Undefeated (Undefeated Series Books 1-4)

by Charity Parkerson

  Bryant thought about it, and then answered. “At least two eighty,” of solid muscle, he silently added. “Why all the questions?”

  “Because, that little girl threw herself on me in the heat of battle, trying to shield me from further damage, and damned if she didn’t do it. She took three bullets saving my life,” he said, holding up three fingers. “She showed strength I wouldn’t have believed, if I hadn’t been there. She pulled my sorry ass to safety and medical attention. So, I’m warning you now, brother or not, I’ll not stand by and let you use her.”

  Bryant sighed loudly. “I’m not going to use her.”

  Walt cracked the knuckles on his hand. “I know.”

  Parker looked over her students, barely suppressing a sigh. Even though the classes were a cover story, she expected to be helping the local women all the same. Unfortunately, what she ended up with was a class full of infatuated men and one lone woman. Concealing her frustration, she went on as if she were teaching a class full of women in need. “It’s important to learn how to protect yourself correctly. When under attack, most people do exactly the opposite of what they should do.” Pacing back and forth, she paused to make sure she had everyone’s full attention. “When attacked from behind, people almost always begin clawing at their attackers' arms, instead of taking advantage of their weak spots.”

  Turning, she caught Paul eyeing her ass. Smiling evilly, she said, “Paul. Why don’t you come up here and help me demonstrate?”

  He rushed forward to join her. “I’m always at your service, any service,” he added with a smirk.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she answered sweetly. “Now, attack me from behind,” she said, turning her back to him.

  “Gladly,” he leered. Parker rolled her eyes as he grabbed her around the middle, making sure to feel her up in the process. In one quick motion, she stomped his foot with her heel and head-butted him across the bridge of the nose, forcing him to loosen his hold. As soon as she felt the slack, she spun, chopping him in the throat and kneeing him in the groin. Paul went down like a fallen tree, gasping for air, and cupping himself.

  Parker noticed Bryant watching from the corner. He winced in sympathy as she kneed Paul, but he made no move to intercede.

  “Always go for their weakest spots. Any place you can think of where you would never want to get hit. That’s where to strike. If you do this, you can bring down any attacker, no matter what his size or fighting ability.”

  She stood over Paul, bracing her legs she pulled him to his feet. Lowering her voice so they wouldn’t be overheard, she told him, “No hard feelings, ‘kay, but if you ever feel me up without my permission again, you’ll walk with a permanent limp. You feel me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I feel you,” he said, limping away. Halfway there, he changed his mind, and limping back, he said, “You did say without your permission, right?”

  “That’s right,” she answered, not unmoved by his sleek fighter’s body and sexy accent.

  He smiled, despite the fact that both his eyes were already turning black. “Does that mean I might get permission to do so one of these days?”

  “You never know, stranger things have happened,” she answered, suppressing a smile.

  He continued away, limping and whistling a jaunty little tune. She was starting to like Paul against her better judgment. Any man who got his ass kicked so thoroughly by a girl deserved a chance.

  Spinning back towards her class, she continued. “Does anyone else need a demonstration?” All the men backed away, as the only woman admitted she needed to see it again. “I have an idea. How about we pair up and practice the moves? Most of you are used to sparring all day, so this should be no trouble for you. Maybe one of you will feel confident enough to pair up with Lucy over there. She needs some genuine help, not the playing around these other fools are up to.”

  Ace came forward, offering his assistance. “If she’ll have me,” he said, brushing an uncomfortable hand over his Mohawk, as if fearing her rejection.

  A blushing Lucy rushed to reassure him. “I’d love to have your help.”

  Parker checked the stills in the camera, as Bryant stood guard outside the office door. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, she repositioned the camera, and went out to talk with Bryant.

  “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head as she exited the office.

  Blowing out a breath, he said, “I didn’t expect anything this soon, since all the money just went missing for the month, but it’s still nerve wracking. Let me walk you out. It’s dark.”

  Parker snorted, but Bryant added, “Humor me, okay?”

  “Okay,” she relented.

