Blood & Fists: Bare-knuckle Series #1 Page 7

  Olivia watched as he stood, noticing his sleeve tattoos peeking out from his suit at the wrists. He had a Celtic knot on his right hand, similar to Peter's. Ronan paused halfway to the door and raised his eyebrows at Olivia stare. She gave a small awkward smile and headed towards the bench with her bag and water bottle.

  She took a drink of water and pulled out her hoodie from her bag. She eyed Ronan while he shut and locked Peter's office. Ronan’s dark eyes fell on Olivia zipping up her hoodie and preparing to head home. Ronan seized the opportunity to interrogate her and closed the distance between the two of them.

  “Lass, ye hungry?”

  Olivia stopped halfway to the front door and turned towards him. Tensing at how fast he’d moved on her, she plastered a fake smile on her face.

  “Sure, that sounds nice. Where are we going?”

  Ronan pointed his thumb to the right, “A ways down the street is the best damn Irish food in the United States.”

  Feeling in her pockets, she made sure she had Peter's spare key and her phone while waiting outside as Ronan spoke with Dux about locking up the gym for the night. “I don't feel like drivin’. It's cool enough that we won't die from heat stroke, let's walk.” Olivia chuckled falling in step beside him as they began walking towards their destination. Trying to ease her tension, her eyes roamed the cars and pedestrians lining the street.

  “So, Ronan, what do you do for a living?”

  She knew what he did, she wanted to see what elaborate lie he'd come up with.

  “I help me mum run a few pubs around Chicago and help out Pete whenever he needs it.”

  Olivia nodded. Try as they might to be smooth and convincing, the Driscoll brothers were both terrible liars. The average person probably wouldn’t notice, but Olivia was far from average. They fell into an awkward and tense silence.

  “So, Pete tells me ye lived in Japan for a while. What was that like?”

  Olivia began to fiddle with a frayed string on her green hoodie, feigning nervousness.

  “It was ... interesting. Thankfully, I had some friends that were fighters and had some legit connections so I got into fighting without having to prostitute myself to the Yakuza,” she sighed, “... others weren't as lucky.” Ronan couldn’t help but notice how rehearsed her response had sounded.

  “What ‘bout the old woman? What’s yer relationship with her?”

  Ronan and Olivia stepped to one side of the sidewalk, allowing a young blind man with a seeing eye dog and cane to pass by them. Watching the man pass, Olivia and Ronan resumed their walk towards Driscoll’s pub. She glanced at Ronan who was watching her awaiting her reply.

  “A local boss that paid me enough to become her personal in-house fighter.”

  “Interesting. That was very generous of her. Is Peter paying ye enough? Like enough that we won't lose ye if the Russians or Londoners decide they want ye to fight for them?”

  “I was a gift to him from the old woman. He could pay me nothing and I'd still stay.”

  Ronan lifted an eyebrow, “And why is that, lass?”

  Ronan was the second person today that tried to make her admit the obvious. Olivia suppressed a smile, she wasn’t about confide to Ronan how much she loved his brother. That was between her and her man. Passing a storefront window, she spotted an LED clock, noting the time. Calculating the time difference, she figured Peter would be getting on the plane at Heathrow right about now.

  “Loyalty. I’m a very loyal fighter, Ronan.”

  Ronan churned over Olivia’s words in his mind as he held open the heavy wooden door to Driscoll’s pub. Olivia stepped through, her eyes assessing every detail of the pub. Dark hardwood floors matched the half rectangular bar where a woman with dark black hair stood filling a pint glass full of dark amber liquid. A green and gold neon sign behind her read “At Driscoll’s, Guinness is always on tap”.

  The lighting was cozy and inviting, not too bright and not so dark that you couldn't see the person you were talking to. The walls were wood paneled with old black and white pictures along every wall. Pictures of Irish immigrant families and couples dancing were interspersed between old and faded posters of Irish fighters.

  Olivia smiled as she studied the pub’s decor, it was exactly what she was expecting. Ronan had walked a few steps to the bar and was flirting with the dark haired woman. Ronan was gazing at her as she nodded, a small smile on her pink lips. She knew that look, Peter gave her that look all the time. Ronan turned and motioned for her to come over and gestured to the woman he'd been flirting with.

  “Olivia, this is Andreia. She's one of the bartenders here at Driscoll's. Andie, this is Olivia, Peter's … lady ...”

  Olivia raised an eyebrow at Ronan, “His lady? That's news to me.”

  Smiling, Andreia stuck out her hand and shook Olivia's.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Can I get you a drink? Here's our food menu if you're hungry.”

  “Irish coffee, please,” she said and glanced at the menu. Ronan dark eyes met Andreia’s as he told her he wanted “his usual”. A whiff of bacon came from the kitchen that was off to the right of the bar where they stood. The smell of bacon and beer made it difficult for Olivia to make up her mind on what to eat. Ronan had sat down at a booth along the left wall towards the back of the pub. Olivia, getting annoyed with her own indecisiveness, nodded her head a few times.

