.”

  “How much do I owe you?”

  Sarah kissed the top of my head. “Just show me your boobs sometime and we’ll call it even.”

  “You have your own to look at.”

  “Yours are nicer.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  Sarah took the grocery bag into the kitchen and then came back to the table. She pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “What are we doing?”

  “I’m supposed to pick out a picture of Rocky.”

  “What do you have so far?”

  “All these.”

  “Here, let’s do something,” Sarah said. “Close your eyes.”

  I shut my eyes. “Okay.”

  “Just put your hand on a picture. Now.”

  I grabbed a picture and then opened my eyes.

  It was of Rocky and Stoney laughing. VP and President. Their arms around each other, mouths open, heads back. They were drunk as hell in the picture.

  “There,” Sarah said. “Done.”

  Sarah leaned forward and started to collect the pictures. She swiped them all together like a deck of cards and then flipped the stack over so I couldn’t see anything.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ve just been sitting here. You know?”

  “I know,” Sarah said softly. She touched my hand. “I know. The entire club is mourning. It’s going to take time, sweetie. But it will be okay.”

  I blinked and felt tears in my eyes.

  It wasn’t for Rocky. Well, maybe it was. Maybe just because he was dead. I mean, murder. The end of it all. Rocky had killed people. How many, I don’t know. But he did. The MC had darker ties and had connections I wanted nothing to do with. Sometimes the less you knew the better.

  Then again, that could work against you.

  “Tell me something,” Sarah said. “Get it off your chest.”

  So I did.

  I looked right at Sarah.

  She always tried to find the sunshine during the darkest days.

  Well, there was no sun here.

  “Rocky was murdered,” I said.

  “Yeah, I know that,” Sarah said.

  “The MC doesn’t know who fucking did it. And correct me if I’m wrong, but if one goes, the other goes next, right?”

  Sarah’s face dropped.

  Reality settled into her like it had settled into me.

  Then she said what I’d been thinking for days now.

  “You’re going to be killed next.”

  3.

  (Tripp)

  The guy had a wicked right. I could at least give him that. It was like his right fist was a brick. He landed two good punches and I swore it would never happen again. Each time after that, I had my arm ready, blocking his punches, swinging at him, smacking everywhere from his gut, to his chest, to his chin, to his eyes. That’s how I worked. Top to bottom, bottom to top. Technically speaking my fighting style was probably shit. If I was put into a real ring with gloves and rules, I wasn’t sure if I’d make it out.

  I wasn’t in the business of fighting for entertainment. I fought to hurt. I fought to kill. I fought to win. I fought to survive.

  When I punched the guy - announced as Killer Kidd - smack in the nose, he stumbled back. He grabbed his face and let out a scream. That was my cue to fucking attack. I lunged forward and started to unleash on him.

  Left, right, right, left. I hit him in the ribs and Killer Kidd put his hands down. That opened his face for me. When I smacked him in the face a few times, he lifted his hands. Up and down, up and down, no matter what he did I always found an open spot to hit him. It was hard to fight against your body’s instinctive need to protect itself. It was always smarter to keep your face covered and train your mind and body to accept rib punches.

  I had Killer Kidd back against the cinderblocks. The crowd backed up a little. They were so loud and fucking annoying. Screaming in my ear and in my face.

  “Kill the fucker!”

  “Fucking do it, Tripp! Get him! Get him!”

  “Rip his fucking throat out!”

  “Fuck you, Kidd! You’re costing me a fucking fortune!”

  Sometimes I could block all the comments out, sometimes I couldn’t.

  I grabbed Killer Kidd by the collar of his shirt and pulled. The shirt ripped as he stumbled forward. I yelled as I threw him, the shirt tearing from his body. He landed on the ground with a bloody thud. I went after him, putting my knee to the middle of his back. He was smart enough to cover his head, so I went to town on his ribs.

  Then a buzzer screeched and I had a fist cocked back.

  I saw Aldo at the end of the circle, his tall bodyguards next to him. There was another guy - Mr. Matty - who was an accountant for the city, but loved to organize all the bets and rules for the fights. He had a buzzer in his hand.

  “Time!” he called out.

  My fist shook.

  If I swung after the buzzer, the fight would be called in favor of Killer Kidd.

  Aldo shook his head and like the good rabid beast I was for him, I stood and walked away.

  The crowd was cheering and screaming.

  This was the bullshit part of the fights. The rounds. Some fights were just get in and go until it was done. The bigger fights were done in rounds. That was because Aldo and Mr. Matty could collect more money. People could bet on the winner and bet on the round. They could bet on how the fight would end, too.

  It was all about
money.

  Even for me.

  Sometimes Aldo could give me a bonus to satisfy his needs. It was completely against the rules to conspire, but nobody was going to stop Aldo from doing it. Christ, the fucking fights were already illegal.

  Aldo walked up behind me as I took a drink of piss warm tap water. I spit it out to the floor. My own blood tasted better than the fucking water they gave me to drink.

  “We need to end it,” Aldo said, his voice thick and accented. “Right now. This round. Any longer and we’re going to have a problem. I need to get out of here, Tripp. With you.”

  I nodded.

  I didn’t look at Aldo because I didn’t need to.

  I stared at Killer Kidd. His guys were wiping the blood off his face. His left eye was swollen mostly shut. His right shoulder looked fat and purple.

  I had him.

  A couple more punches and he’d be done.

  “Warning!” Mr. Matty cried out.

  I stepped forward two steps. Killer Kidd did the same.

  Then the buzzer went off.

  “Fight!”

  I hurried forward and punched Killer Kidd in the stomach. He hunched over. I grabbed him by the hair and looked down at him. His eyes were weak. He was tired. He looked ready to cry. At that point he just wanted me to knock him out.

  I brought my fist back and gritted my teeth.

  From the corner of my eye I saw someone step onto the cinderblocks. Then the entire crowd started to move and scream. They weren’t cheering now. They were screaming with fear.

  A man all in black took out a gun. He turned his head and I saw some kind of tattoo on his neck. My eyes picked up on it and then picked up on the gun. It was pointed at the back of Aldo’s son, Endo.

  “Fuck!” I screamed. “Endo!”

  I let Killer Kidd go and started to move.

  But the gun went off.

  The explosion had everyone in a panic.

  Endo disappeared, falling to the ground.

  The guy in black turned and made a dash for it. He masterfully made his way into the crowd. My eyes followed him. I stepped forward ready to track the fucker down and get him.

  That’s when a fist hit me right in the nose.