Undefeated
CHARITY PARKERSON
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 Charity Parkerson
Originally published under the name “A Fighting Chance”
All rights reserved.
Photography by© Les3photo8 | Dreamstime.com
© Dmitrijs Dmitrijevs | Dreamstime.com
© Msphotographic | Dreamstime.com
© Anette Romanenko | Dreamstime.com
Editor- Hercules Editing
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author/publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you all for once again taking a chance on me.
DEDICATION
For Greg, there is a little piece of me, and a little piece of you on every page.
CONTENT
BOOK 1~ BRYANT
BOOK 2~ ACE
BOOK 3~ WALT
BOOK 4~ PAUL
It was a no-holds-barred match, and she was the prize.
CHAPTER ONE
Smith Brothers Fight Club, Murfreesboro, Tennessee----June 5th
Walt stared at the taut lines of his brother’s face as Bryant stared at the corner of the windowless office. His eyes were unseeing as his gaze turned inward.
“You should talk my friend Parker in the building next door,” Walt suggested, suddenly sure it was the answer to all of their problems.
“Why?” Bryant asked, blinking in confusion.
“Duh, because she’s a private detective, and she’s the best of the best,” Walt said, trying hard to keep the irritation he was feeling from sounding in his voice.
Bryant twisted in his seat, as if he could see the building next door through the wall. “We have a private detective next door?”
Walt shook his head, before asking, “Do you ever listen to anything I tell you?”
“Of course,” Bryant answered, instantly. “The Parker who served with you in the Army. See, I listen. I’ve been distracted lately with someone trying to rob us blind.”
Walt reached up rubbing a hand over his head, blowing out a breath. “I know and I’m sorry.” Stretching out his prosthetic arm and leg, he looked them over. “I feel like I’ve been such a burden to you since I came home like this.”
Bryant visibly bristled. “You are not a burden to me. I couldn’t run this place without you.”
Walt snorted, but let it drop, falling silent.
“Okay,” Bryant said, suddenly.
“Okay what?” Walt asked, in confusion.
“Okay, I’ll go see your friend.”
“Really?” Walt asked, feeling hopeful that he managed to be some sort of help.
Bryant gave a short nod, as if solidifying his decision. “I’m going.”
Parker hated Mondays. Even working for herself, she hated the feeling of dragging herself out of bed after staying up too late all weekend, and then forcing herself into a new sleeping pattern for the rest of the week. This Monday seemed especially horrible to her since she was running late, was out of coffee, and her hair looked like shit. It was a trifecta guaranteed to ruin any sane woman’s day. That’s why his sudden appearance threw her off balance, at least, that was the story she was running with.
His mocha-colored skin and soft brown eyes were enough to stop a woman’s heart. Add that to the way his shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders, and her knees felt a little weak. She clutched the side of her desk to stay upright. It was the lack of coffee, she told herself. How could anyone be expected to stand upright without it? He smiled, showing her a set of adorable dimples, and she sat down hard in her chair.
Bryant was smiling like an idiot. He knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop. She wasn’t what he had been expecting. When he’d been informed that his neighbor was a private detective, he pictured a starched suit and sensible shoes. He hadn’t thought to find this fantasy come to life. She was tall enough to look him in the eyes, which was unusual in itself since he stood at six-two. Her body was lean and tight, perfectly formed for her height. Her hair was a pale honey-colored-blonde, but the most arresting thing about her was her eyes. They were a light blue that were exact shade of the morning sky on a summer’s day. She sat down behind her desk as he entered, eyeing him closely.
Breaking the silence, he asked, “Parker Wilson?”
At her nod, he walked forward, extending his hand. “I’m Bryant Smith. I own the fight club next door.”
Taking his hand, a bright smile lit up her face. “Bryant, I’ve heard so much about you from Walt. I should have seen the resemblance right away.” She motioned for him to take a seat across from her.
He dwarfed the small office chair, which Parker had chosen more for its looks than comfort level. She herself never actually sat in the chair, but she knew from Walt’s continuous complaints that it was lacking.
“Someone is stealing money from my business,” Bryant said, surprising her out of her musings.
“If that’s the case then you should be having this discussion with the police instead of me,” Parker said, trying to steady her words. Inside she was seething. If someone was stealing from Walt, they were dead.
“I don‘t want to involve the police. At Smith Brothers, we take care of our own,” he told her in a hard voice.
“Mr. Smith, as a licensed private detective, I can’t condone vigilante justice,” she told him, while silently she added, “On record.”
“It’s more complicated than that. I’m not talking about vigilante justice. I’m talking about keeping a level of trust in the club, and not damaging anyone’s pride,” he said, as if he were hesitant to explain the entire story to her.