  Falling in beside each other, he said, “There are still a few people you haven’t met. I have two more employees, Malcolm and Mookie, that I need to introduce you to.”

  Parker laughed aloud. “As it happens, I already know Malcolm and Mookie. They play poker with Walt and me on Friday nights.”

  Cramming his hands in his pockets, Bryant asked, “Which one is your car?”

  Pointing towards an old Chevy truck in her office parking lot, she said, “That one, but I live in an apartment above the office.”

  Walking around the side of the building, she led him to a set of stairs. They headed up, and he stood silently as she unlocked the door. Flipping on a lamp, she gestured to the room at large. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  Her apartment was a surprise to Bryant. It was small, with only a living room, kitchen, one bathroom, and one bedroom. What caught his attention was the fact that it was very feminine. That was the last thing he expected from Parker. The walls were all white, but a beautiful painting hung artistically above her couch, the colors blending well with her furniture. A pair of heels sat near the door, forgotten, as if she kicked them off as soon as she came in. Bryant walked in a circle, peering closely at the pictures lining her bookcases. One shelf in particular held him in place. Parker and Walt stood arm in arm, forever frozen in time. It was taken before Walt came home injured. Bryant had forgotten how young and carefree Walt looked back then. Parker moved to stand next to him, looking down at the picture.

  “I wonder why it is that I don’t know anything about my brother anymore?” he mused, aloud. “He was always the brother I was the closest to. Then he got deployed and there was that damn insurgent attack. What happened to us?” he asked, feeling lost. When Parker held her silence, he pointed at the medals lined up next to a folded up flag.“I mean you saved his life, yet I’m just now meeting you. I work next to him every day, and I didn’t even know he played poker on Friday nights.”

  Bryant watched as Parker ran a loving hand over the glass box that held the flag. When her hand brushed the box next to it that held her medals, she slammed the lid closed as if she couldn’t bear to look at them.

  “Are you asking my opinion or are you venting your frustration?” she asked.

  “Both,” he answered honestly. He barely knew her, but he found he was genuinely curious about her. Something about her was comforting to him. He’d never voiced his worries over Walt to anyone else.

  “It’s because you never look him in the eye,” she answered honestly, taking him by surprise.

  “What are you talking about? I see him every day," he asked in confusion.

  “Yeah, but you don’t look him in the eye. You look at him, but you avoid his gaze. You talk to him, but only about club business, and not anything personal.”

  Even though Bryant heard the truth in her words, he still argued.“That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? Did you know Walt has a girlfriend, and he’s seriously considering asking her to marry him?”

  She couldn’t have shocked him more than if she told him that Walt was a cross dresser. “What? Who?” he asked.

  Showing a flash of temper, Parker snapped, “If you want to know, look him in the goddamn eye, and ask! I don‘t understand, are you afraid of what you’ll see?”

  Bryant fell back onto the couch, his
long legs stretched out in front of him. He stared at the toes of his boots, thinking his words over before answering. “No. I’m afraid of what he’ll see.”

  Her face softened, along with her tone. “He’ll see a brother that loves him, and was scared to death he was going to die. However, he didn’t die, and you do him a disservice by treating him like he might collapse at any moment. He’s still the same man he was before he went off to war.”

  Blowing out a breath, he said, “I know. You’re right. I’ll try harder.”

  Nodding her head as if coming to some sort of decision, she said, “Start with poker. Be here Friday night at seven.”

  Bryant smiled at the offer. “You got it.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bryant hadn’t been dealt a good hand all night. It didn’t matter; he still was having a blast. The laughter and talk became so loud at one point, he felt sure people could hear them down the street. Mookie was short and plump, with an outrageous attitude that eclipsed everyone else in the room. Her coffee-colored skin looked kissed with a touch of cream. Malcolm stood at an average five-foot-ten, but that was the only thing average about him. He was built like a bull from years of weight lifting, and tattoos covered both arms, leaving none of his pale skin showing through. He served his country, as well, but in a different branch of the military than Walt and Parker. Unfortunately, the war left him unstable at times, severely lessening his amount of close friends.

