“Get in me now before I lose my fucking mind.”
Peter lifted his head and smirked, “I’d never turn down a request from a beautiful lady. Especially a request like that.”
He reached down to grab a condom off the plush carpet. Olivia grinned and watched as he stood, biting her lip as she watched precum dribble from the tip of his cock and hit a spot on his sheets. He rolled on the condom and slid between her legs. Pure bliss. She wrapped her legs around him.
“Hi.”
He expression softened as his lips met hers with intensity. Peter smiled and spoke against her lips, “Hey.”
Peter started thrusting, their eyes never breaking away each other. He pressed his forehead against hers, Olivia gripped him tighter. They were moving faster now, each thrust becoming more urgent than the last.
She touched his face and spoke against his lips, “You taste like you've been eating pussy.
He chuckled and said, “I'll be smelling you for weeks for how much you got in my beard.”
Her legs tightened around him and her fingers traced along his back. He groaned and they both began panting. He pushed up and arched his back so he could rub her clit and watch her breasts bounce. Olivia moved her hand down to her clit, taking over. Every few seconds, she would move her hand down to feel where they joined and squeeze his cock.
“Fuck, so close,” he moaned as he bit his lip.
With her free hand she put her hand over his, lacing their fingers.
“Yes, fuck me harder. Harder. God, I'm going to cum!”
Their bodies tensed, their orgasms slamming into both of them. He thrusted faster and moaned, filling the condom with his cum. Peter slowed, watching her arch up off his bed and scream as her orgasm shuddered through her. Collapsing onto the bed, he wrapped her in his arms. She pulled the sheets around them and rested her head against his chest. Olivia listened to his heartbeat as it slowed back to its normal rhythm.
Peter ran his fingers down her pale arm and kissed her forehead.
“What does the tattoo mean? It’s Japanese right?”
“Mmm, yes.” She cleared her throat, “It means 'Wake from death and return to life’. It's the Western equivalent to taking a bad situation and turn it into a positive. I got it soon after my parents died.”
“I’m sorry that they passed. How long ago?”
Olivia took a deep breath. “Thank you. It was … let’s see … eight years ago. I was like 24 and they were in an accident. It was … rough. Not many relatives wanted to help out.” Sadness tore at Peter’s chest, “Wow, that's awful. I'm so sorry you had to go through that shit alone.”
“Yes, it was terrible,” she squeezed her eyes shut, “Soon after, I left for Japan. There was nothing for me here. No family, no close friends. There was no point in staying in New York.” They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Peter knew she was still awake because he could feel her eyelashes moving his chest hairs. He ran a hand down her bare back.
“Pizza ok for lunch and supper? I just realized I haven't eaten like anything today.”
“Mmm, sounds perfect. I'm game for whatever toppings as long as it's not pineapple.”
“Large pizza with extra pineapple, got it,” he said.
Olivia busted out laughing as he hopped out of bed and grabbed his phone.
9
1:59 AM. Peter stared at the clock on his phone and waited for the last minute to tick down. He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Olivia. He was used to her sleeping habits now and knew she was a heavy sleeper. He had a feeling that if she knew he was going out on a job, she’d crack another one of his ribs just to make him stay home.
In the dark, he closed his bedroom doors and walked towards his laundry room. He’d done this routine a million times and felt no need to turn on the lights. He flicked on his phone’s flashlight as he poked through his laundry basket full of clean clothes. Peter pulled on a black hooded sweatshirt and dark jeans.
Methodically, he moved through the kitchen, pocketing his phone and sliding on his shoes. He walked to the guest bedroom on the other side of the living room and creaked open the closet door and took a knee. He tugged on the white carpet in one corner and lifted, revealing a hidden metal safe embedded in the wood flooring. Typing in Cara’s birthday digits, he unlocked the safe and reached for his 9mm handgun.