“Okay, you’ve completely lost me. You’re going have to start from the top,” she said, waving her pen in a circle.
Bryant tapped his fingers absently on the arm of the chair, lost in thought, and finally he said, “First, I need to know you’re going to take the case, that way you’ll be bound to confidentiality.”
She held his gaze while she tried to make a decision. Letting out a sigh, she said, “I guess Walt wouldn’t have sent you my way, if he thought you were doing something that would land me in hot water. Mr. Smith, you have yourself a detective.”
“Please, call me 'Bryant.'”
“Okay, Bryant, and feel free to call me 'Parker.' Now, let’s hear the whole of it,” she told him, getting down to business.
Bryant cleared his throat. “Alright, everybody knows that Smith Brothers is a fight club. We train fighters, and of course, fight for profit. What most people don’t know is that we are also a community project. At the first of every month, we donate a percentage of club earnings to what we call the community chest. We also encourage our top winners to donate a percentage of their winnings. It’s not a requirement, but most are more than willing to help out, since they themselves have needed a helping hand at one time or another.” He paused to make sure she was still following him, and seeing that she was, he continued. “Now, this community chest is for our members only. You know how the economy is. Many of our members are out of work and having a hard time making ends meet. These are fighters, strong men, men with too much pride to ask for a hand out. However, the community chest is open to them and they are welcome to take what they need, within reason, w
ithout having to ask. You know, so they can get food for their family or pay the rent. They don‘t feel like it‘s a hand out, because everybody puts in at some time and takes out at some time.”
Parker sat in a stunned silence; never had she heard of such a concept.
Uncomfortable, he rubbed the back of his neck, saying, “I realize it’s wholly unique.”
“And risky,” Parker put in. “How do you even know you’re being robbed, if you’re giving it away? I can’t even begin to understand how such a thing is controlled.”
“Well, there are rules,” he explained. “It is on a trust system. You never take more than you need. It’s also monitored by Walt, a few times a month. Then posts are made, letting everyone know either ‘hey we’re low and need donations‘, or ‘hey guys were solid.' Before now, it’s worked really well.”
“How do you know that some stranger off the street didn’t walk in and take it?” There was no trace of accusation in her voice, only curiosity.
“This is something you would normally only know if you were a member, and membership is exclusive. Most have been scouted by either Walt or me. The rest were recommended by a current member, but they still have to prove themselves, since it’s our reputation on the line each time they fight. Then you have to pass an initial drug test and another one every six weeks for as long as you’re a member. We’re not talking pissing in a cup; it’s a hair follicle test. You can only enter the building if you are a current member. You have to scan your thumbprint at the front door, and even if someone managed to slide in behind someone else, the chest is located in my office and your presence would be questioned before you ever made it that far. Everybody knows everybody at Smith Brothers.”
Parker added her own insight. “Walt lives in the apartment upstairs, so I’m guessing a break in is out of the question as well.” At his nod, she asked, “Now, tell me how you knew the money was stolen, instead going to help those in need?”
“Like I said, the money is put in on the first, but Walt keeps an eye on it periodically to make sure we don’t start running too low. The first time he noticed something out of the ordinary was three months ago. He checked the level on the tenth and all the money was gone. He came to me straight away; after some discussion we decided that it was a fluke, that maybe people were a little more in need than usual that month. The next month he checked on the fifth and the same thing again: all the money was gone.”
“Now you’re getting suspicious,” she mused aloud.
“You got it. This month, we decided to check the same night the money was put in and...”
“It was gone,” Parker finished for him.
“It was gone,” he echoed.
“How much money, total, do you think?” Parker asked, sucked into the mystery of it all.
“We’ve had some big winnings lately, so our percentage was pretty high. Then Paul blew the top out on his fight, drawing a chunk. Some of our fighters have won high dollar pots lately. It’s not an exact science, but the best Walt and I can figure, is around one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars,” he answered, solemnly.
Parker leaned her head back against her chair, staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t even begin to fathom having that kind of money to give away in only a few months time, but she knew if she were in Bryant’s position, she would be out for blood. She sat, lost in thought, while she decided what needed to be done. Making a decision, she told him.
“I’ll need access to the club. I’ll have to meet the people. I’ll have to talk to your employees, your members, but without them knowing the real reason why I’m there. We can‘t hide who I am since I work right next door, but we need to come up with an excuse for me to be there.” As an afterthought, she added, “Oh, and I need to get into your office to set a camera up on that chest.”
“I don’t know how I feel about the camera,” he said warily. “If anyone finds out about it, they’ll stop coming to me, and that’s the last thing I want,” he told her.
