Blood & Fists: Bare-knuckle Series #1 Page 5

  Knocking on the hood of the black SUV, Peter grinned, “Good morning fellas. Brought you some coffee, it must be exhausting watching my gym 24/7. One would think you Feds have something more important to do than to watch a local business.” He set the two cups of coffee on the hood of the SUV. Dressed in black suits and ties, the two emotionless agents scowled at him. He gave the agents a lopsided grin before folding his arms and peering into the SUV.

  “Just to let you know, I didn’t poison those. That’s not how I roll. Figured you Feds could use some gourmet coffee and not the shit brand they bulk order for you at the downtown headquarters.”

  As the two agents stared at him in silence, Peter’s smile dropped, “I find that poisons are too subtle. We Driscolls are never subtle. If I were to kill you or better yet, your son studying abroad in London,” his eyes slid over to the agent in the passenger seat. The agent’s jaw clenched. Peter’s eyes moved to the agent in the driver’s seat, “... or your twin daughters.” The agent in the driver’s seat gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

  Peter’s mouth curled into a devilish grin, his eyes flicking between the two agents, “I’d make sure both of you knew who put a bullet in their heads.”

  Peter buttoned his suit jacket and gave the two agents a friendly wave before starting to walk back across the street towards the gym. He snapped his fingers and backpedaled in the middle of the street towards the unmarked SUV. Leaning into the open window, he said “Just a suggestion, but you might want to park further back, you're very easy to spot from the front window. Oh, before I forget, would you guys give captain Elsa Turner of CPD’s 6th District a ‘hello’ from me?”

  11

  When Friday came, Peter was a nervous wreck. He hated how much he worried for Olivia. He was worried about her safety and didn't want her to get hurt at all. He kept telling himself that she was a seasoned fighter, she’d taken punches to the face before. She was complicating everything. He sighed, attempting to calm his anxiety. Olivia was cool, calm, and collected.

  She'd done this a million times. She wasn't worried at all. Late in the afternoon, Peter drove them to the South Side dock arena. Pulling into a hidden parking space, Peter tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Olivia looked over at him, “Peter, I can feel your anxiety and it's rubbing off on me. For the love of all that is holy, please smoke a joint or do something to calm down.”

  Looking over at her, he started laughing.

  “Or what, you'll leave me in the car?”

  She chuckled, his laugh was infectious.

  “Damn right, I will blondie.”

  Peter blew out a breath he’d been holding. He felt in his suit pocket for a lighter and pulled it out. He reached out to pop open a hidden compartment by his steering wheel and pulled out a thin joint and lit it. Olivia smiled and reached over, rubbing his head and running her fingers through his hair, “Relax. You know I’ll be fine right?”

  Peter exhaled a puff of smoke out of the window and nodded, “Just … just be careful.”

  The arena was two levels, with the second level being a railed balcony. It was a very similar set up like the one Olivia had fought at in Tokyo. The fighting floor was nestled between four thick metal pillars that extended up to hold the building’s metal roof. Their footsteps echoed on the concrete floor as Peter and Olivia approached the empty arena. A man dressed in a white tank top and a loose button up looked up from his phone and tipped his tan porkpie hat.

  “Evening, it's gonna be some good fights tonight,” the man said as he pulled out a small steno pad and worn down nub of a pencil from his khakis.

  Olivia slowly looked around, taking in every corner and metal structure. Setting her small bag full of elastic hand wraps, towels, and bottles of water down on a small bench near the sparring floor. Peter strode over and began to talk with the man in the hat. Olivia heard heavy footsteps approaching, announcing that Batista and Dux had arrived.

  Olivia tried to make out what Peter and the man were discussing but they had walked into a corner and were talking in hushed voices. She continued to scan around the room as she slipped off her athletic shoes. She looked over as Dux and Batista set their bags down and gave her a nod before sitting down in unison.

  She pulled off her socks and placed her bare feet in the polished concrete. Tucking a few strands of her hair back into her ponytail, she walked over to the first of the metal pillars. She began walking to the second, measuring the distance with her feet, toe to heel. Her lips were pressed together in concentration as she counted eleven steps.