  Since Bryant knew everyone else from work, the only unknown factor in the room was a man named Sam. Bryant spent most of the evening watching Sam, as Sam watched Parker. Within ten minutes, Bryant had Sam pegged. He was competition. In his profession, competition was meant to be eliminated. Bryant’s first thought was, “He could be a fighter,” and with his tall frame, he definitely had the reach. Unable to stand it any longer, he asked, “So, Sam, how did you come to be friends with this bunch?”

  Clamping a cigar between his teeth, Sam answered, “I’m Parker’s brother-in-law.”

  Bryant tried to think of what he knew about Parker. He drew a blank, only able to come up with the fact that he knew she was a widow. “Was he killed in Afghanistan?” Bryant asked, unable to stem his curiosity.

  Sam snorted. “What made you think that?”

  Bryant waved a hand in the direction of the folded up flag that Parker caressed so lovingly.

  Sam looked to make sure Parker wasn’t listening, before he answered. “Apparently, if you’re in the military they give those flags to your spouse when you die, even if you’re a drunkard who gets himself killed in a car crash along with your whore.”

  Bryant was taken aback. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I assumed he had been lost in the war.”

  Bryant had been so busy watching Parker most of the night he didn’t realize Malcolm’s mood beginning to slide downhill. He drank too much and bet too deep. Overhearing the tail end of Sam's and Bryant’s conversation, the damage was done. Malcolm threw down his cards, flying into a rage.

  “It’s war, everybody loses. Of course, they don’t tell you that. You get a very patriotic speech about how one day we’ll all live in a world free of terrorism. Then they ship you off to some god-forsaken country full of fleas. The next thing you know, you’ve lost some limbs,” he said, waving a drunken arm in Walt’s direction. “Your husband,” he added, with a wave towards Parker. Standing, he stumbled over to the folded up flag. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. “However, in your case, Parker, this flag was a pretty good trade for your sorry ass husband.” Parker flinched but otherwise she sat in a stony silence. Everyone else watched in horrified fascination as Malcolm threw the glass-enclosed flag against the wall, taking a chunk out of the plaster. Sam slammed an angry fist on the table, rattling glasses and knocking over bottles. He shouted, “That’s enough, Malcolm!”

  Malcolm seemed to snap out of his rage, spinning on his heel to look at Parker and Sam. Parker stared at a fixed point in the corner, her face impassive, while Sam shook in his fury.

  “Shit,” Malcolm muttered, coming to stand at Parker’s side. “Look, I’m sorry, darling. You know sometimes I… I’m just going to go.” She gave a stiff nod, still refusing to meet his eyes.

  As the door closed behind him, Walt stooped to pick up the unharmed flag, placing it back on the shelf. “It doesn’t seem to be any worse for the wear,” he said in amazement.

  Parker moved around the room on wooden legs, straightening up the mess. “That’s because it’s in shatter-proof glass. I’ve thrown it a time or two myself,” she answered, her voice sounding hollow.

  Mookie joined in, saying, “You know he didn’t mean it.”

  “I know. It’s just stupid fucking Malcolm being stupid fucking Malcolm,” Parker said, bitterness sounding in each word. Turning, she walked into the bedroom. Sam stood, following close on her heels, and closing the door behind them.

  Mookie looked at Bryant with pity etched into her face. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He was right about one thing. She did get a good trade for that flag.”

  Bryant waited until everyone else left. He pretended not to see the tender look in Sam‘s eyes as they said their goodbyes. He should have left sooner but he couldn’t go just yet. He felt like shit over Malcolm’s comments and he felt like he owed her an apology. The subject would have never come up if it weren’t for him. Just as he opened his mouth to tell her that, she surprised him. “I’m sorry about tonight. I wanted you to have a good time. I didn’t expect you to get a front row seat to all my dirty laundry instead.”

  Grabbing her hand, he said, “You have no reason to be sorry. Malcolm, on the other hand, needs someone to screw his head back on straight and I’m thinking I might just be the person to do it.”

