Blood & Fists: Bare-knuckle Series #1

by Marie Deveraux

  Blood & Fists (Bare-knuckle Book #1)

  by Marie Deveraux

  Edited by: Amanda Hardebeck

  © 2019 by Static Pen Publishing & Marie Deveraux.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2019

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7336817-0-4

  1

  Yells from the crowd echoed and bounced off the walls as two fighters sauntered towards the center of the arena. A whiff of cigarette and pot smoke hit his nostrils. Peter Driscoll’s emerald eyes scanned the faces. The old woman was a no show tonight. Exhausted from travelling, he wanted to get back home to Chicago and his family.

  His fingers moved to the bare spot on his ring finger, hoping to ease his anxiety. Peter expected to feel his wedding ring there. It wasn’t. Of course. Cara was dead. Gone. He was alone, always alone. His eyes drifted towards a woman with long wavy blonde hair dressed in a flannel shirt, tank top, and faded jeans. Half in shadow, she sat at a table near polished wooden stairs that lead to an upper balcony.

  Peter watched her survey the room with fastidious blue eyes. Aside from himself, she was the only other American here in this underground arena in the Asakusa district of Tokyo. The smell of sweat and dried blood made several women cover their nose as they watched the bare knuckles of the fighters collide with flesh, but not Peter. Inhaling, he smiled, he never grew tired of that smell. He glanced around the room, no Yakuza and no old woman, it was very odd.

  The woman’s eyes looked towards him as he leaned against the back wall, near the makeshift bar. She watched him as he ignored the fight and kept eyeing the crowd. Dressed in a three-piece blue Armani suit, it was hard not to notice him in a place like this. He was the only American aside from herself in the entire building.

  She chuckled to herself, she had a thing for tall men in suits, especially this one. Her eyes were drawn to him. Tapping her finger on the rim of her sake cup, the woman couldn’t help but notice how sad he looked. Glancing away as Peter’s eyes met hers, she blew out a shaky breath. She suppressed a smile, lifting her cup of sake to her lips.

  Staring down at the table and tracing the rim of her cup, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was still watching her. He chewed on a cuticle and muttered to himself, “Shit or get off the pot, Driscoll.” Running a hand through his blond hair, Peter weaved through the throngs of people and towards the blonde sitting alone. He had no idea what he was going to say, he’d never hit on a random woman before. He pushed the thought of Cara from his mind.

  His dark blue suit came into her vision. She turned her blue eyes up towards him and gave him a shy smile. She was used to men approaching her, but he was different. Definitely not a tourist. Peter gave her a sheepish smile and put his sweaty hands in his pockets, “I, uh, I’m surprised to see another American here, especially at this hour.”

  He was just so different. Her instincts told her that this had to be Driscoll. The woman gestured to the seat across from her on the other side of the rickety table, “It passes the time.”

  Wearily, he sat down, “Tourist?”

  She shook her head, “Expatriate.”

  Leaning his elbows on the table he asked, “Oh, wow. How long have you been in Tokyo?”

  “About eight years or so.”

  Gleeful shouts signaled the end of the first fight. She folded her hands and watched as his emerald eyes looked around the room.

  “Looking for someone?”

  He shook his head, returning his gaze to her, “No.”

  She cocked her head as she reached towards her cup of sake, “Yakuzas don’t come here on Mondays if that’s who you’re looking for. Just so you know, they usually start showing up towards the end of the week.”

  “And you know that because?”

  The woman’s eyes gleamed. The light hit her hand as she lift the cup to take a sip and he noticed the scarred and chapped knuckles on her hand. Peter’s lips parted in surprise. A fighter. Sweet Jesus. His mind went a million directions. Peter thoughts drifted to how aggressive she must be in bed. He bit back a moan as that image kept repeating in his head.