  Reaching the second, third and fourth pillar, she repeated the same measurements. All counted eleven steps. Tapping her fingers on her lips, she studied the center of the sparring floor. Olivia walked to the center and looked down at her feet. Her eyes trailed along the ground back to the first pillar.

  She turned so her back was facing the first pillar and moved towards it diagonally backwards, measuring the steps between the center and the first pillar. Taking steady breaths in and out, Olivia closed her eyes and she reached back with both her arms. Eight. Nine. Ten. She felt the cold metal of the pillar. Eleven.

  She drummed her fingers along the pillar, listening to the dull sound it made. Letting her arms fall, she touched her right to toe to her left heel and walked forward eleven steps. Opening her eyes but keeping them on the ground, she turned and moved towards the second pillar. She repeated the same motions three more times as she'd done with the first.

  Peter beamed as he watched Olivia.

  “Huh, well ... that's new,” Dux muttered to Batista as they were wrapping up their hands.

  Olivia padded back to the bench and pulled out a roll of elastic hand wraps from her duffle bag. She was relieved that the last day of her period had been today. She didn't think being punched in the stomach on top of cramps wasn't her ideal way to win a fight.

  After cracking her knuckles, she began taping a couple of spots on each of her fingers. She started curling and stretching her feet while testing the tightness of her wrappings. Stretching her ankles and calves, the three fighters looked up as people started trickling in.

  Massaging her forearms and wiggling her fingers, she glanced up to the balcony to see Peter moving among groups of people. Nearly all of the men were dressed in suits and different colored ties. All of them had women in tight dresses on their arm. Peter nodded to a few of them, keeping the atmosphere civil and neutral.

  Everyone was searched before entering the building or any other fighting place. Fighting events were neutral ground, so no one from the other mob clans would carry weapons of any kind. If guns or weapons were allowed, small clan squabbles could quickly escalate during a fight night due to an itchy trigger finger by one or two cocky young lieutenants.

  The no weapons rule had been enforced over twenty years ago, back when tensions between the families was practically nonexistent. The families still obeyed this rule even as rivalries boiled over out into the streets. Only Peter carried a weapon in the venues, just in case. Always just in case.

  Peter glanced down to see Olivia watching him, he gave her a nod before walking towards the bookie. Olivia's lips twitched before she glanced back down to her hands. Her blue eyes looked towards the bench on the other side of the floor as three men moved to sit down.

  All three men had biceps bigger than her head. She studied each one of them, watching how they shifted their weight sitting down. The bookie shuffled down from the balcony and walked over to her bench holding a black permanent marker. Olivia watched as he wrote a one on Dux’s shoulder with the marker. The bookie moved to Batista, writing a three on his shoulder.

  She smelled the sharp smell of the permanent marker as the bookie wrote a two on her arm and muttered “Good luck.”

  She put in her black mouth guard as she watched the bookie write numbers on the three beasts on the other bench. The man she would be fighting was tall with a shaved head and words in Russian tattooed along each knuckle of
his ten fingers. Russian words along each knuckle was a sign that the wearer was a member of Chicago's Russian family.

  Olivia was too far away to read the words along his knuckles, but the words signified to everyone the type of killer he was. Distracted by her Russian opponent, she came back to reality when she heard the bookie call for the first fighters to approach the center where he was standing. The bookie pushed back his hat and nodded to both men as he explained the rules.

  “No killings or blows to the groin will be tolerated. If there are, the fight is over and all winnings and payouts will go to the house. If a fighter raises his or her hands, palms outwards and fingers straight, at any time during the fight, he or she is yielding victory to the other fighter. The other fighter must stop where they are and wait for yours truly to enter. The boundaries are marked,” he pointed to the four pillars, “and if a fighter is knocked out of bounds, the fight is over and the fighter remaining within bounds is declared the winner.”