Peter stuffed his gun and an extra clip into his sweatshirt. He hesitated a split second, almost grabbing the loaded sawed-off shotgun resting at the bottom of the safe near spare shells and cartons of bullets. He always kept everything loaded, just in case. He shook his head and figured it’d be too cumbersome riding in the truck. Tonights shipping run would be quiet for once. Peter pushed the white carpet back down to its normal spot and moved towards the front door. He took one last look around and opened his front door, peering out.
Ronan stood a few feet down the hallway, waiting and tapping away on his smartphone. Peter gave his brother a half nod as he took a few steps over to a elegantly carved wooden table that was up against the opposite wall. He slid his hand under, finding his spare key, pulled it out, and locked his front door. Ronan pushed his phone into his pocket as he watched his brother return his key to its hiding place.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Back in Peter’s bed, Olivia opened her eyes. Chewing on her lip, she felt a sense of dread wash over her as she realized Peter was going out on a job. She hopped out of bed and walked over to the window. She pressed her forehead against the glass. Olivia stared down at her hands, moving them until the moonlight hit her chapped knuckles, “Come back safe, Pete. I can’t do this alone.”
Ronan rode in one supply truck while Peter was in the other. Both men had their guns resting in their laps as they drove the shipment of drugs from Milwaukee to their drop off point in downtown Chicago. Their men in the customs office passed their shipments of cheap plastic toys, without raising any suspicions. It was always a gamble getting the drugs in, especially since they were coming from Japan, but once in the states, it was smooth sailing. At least, it was supposed to be.
Up until about seven years ago, their small shipments went uninterrupted from shipping to selling. Sawyer Harrison’s clan started undercutting them and stealing their merchandise. Clan Driscoll was lucky to get any product out on the streets with Sawyer’s constant meddling. With every shipment, Ronan and Peter were counting on Sawyer’s men, dressed in their signature puke yellow ties, to ambush them.
Every time Roisin Driscoll would send more men to accompany Ronan and Peter with shipments, Sawyer would send twice as many. More than once, Peter and Ronan had escaped death by pure luck. One of Peter’s fighters, Batista, was following close behind the two trucks in an old rusted Buick Skylark
Batista always came prepared and was always ready for anything. Peter’s jaw was clenched tight, he felt that at any second, the shoe would drop. Ronan saw the tires of Peter’s truck blow out, all at once.Peter’s truck swerved and hit the median divider, metal and concrete colliding. Ronan’s driver slowed, attempting to stop.
Ronan snapped, “I’m not paying you to stop. Keep driving.”
Peter’s head banged against the dashboard as the truck’s hood crunched against the median and absorbed the impact. As the driver and Peter tried to regain their senses, he felt around for his gun. The driver, fully awake, shook his head and reached for the door handle. Peter heard shots rang out as the driver was gunned down. His blinked through the blood and spotted his 9mm and grabbed it.
He heard footsteps on both sides of the truck. He was trapped. Peter slid down further in his seat and waited. Batista would be here in a matter of seconds. His door opened and his eyes saw the puke yellow tie. In a half of a second, Peter had aimed his gun and shot Sawyer’s man through the skull. Before the man with the bullet in his skull could hit the ground, Peter slid out of the truck and crouched.
He spotted two more men, one on his left and one on his right, and put a several bullets in each
of them. Machine gun bullets bounced off the metal front hood near his head. He felt bullet fragments and metal shavings spray across face. Batista’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect. The Skylark’s tires screeched to a halt, Batista sprayed bullets from his guns towards the last two men advancing towards Peter. Peter ran and ducked into the Skylark’s back seat as Sawyer’s men continued to reign bullets towards the car and Batista.
Peter reached under the back seat and pulled out a loaded shotgun and fired two shots, hitting one man in the stomach and injuring the other. Two sets of headlights were approaching from the south fast. More of Sawyer’s men.
As Batista reloaded he pointed to the headlights, “Pete?”
“Fuck. I’m calling it. Let’s go.”
Batista’s jaw clenched, “Fucking Sawyer.”