  She noticed him looking at her hand as she took a sip of sake. Their eyes met, the air began to grow heavy. The woman’s mouth curled into a smile, “Come back tomorrow night.” She stood and ran her fingers through her blonde hair. He smirked at her, his eyes flickered with lust, “I’d never turn down a request from a beautiful lady but I have to ask why should I come back tomorrow night?”

  “Because that’s when I fight.”

  Peter rested his chin in his hand and looked up at her, “Can I have your name?”

  Her eyes danced, “Why do you want to know my name?”

  He folded his arms, “So I know who to bet against tomorrow night.”

  The woman laughed, “You’re going to lose a lot of money, blondie. Ask around, I’m sure the bookies will convince you otherwise.”

  “My name’s Peter by the way. In case you were wondering.”

  “Nice chatting with you, Peter. My name is Olivia.”

  She gave him a wink and disappeared into the crowd. Humming to himself, Peter strolled towards the exit and stepped outside into the bustling Tokyo street. Olivia was such a beautiful name.

  2

  The old Japanese woman gave a half-smile as she gestured around the smokey fighting arena, “Mr. Driscoll, as a token of our new business partnership, the Chiko clan would like to give you a gift of any woman you choose to do with what you will.” Peter didn't need to look around. He knew exactly who he wanted. He’d been watching Olivia fight all week and he wanted her.

  She was an unbelievable fighter. His eyes remained fixed on the old woman for a few seconds, “I want the fighter, Olivia.” He nodded his head towards the center of the room. A large man with thick muscles and Yakuza tattoos was advancing towards Olivia. She was bouncing on her feet with her bloodied fists raised as the man stalked towards her.

  A few days ago, he would’ve been protective and worried seeing her going up against such strength and raw force. Looking down at her, he knew she had this match in the bag. Her fists were quick and powerful. When he’d been a fighter, it was those two traits that Peter could never quite master. He was envious of her abilities. The bookies had been right. “If you’re smart, never bet against her. You’ll lose. She’s never lost a fight.”

  The old woman's brow furrowed as she hesitated, “She's not part of the offer. Please, allow me to recommend one. That young one over there or the one in the red dress across the way, she's one of the best in the city.”

  Peter dragged his eyes from the arena floor to the old woman, “It’d be a shame for me to go back to America unsatisfied and unhappy. The fighter or Chiko clan gets nothing from this deal.” The wrinkled lines around the old woman’s lips twitched and she almost smiled at his boldness. Smart and steadfast. She had a feeling Olivia and Peter would be good together.

  Shouts and cheers from the crowd as he heard a large body smack against the concrete floor followed by growls of pain and curses in Japanese. Olivia stood next to the floor announcer, breathing heavy and wiping blood from her lips as she surveyed her conquest. Peter’s eyes regarded her from his chair on the upper balcony. In his whole life, he'd never seen anything as beautiful as the sight of her at this moment. Her blonde hair stuck to her face, sticky with sweat and blood and her steel blue eyes full of exhilaration.

  Catching her breath, she allowed the announce
r to raise her arm and declare her the winner. Business men, European tourists, and gamblers began to line up and cash in their bets near a small table on their way out of the venue. The announcer let go of her arm, Olivia walked towards the corner where a bodyguard with a buzz cut was waiting by her bag. He whispered something to her as she toweled the sweat and blood from her face and arms.

  She looked up towards the balcony and met the old woman’s eyes before fixing her gaze on Peter. She pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile. She loved how persistent he was. Olivia pulled out a black tank top from her bag and pulled it over her head and unravelled her bloody hand wraps, tossing them in to her bag. She turned and muttered some words in Japanese to the bodyguard as they took the stairs up to the balcony where Peter and the old woman were sitting.

  Peter picked up his small cup of sake and watched Olivia walk barefoot up the worn wooden stairs. Covering his smile, he finished his drink and set it back down on the wooden table. Cocking an eyebrow, Olivia's eyes watched the old woman.