  Dux and his opponent both nodded in silent understanding of the rules. Several clusters of people in the crowd were getting impatient and started telling the bookie to hurry up and begin the fight. Olivia didn't look up, she knew Peter was up there watching. Pressing her lips together, she closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing.

  She heard the bookie yell, “Fight!”

  Yells and cheers erupted as her eyes snapped open. Dux and his opponent shifted into a fighting stance as the words left the bookie’s mouth. Dux’s height had him at a disadvantage in this fight and the other fighter used it to land a few punches to his ribs and face. Dux shifted his stance, becoming lighter on his feet.

  Batista and Olivia shared a smirk as they watched Dux land an uppercut that made blood dribble out of the other fighter’s nose. After an energetic trading blows back and forth, the other fighter began to tire. This was a common practice among fighters to try and wear the opponent out by spending all their energy retaliating punch for punch instead of defending.

  The Russian was watching her, eyes narrowed, from across the floor. Olivia met his eyes coldly, tamping down her nervousness. A loud cheer drew her eyes to see Dux corner his opponent near their bench, inches away from being knocked out of bounds. Dux landed a right jab and then a left that sprayed blood from his nose and mouth through the air and sprinkle droplets on Olivia and Batista.

  An impish smile spread across Olivia’s lips, she looked down at her folded hands in her lap dotted with blood. Oh yes, the blood. Looking down at her from the balcony, Peter glowed. He was getting hard just seeing her minimal reaction to the blood on her, he knew it'd be impossible for him not to fuck her after she won her fight.

  He had no doubt she would win. His hand gripped the railing as he thought of how he'd take her. In his car or off in a dark corner while Batista’s fight started. He glanced over spotting two young men in puke yellow ties and black suits talking. Sawyer’s men.

  Sawyer’s clan was involved with the international heavy hitters, dealing in weapons and sex trafficking. Up until eight years ago, Harrison family dealt on the same level as Clan Driscoll, in order to keep peace and an equal playing field. Sawyer Harrison changed all that when he murdered his entire family and took his father’s place.

  In one week, Sawyer had changed Harrison clan from profiting in gambling and the drug business to shady deals with the Italians and cartels. Even with his new business partners, Sawyer wanted more. More profits and more power.

  The Russian family, run by Dmitri, was getting income by legal prostitution and a string of exclusive nightclubs dotted around Chicago. Sawyer decided Dmitri was getting too much profit and ordered his men into Russian territory to grab prostitutes off the street, forcing them into sex trafficking.

  By the time Dmitri and his men would get word of what had happened, the women would be long gone, traded across state lines. A few of Dmitri’s men against a swarm of Sawyer’s left little room for the Russians to put up a fight. This allowed the stealing of Dmitri’s profits by Sawyer to continue for almost eight years.

  Olivia’s cold eyes focused on Peter as he watched the two men in the puke yellow ties. Why Sawyer chose that hideous color to represent his family, she’d never understand. Olivia’s eyes flicked back to see Dux land one final punch to his opponent, knocking him down to the floor. The opponent hit the floor hard, cracking his tailbone. Face contorted in pain, he weakly raised his hands towards Dux. Dux stopped advancing and the bookie ran into the center, chewing on a toothpick.

  Olivia took a deep breath. Pushing all thoughts from her mind, she waited as Dux was declared the winner of the first fight of the night. Upstairs, Peter stepped into a shadowy corner and pulled out his phone. Distracted by Sawyer’s men and their intense conversation, he was unaware that Olivia was making her way to the sparring floor. She felt the cool concrete under her bare feet as she walked up and stood next to the bookie. The Russian kept his eyes on her as he made his way to the floor.

  12

  The Russian cracked his neck as they listened to the bookie repeat the rules of the fight. A calm settled over Olivia as she waited for the words. She made her hands into fists and raised them up towards her face. The elastic wraps on her hands had a fresh unused smell to them, it’d take less than five minutes for that to change.

  “FIGHT!”