“The camera will be on a motioned sensor. It will take still photos only when the chest opens. I will look over the photos every Monday night. If they show members that are only taking money in good faith, I will erase the photo immediately, and no one besides me needs to ever know who was on those photos. Just get me into that club and you can trust me to take care of everything else.”
Bryant eyed her sleek, slightly muscular form, asking, “You were in the military with my brother, right?” At her nod, he said, “I have an idea.”
CHAPTER TWO
The smell of sweat and man penetrated the walls of the club. Testosterone hung heavy in the air, almost clogging her throat. When she walked through the door, all sparring stopped. She was ex-military, and she thrived in a place dominated by males. The men followed her progression through the room with their eyes as she made her way to the back towards Bryant’s office. She mapped the building out in her mind. A caged-in ring filled the center of the main room. Punching bags hung from the ceiling, littering the walkway surrounding the cage. There were several additional rooms. She could see that each one contained something different, such as a weight room and an exercise room.
Halfway to Bryant’s office, Walt met her with his arms spread wide. She walked into his embrace with a genuine smile for her long time friend. Walt hugged her tightly, rocking from side to side, as he told her quietly, “Thanks for coming to my rescue, again.” He then spoke loudly for the benefit of those around them. “Parker, have you finally decided to take me up on that job offer?”
Turning her to face the other men in the club, he kept one arm wrapped around her waist as he introduced her to the room. “Hey, guys! This is Parker Wilson. We served together in Afghanistan.”
A skinny man with a green Mohawk and several visible piercings pushed his way to the front, asking, “Is this the same Parker that saved your life when you were hurt?”
Walt looked at Parker with a soft expression. “She is indeed,” he answered.
The mood in the room lightened as everyone pressed closer in order to get an introduction. A huge bald man with a surprisingly soft voice that was heavy in the Cajun, asked, “Did I hear Walt ask you about a job offer?”
Parker held out her hand for him to shake. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
He took her hand in his tape-wrapped one, but instead of shaking it as she expected, he raised it to his mouth, placing a kiss to the back of it, before answering, “I’m Paul Re’vone.”
Parker tugged lightly in an attempt to free her hand, but he continued to hold it tightly. She cleared her throat in discomfort. “Bryant and Walt have offered to let me use one of the rooms to teach a self-defense class.”
“Aren’t you the private detective from next door?” another one of the men asked.
Here was the curiosity she’d been expecting. Falling back on the lie they discussed, she answered, “Yep. It will only be one night a week and this neighborhood could use something like this.” She tugged again at her hand, only meeting with more resistance.
Bryant watched from the doorway as all the men nodded in agreement, as if a self-defense class had been their idea all along. Letting out a loud whistle, all the men turned in his direction, and then scrambled to return to their training. Only Paul lingered, placing another kiss to the back of Parker’s hand before slowly retreating. Parker kept a passive look in place, not giving away a thing. Bryant smothered a laugh, having watched her play tug of war with her hand. Most of the men were still trying to sneak glances at her as Walt led her into the office.
“What do you think? Will you be able to do it?” Bryant asked, as soon as the door closed behind him.
Walt and Parker shot him identical looks that spoke clearly of what they thought of his question, but Parker answered just the same. “There was never a question of whether I could do it. I only needed to know how many people I was up against.”
“And now that you know?” he asked.
“It’ll take so
me time,” she told him honestly.
Walt and Bryant took up positions in order to best guard her from getting caught, while she set up the camera for the first time. Once it was in position, they were officially ready to find their crook. “Alrighty guys, you’re good to go. I’ll check the stills every Monday night after teaching my class. If one of you could be here to make sure no one walks in on me, then I’m ready on my end.”
Gathering her things, she threw over her shoulder, “See you guys on Monday.” Then she snuck out while they were discussing something else.
“So, how is it that Ace knew about Parker saving your life, but I’m just now hearing about it?” Bryant asked in aggravation.
Walt looked at him, his puzzlement obvious. “It’s not as if it was some big secret. You knew I’d been injured and almost died. You knew Parker was a friend from the Army.”
“You should’ve told me sooner.” Bryant didn’t add that he'd always believed Parker was a man.
“Why? What would’ve been the point?” Walt asked, confused.
“The point,” Bryant said, barely holding onto his temper, “is that if I had known she was the one that saved your life, I would have made it a point to meet her sooner.”
Walt broke into a knowing smile. “You like her,” he taunted.
When Bryant remained stubbornly silent, Walt laughed aloud.
“You’d be a fool not to.” Sobering, Walt asked, “How tall am I?”
Bryant was confused by the question, but he answered anyway.
“About six-six.”
“And, how much do I weigh?” Walt pressed on.
Undefeated (Undefeated Series Books 1-4) Page 1