  The woman nodded to one of the bodyguards in the corner before turning back to Peter, “Clan Chiko gives her to you as a token of our appreciation in this new business venture. There’s a car waiting for you downstairs to take you to back to your private jet. Please express my sincere thanks to your boss for allowing you to come and visit us here in Japan. Have a safe trip back to Chicago, Mr. Driscoll.”

  The old woman extended her hand to Peter. He shook it before standing and buttoning his suit jacket. He respectfully bowed to the old woman before walking towards the stairs. Olivia approached the old woman and leaned down and kissed the her on the cheek, whispering in her ear before standing. The old woman nodded and gave Olivia a grateful smile. Making one hand into a fist, Olivia used her other hand to cover it, raising it to her chest, she bowed. As Olivia straightened, she winked at the old woman before turning and following Peter.

  Her bare feet hit a puddle of rainwater as she opened the back door to the black car and slid into the back seat. The leather upholstery was sticking to her bare skin, making Olivia shift to try and get comfortable. She was unaware how close Peter was to her until she turned to him after shutting the car door. “Oh. Hi.” She stared into his eyes. Brilliant, sparkling green.

  “Hey.”

  He was seconds away from placing his lips on hers. Olivia’s eyes darted down, breaking their eye contact. She pulled out her tennis shoes from her bag and slipped them on. The car began to move and Peter sat back and rested his head on the headrest. With his lids almost closed, he watched her stare out the tinted windows at the bright neon signs and clusters of pedestrians passing by. Olivia was blinking, trying to stay awake.

  “Crashing from the fight?”

  Olivia nodded and stifled a yawn. He looked over at her, his eyes falling on her lips. Those beautiful pink curves. Lust took over and he kept his gaze on her, his pulse quickening. He wanted to be inside her. His cock began to stiffen, his eyes roamed her body. It had been forever since he'd kissed a woman, let alone fuck.

  Reluctantly, Peter drew his eyes away from her. He pulled out his smartphone and began to fire off a few texts. Olivia looked over and watched him, her eyes taking in every inch of his body. The neon signs and headlights from oncoming cars illuminated Peter's hands. With both his hands wrapped around the phone, she noticed them clearly for the first time. Rough hands with calluses and scars along the knuckles. A black and emerald green Celtic knot was tattooed on his left hand, marking him as one of the top family members of Clan Driscoll.

  Olivia’s lips parted in a smile at the realization that he’d been a fighter. As the car slowed and turned towards the private runway, she motioned to his hands and asked, “How long were you a fighter?” He glanced over at her, noticing she was eyeing his hands. He tucked his smartphone back in his pocket and cleared his throat, “Let’s see, about six years. It was … a long time ago.”

  3

  The car stopped on the tarmac and the driver, dressed in a black suit and tie, opened Olivia’s door. He gave her a slight nod before closing her door and driving away. Olivia followed Peter, their feet splashing through tiny puddles of water as they walked towards the jet and up the metal staircase. The pilot greeted Peter and Olivia as they moved to sit down in to plush leather chairs and prepared for takeoff. Olivia sat down on a leather chair, her fingers trailing over the left armrest console with various media outlets.

  She looked around and admired the sleek black and dark wood interior of the cabin. Peter paused to exchanged a few quiet words with the pilot before moving towards Olivia. She closed her eyes at the sound of the cabin starting to pressurize and the pilot closing and locking the hatch and cockpit door. The tiny aisle lights flickered on as the pilot dimmed the cabin lights. Frowning, she looked up at him standing over her.

  Peter motioned for her to get up, “Sorry, but I need to search you.”

  Sighing, she tucked a few strands of her blonde hair behind her ear before standing. She felt his hands roam methodically over her body. She admired his intense thoroughness with the task.

  “Bag.”

  He rose back up as he removed his hand from her wet left ankle, his lips hovering near her ear as she handed him her duffle bag. A change of clothes, deodorant, tampons, passport, various fake forms of identification. He was expecting a phone, a tracker, or some device on her but got nothing.