  In sync, Olivia and the Russian shifted to the balls of their feet, making their steps light and springy. She closed the distance between them and got him to take a swing at her. Springing back, she dodged the blow. He'd swing at her with full force so when he'd missed, his body tipped slightly forward. Olivia had a split second to seize the opportunity and sent her left fist into the side of his head. Peter had looked down just in time to see this happen and grinned, her left hook was insanely powerful.

  While he was distracted by the punch, she jabbed at both sides of his rib cage with both of her fists before shoving him backwards and stepping back. The Russian looked stunned and pissed at her quickness. He was going to lunge for her and she was expecting it. She took a couple steps back, baiting him. He stepped towards her raising his fists. Olivia took a couple more steps back, bouncing on her feet. Feigning tiredness, she shifted her weight, making her feet heavy so he would notice it when she took a few more steps backwards.

  The Russian was closing the distance, she stepped back with her right foot and felt it rub against the metal pillar. She raised her fist, looking like she was going to fight him off once he reached her. He lowered his right fist and aimed for her ribs. It was a hard blow but it failed to knock the wind out of her. She tipped forward slightly, keeping her head straight upright so he could see the opportunity and strike her face with his left fist. It was only a fraction of a second of waiting before Olivia saw his left fist move back.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  She dropped down and felt his left fist collide with the metal pillar. Hearing the crunch of bone she moved behind him as he grabbed his hand screaming in pain. He was unaware that she’d moved, probably due to his eyes being closed in pain. She grabbed his sweaty shoulders and with an enormous amount of force, shoved him towards the pillar. His head slammed into the metal and onlookers nearby heard a loud pop and saw blood began to gush from his nose. Olivia didn’t need confirmation that his nose was broken, she’d heard it. It was her second favorite sound in the world.

  “That’s my girl,” Peter whispered, affection glowing in his eyes.

  Since the Russian was still standing and had yet to yield to her, she got a grip on the back of his bald head and rammed his face into the pillar three times. The Russian collapsed onto the floor, his face resembling a mixture of raw meat and bone. Rolling over onto his back, he wiped his blood out of his eyes and looked up at Olivia. She folded her arms and raised her eyebrows, waiting. Spitting out a chunk of blood and mucus from his mouth, the Russian raised his hands.

  After being declared winner, she moved back to the bench and pulled out her mouth gu
ard. Panting, she swiped at the sweat on her brow as she sat back down. Digging through her bag for a bottle of water, she felt her phone buzz and looked at the message from Peter.

  Her lips curved into a smile as she drew her eyes up to see him watching her as she read his message. Gazing up at him, she shook her head a fraction of an inch. Peter pursed his lips together in a faint smile and tilted his head to his left. She eyed him as she dragged out the seconds between each gulp of water from her bottle. She loved making him wait. Peter folded his arms and smiled down at her. He could play this torture game, too. It always came down to who blinked first. Tonight, it was Olivia.

  Fighting always made her horny and she wanted him now. His eyes danced watching her growing frustration. She realized she’d have to fold first. Olivia glared at Peter, throwing down her water bottle on the bench, she stood as Batista reached the center of the sparring floor.

  13

  Olivia nuzzled in closer as Peter stroked her bare back. They stared up at the vaulted ceiling of his bedroom. Olivia ran her fingers through her hair and fidgeted with the split ends.

  “Where are your parents?”

  Peter stopped stroking her back and looked at her in the dark, “Hmmm?”

  “I mean, like, I assume you have some since you married into this business, right?”

  Hesistanting, Peter shook his head, “Might as well give you the full version so you know. I was born and raised here in Chicago. Being an only child, I was never good enough for my father. My mother was too busy with her public service career to give a shit about me. So, yeah, I was by myself a lot. Ronan and I met in first grade, went to the same school and have been causing trouble ever since.”

  Olivia grinned, “Somehow, I’m not shocked by that.”

  Peter chuckled and continued, “My father took off when I was eight. My mother remarried soon after he left. The guy who was my step-dad was an asshole and wasn’t too keen on the whole step-dad role. So, I stayed over at Ronan’s place a lot, I’d go weeks without going home. Roisin, Ronan and my wife’s mother, forged my permission slips and would make sure I had lunch money every day.