She stopped pacing and ducked back into bed when she heard him shut the apartment door. He opened the bedroom door, his eyes falling on a sleeping Olivia. His face burned and his head was pounding. Peter moved towards the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He turned on the lights, removed his gun from his sweatshirt and set it down on the marble countertop near the sink.
Peter stripped off his bloody sweatshirt and jeans before opening a small linen closet. He dug out his first aid kit, rubbing alcohol, and a washcloth. Turning on the water, he listened to the sound of it, replaying the events of the night in his head. Olivia opened the door without a sound.
Peter stilled and looked over at her as she leaned against the doorframe, her arms folded. Peter looked away from her, dipping a finger under the stream of water testing to see if it was warm enough. Her blue steel eyes took in the dried blood on his face and neck before flicking to the gun resting near the sink. As he wet the washcloth, Peter’s eyes flicked to the gun before meeting her gaze.
“Go back to bed.”
Olivia’s eyes turned to ice at his dismissive words. She raised an eyebrow and asked, “Who’s blood is that?”
Peter’s expression hardened. He wiped droplets of blood from his chest and began to move upwards towards his face, “Mine.” Olivia moved towards him, apprehension written all over her face, “Are you ok?”
He avoided looking at her and squeezed his blood out of the washcloth. Drumming his fingers on the countertop, “Yes. I’m fine. Go back to bed.”
Olivia leaned against the countertop and pushed a few strands of blonde hair out of her face. Peter gave her an exasperated look. Keeping her eyes focused on him, she picked up his gun and tossed it between her two hands like it was a toy. Peter’s entire body became tense and alert. Giving him a wry smile, she brought his gun to her nose and sniffed.
“This has been fired recently.”
Peter’s cold eyes never left hers as Olivia set his gun back down on the countertop. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to fuck her or kill her.
“You have a piece of brain in your ear, sweetheart.”
Peter huffed, breaking eye contact, and dug a little piece of pink from inside his ear, letting it wash away down the drain. Olivia’s lips twitched. If she wasn’t so concerned about him, she would’ve laughed. He wiped his face and winced as the warm water cleaned out the tiny cuts and wound on his head. Olivia balled her fists, peering at a few of the cuts a little closer.
Annoyed, Peter glanced over at her, “What?”
“Do you have a pair of tweezers?”
Peter sighed and pulled a pair of tweezers out of the kit and handed them to her. She sterilized them with the alcohol and moved to grab his face. In a flash, Peter snatched her wrist and took an aggressive step closer to her.
Olivia flexed her trapped arm and rolled her eyes, “Babe, relax. You have tiny slivers of metal in some of those cuts. I was going to get them out, unless you want me to leave them in?”
Exhausted, Peter let go of her wrist. Olivia gave him a warm smile and stroked his beard before turning his face towards the light, “Relax. I can’t do this if you’re tense.”
He sighed and shook his head. Peter let his shoulders drop, the tenseness in his shoulders fading away. He wasn’t going to win with her. Taking her time, Olivia plucked the slivers of metal from the wounds, dropping them into the sink. He leaned into her, sliding his hand around her waist as she worked.
“What happened?”
He loved the sound of her voice. Olivia set the tweezers down and started cleaning the wounds with the alcohol. Peter gripped her waist tighter. She had a pretty good idea what had happened but she wanted to hear it from his lips.
“Shipment gone wrong, again. We … I was ambushed. Luckily, B--”
He stopped, he shouldn’t be telling her this. He never did with Cara even with her being privy to her family’s business. Olivia definitely wasn’t Cara. He needed to be selective with what he told her. Olivia stopped cleaning his cuts and grabbed a handful of bandages from the first aid kit. She pretended not to notice the way he’d stopped mid-sentence.
“Do you know who did it?”
She knew who. Sawyer.
Peter shrugged, “No, but I have my suspicions.”
Pressing her lips together, Olivia tossed the bandage wrappers in the trash. Liar.
Folding her arms, she stared at him, “I want a phone.”
Washing his hands, Peter looked over at her, “What for?”