  He gritted his teeth as he pushed everything back in the duffle bag. “No U.S. driver’s license I see. Hmm, didn’t think you’d need it in Japan? Yet, you have a passport, it’s a very good black market fake I might add. Must have costed a fortune.”

  Olivia’s mouth twitched, “The old woman is very generous to her fighters.”

  The jet’s engines fired up and rumbled. Picking up speed, the jet began to move down the runway. The motion made her plop back down in her seat. Peter handed her bag back to her and sat down across from her. Their seatbelts clicked as they both buckled in. The cabin floor vibrated, Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the arms of her leather chair.

  “You ok?” he asked, a crease appearing between his brows.

  She nodded, “Yeah, I hate this part. All the pressure changes and such.”

  Peter loosened his tie and pursed his lips, “Ah, yeah. I guess I'm so used to flying that I don't even think about it.”

  The jet began to lift off the runway, Olivia bit her tongue as she heard items in the cabin jiggle. She let her head fall back on the headrest, losing the battle against sleep. Waiting for her to fall into a deep sleep, Peter read a few pages of a history book on his phone. After her body relaxed, he took off his jacket and plugged his phone in to charge.

  Scanning her minimal clothing and bare arms, he placed his jacket over her before sitting back down and closing his eyes. Fourteen hours and then he'd be home. He closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion set in. Anxious, Peter’s mind churned.

  He ran bare-knuckle fights and gambling as third in command of the Driscoll clan, the Irish mafia that controlled part of north-western Chicago. Now that Olivia was a part of Clan Driscoll’s group of fighters, they were guaranteed to bring in a lot more money from gambling than they had in previous years. From the drug deal with Clan Chiko, Driscoll clan would have a massive increase in profits. They were on their way to becoming a major player on the world stage of organized crime. More money meant more risk for Peter and his family.

  Driscoll clan would be Sawyer Harrison’s primary target now that their shipments of drugs would be larger. Sawyer loved to bully and steal the small families, especially since it didn’t allow them to expand or gain alliances. Peter exhaled, if he kept worrying about everything, he’d never get any sleep.

  4

  Olivia grimaced as a ray of sunlight shone on her closed eyelids. The shade on the window nearest to her hadn't been drawn. She turned her head to the side, trying to angle away from the sunlight. She felt clothing on her arms. A blanket? No, too silky to be a blanket. Eyes still closed, sh
e pulled it up to cover her face and block out the sunlight. She inhaled and couldn’t place the scent. She cracked open one eye and looked down. His suit jacket. That was a panty dropper for her. A small gesture but enough to get her blood pumping.

  She stretched out her legs in front of her. She looked over and saw Peter was asleep. Flickers of sunlight shined through his dark blond hair and beard. He was sleeping at a weird angle and probably hurting his neck. She shook her head and smiled. Sleeping on a jet, you never got comfortable.

  She watched him for awhile, taking in every hard line and curve. Peter had a few small scars on his forehead and near his eyes, common scars from years of fighting. The sun hit his blond eyelashes and she felt lust begin to stir through her body. Her breath quickened and she dug her fingernails into her thighs. He squeezed his eyes and blinked them open.

  He scratched his head and ran his fingers through his hair. Turbulence jostled the cabin, making Olivia grab the armrests. He pulled down the window shade as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His emerald green eyes fell on her. Without breaking eye contact, he unbuckled his seatbelt. Her lips curled as she imitated him, unbuckling her seatbelt. The air became tense between them, his eyes swept down her body.

  “Come here,” he said.

  Take her time, Olivia moved towards him. Standing over him, she felt his hands move up her thighs. Taking in a sharp breath, she grabbed a fist full of his hair. He kissed her stomach and moved up to nestle her breasts. Peter took his time with each kiss and nip, taking pleasure in every second.

  Sitting up further in his chair, his tongue drew up from the bottom of her neck to her chin. Olivia kissed his forehead before moving her lips down towards his. As they neared the inevitable kiss, he grabbed her hair and pulled her to his lips. She moaned as their lips and tongues fought each other.