  Squeezing his fingers, she said, “No. Please don’t. Malcolm has his own shit going on. When he sees me next, he’ll apologize.” Realizing she still held his fingers, she blushed and dropped his hand.

  “Don’t,” he pleaded, taking her hand between his. He watched in fascination as her eyelids lowered, hiding her emotions from him. “Thank you for a wonderful night,” he told her, lowering his mouth to hers. He only allowed his lips to linger for a moment before slipping away into the night.

  Parker hoped after her first class, the men’s curiosity would dampen, and she could help some actual women the next time. It wasn’t to be. The same men and one woman stood lined up for her inspection for the second Monday in a row. Hiding her disappointment, she decided there must be a reason they came back. She hoped she made them question themselves. They fought other men all the time. Every single one of them felt confident in their ability to fight. Now, they wondered if they could fight a woman like her if forced to. Additionally, they seemed to have found a soft spot for the new girl, Lucy, who obviously needed their help, so they decided to take her underneath their collective wings.

  “Can I get a volunteer to help me demonstrate a frontal attack this week?” Parker asked, from the front of the class.

  Paul rushed over to her side, forcing Parker to take a few steps back at his enthusiasm. He wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug, then, stepping away, he said, “See, I can behave when I need to.”

  “I never doubted it. Okay, guys! Paul is going to be my purse-snatcher for the evening. Don‘t forget, given the choice, you should always run first, but if you have to fight, win.”

  When the men nodded enthusiastically, she continued. “Now, winning requires knowing where to strike and when. Always remember to strike the weakest point. Use your anger. It’s your best weapon. Do whatever it takes to survive.” Looking over at Paul, she asked, “You ready?”

  Flashing a wicked smile, he said, “Always baby, always.”

  Moving to the corner of the room, Parker came back with a large purse looped over her shoulder. Getting into character, she turned her back to Paul, pretending to be walking alone. This time when Paul attacked, he moved around to her front, stopping her progress by throwing out his arm to grab
the purse from her arm. Unfortunately, Parker tried to block the move, and his fist grazed her mouth, splitting her lip. Paul looked shocked when blood seeped from the corner of her mouth, and the classroom broke into a litany of “What the fucks?”

  Parker waved a hand in their direction laughing. “I‘d be disappointed if you held back.” Paul squared his shoulders giving her a quick nod of approval, but she feared the damage was done, and that he would be more careful in his approach the next time. She hoped that wasn’t the case.

  She circled Paul, keeping him in her line of sight. Finally, tired of dancing with him, she leapt forward, bringing her oversized purse down hard onto his upraised arms. Disoriented, Paul sprang forward, snagging the purse straps, and tugging with all his might. He expected Parker to let go but he was mistaken. She tugged back violently, digging in her heels until she got enough grip that she was able to use it as a weapon against him. She began beating him on the head repeatedly until he finally cried mercy. She stepped back, looping her purse strap over her shoulder once more. She was breathing heavily, but the class stood staring at her in awe. Paul was one of their best fighters, and she kicked his ass two weeks in a row, but unlike his other fights that were regulated by a set of rules, Parker didn’t haven’t any such nonsense holding her back. Even limping and bleeding, a smile lit up his face. Coming to stand next to her, he asked, “Does this give me permission to squeeze your ass?”

  She looked him over carefully before saying, “Okay, but just this one time.” She turned her back to him slightly, and he squeezed it lightly. The room broke into laughter, and she knew that somehow she managed to bullshit her way through another class successfully.

  By Wednesday, Bryant knew he wouldn’t make it until the following Monday to see Parker again. She was starting to burrow under his skin as no other woman had before. He didn’t understand it, because as far as he could tell, she wasn’t even trying to. The sight of her working with his fighters, moving from man to man, coaxing laughter from even the most hardened of the bunch, caused something inside of him melt. Seeing a bookstore, inspiration struck. Running in, he grabbed a book from the shelf, and then headed off to Parker’s office. He found her behind her desk immersed in paper work, and she glanced up when he walked in, favoring him with a smile. He dropped the bag into her lap.