Fight
Authors: London Casey,Ana W. Fawkes
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
.
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’
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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
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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 picture 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.
”