“So next time, when you go out on a job, I have a way of getting ahold of you. What if you go missing or get killed?”
Peter chuckled, “That will never happen. I’m very careful when I go out on a job. Don’t worry.” Olivia frowned and turned to leave. Peter took a step towards her, grabbing her arm and turning her around to face him. He saw fear and worry in her eyes and on her face. He pulled her to him, raising his hand to tuck a loose strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. Olivia wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.
Peter stroked her cheek and whispered, “If having a phone will give you a peace of mind, I’ll get you one.”
10
Peter let a couple of days pass so the cuts on his face could heal without drawing a lot of suspicious glances. Over breakfast the next morning, he explained, “I work out of Paddy's Gym five days a week so you'll just ride with me into work and train with the guys when you want to.”
Olivia nodded, “Aside from a phone, I need something else from you. Actually two more things.”
Peter smirked, “Full of demands aren’t you? What do I get in return?”
Olivia tilted her head, “My undying loyalty as a fighter? Better yet, I’ll fuck you in your office at the gym so everyone can hear us.”
Peter stopped chewing his oatmeal, his mouth going dry. Olivia smiled at him, waiting. He took a sip of coffee to get the oatmeal down his throat.
“Intriguing offer,” he chuckled, “what things do you need?”
“A yoga mat and a wing chun ring. It’s also called a rattan ring.”
Peter pulled out his phone, “I’ve never heard of that, what is it?”
“It’s a martial arts training ring made from steel or bamboo to keep your fists tight and close to your body. They have various diameters but I need a 10 inch one.”
“That’s what she said.”
Olivia shook her head and tried not to laugh, “I hate you. I really do.”
On their way to the gym, Peter gave her a phone with just his number in it and no internet or WiFi much to Olivia’s disappointment. Olivia suspected he was watching to see if she made any calls or texts and having an internet connection would only make it hard for him to keep track of what she was doing. Paddy’s Gym was in a run down brick building nestled between a hipster cafe and a bike repair shop.
The gym was mainly used by boxers and fighters as a means to train, talk with bookies, and to sell drugs without making it obvious to the Feds and the Chicago police. Olivia stepped into the gym and was immediately hit with the comforting scents of mildew and sweat.
The smells reminded her of her training at the martial arts schools in Japan. With a fe
w exceptions. Heavy metal played over the speakers as men of various sizes lifted weights or sparred in a makeshift boxing ring towards the center of the room. Olivia smiled, American gyms were full of a lot more grunting and dick measuring than in Japan. She missed the silence and mediation time after a long practice.
With an arm around her waist, Peter lead her to set of lockers on the far side of the gym where she set down her bag and phone on a worn down bench nearby.
“Dux, Bat.”
Two men looked up from doing shoulder presses on an old machine at Peter’s words. Peter motioned for them to come over. Olivia watched as the two men of varying heights approached. Peter introduced the tall man with a dark hair and goatee, navy blue eyes, and built like a tank as Batista. He shook Olivia’s hand noticing the strength in her grip as Peter made minimal introductions. Pete had told both of them that his gal was an insane fighter. Dux and Bat were anxious to see her fight this weekend and see if what Pete had said was true.
The shorter man, Olivia deduced, was Dux. He was almost the same height as her but with a more wiry and muscular frame. Dux had buzzed light brown hair and a few traces of several scars on his face near his eyes. Dux admired the calluses on her hands as he shook her hand, she was a very seasoned fighter. Dux and Batista walked back to their weights as Peter went into his office. Olivia glanced looked around at the men who paid no attention to her. She pulled out a yoga mat from her bag and unrolled it.
She wrinkled her nose at the new rubbery smell and stepped onto the mat. She sat cross legged and folded her hands in her lap, making a triangle with her thumbs and index fingers. Batista and Dux watched her and shrugged. She took a few deep breaths, focusing on the sounds of the gym. Tuning out the music, she inhaled and began her training routine she’d done everyday when she was in Japan.
Blood & Fists: Bare-knuckle Series #1 Page 4