  Andreia chuckled, “Take your time.”

  Blowing out a breath, Olivia said, “Ok, I think I've finally made a decision. Bacon and cabbage.”

  “Excellent, I'll bring it out when it's ready. I'll have your coffee ready in a few. Looks like Ronan has already picked out a spot,” she nodded towards where he sat, texting on his phone. Ronan looked up and watched Olivia approach him. Peter’s woman or no, Ronan knew never to sit with his back to a door or a liar. He watched Olivia’s body language when she moved to join him. Frowning, he looked back down at his phone. There was something about her, the way she carried herself seemed a little off. Wooden floorboards creaked beneath Olivia’s feet when she stopped and slid in across from him.

  That awkward tense silence was back between the two of them. Olivia traced swirls on her paper napkin with her fork and waited for Ronan’s interrogation to continue. Andreia brought their drinks without a word. Olivia muttered her thanks but Ronan was occupied by something on his phone and didn't look up. Olivia took a sip of her Irish coffee and rolled her eyes in pleasure at the taste of pure bliss. Coffee, booze, whipped cream, and sugar. Ronan took a small sip from his glass of Jameson whiskey.

  Olivia’s eyes met Ronan’s cold ones.

  “Before Japan where did ye live?”

  “In Rochester, New York with my folks … before they died.”

  Ronan took another sip of whiskey and nodded, “Hmmm. What's odd is the last name ye gave Peter … what was it?”

  “Lawrence.”

  Ronan smirked, “Aye, that’s it. See, I did some digging and I didn't turn up a lot of family information in New York that matched the information ye gave Pete.”

  Never taking her eyes off Ronan, Olivia dipped and twirled her finger in the melting whipped cream, “Your search wouldn't. My mother immigrated from France and came to New York. Her last name was Laurant. My folks never married and we--I changed my name to something more American sounding.”

  Andreia reappeared with Olivia's order of bacon and cabbage and some type of stew for Ronan. Olivia and Ronan gave each other a suspicious look before digging into their steaming food. Olivia barely had time to taste the bacon and cabbage before Ronan started back up with the questions.

  “What did your Dad do?”

  Olivia eyes slid towards the salt shaker near the wall in their booth, an image of her father resurfacing from her memories. “Livvy, despite my old age, I’m not going grey. I mean, just look at these blond hairs on my gorgeous head!”

  Olivia’s sad eyes looked back at Ronan, “Family business. Hardware store here, convenience store th
ere. My bro--mother helped him run everything.”

  She didn't look at him to see if he'd heard the slip up. She knew he did. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his fingers twitch. Ronan's spoon clattered as he let it fall in to his empty stew bowl. Folding his hands and leaning towards her, “Olivia, why don't I believe you?”

  Exhausted and tired of the questions, she decided to let her guard down. Olivia’s body language changed. She sat up straighter, raised her chin, and gave him a wry smile. Ronan was unnerved by that smile, it was terrifying. Narrowing her eyes, she leaned across the table towards him, “You don't have to believe me, Ronan. Your interrogation won't scare me away. You don't have to trust me and you sure as hell don't have to like me.”

  Olivia stood, her eyes dark and distant, “Thank you for dinner.”

  She turned on her heel and walked out of the pub without looking back. She closed her eyes, inhaling the cool evening air. It was a sure sign that fall was approaching fast. Scowling, she checked her phone for the time and saw a text from Peter.

  Standing outside the pub, the flag of Ireland swaying in the breeze, Olivia tapped her foot. She knew she shouldn’t have gone with Ronan to this place. She watched the Irish flag flutter in and out of lights that illuminated the pub’s exterior. Movement a ways down the sidewalk pulled Olivia’s attention away from the flag and towards a tall woman with fiery red and grey hair walking down the sidewalk towards her. Even at dusk, Olivia knew Roisin Driscoll by sight.

  Approaching the pub, Roisin Driscoll’s black boots clicked on the sidewalk. A group of people exited the pub and Olivia used the opportunity to blend in with the group and move a few paces away from the pub. Olivia’s eyes met Roisin’s bright green eyes for a few seconds before Olivia looked down, pretending to be making a call.

  Olivia held her phone up to her ear, “Hey, where are you?”

  Roisin saw the knuckles wrapped in gauze. She had to be Peter’s fighter. Without a word, she pulled open the door and stepped in. Walking off to one side of the building, Olivia peered through the front window, spotting Roisin and Ronan talking near the back of the pub. Mother and son moved towards a locked room off to the side that served as storage for dry goods and booze. It's also where the Driscoll’s conducted family business. Olivia sighed and rubbed her face. She was running out of time.

  16

  Olivia awoke to feel Peter's hand on her waist and the sun peaking through the blinds. They both were curled up on their sides, his forehead rested against her back between her shoulders. Regaining her senses from sleep, she felt his bare legs pressed up against hers. She closed her eyes and listened to him breathe. Slow and steady. Her throat tightened and her eyes filled with tears.

  Home.

  He was home.

  He was her home.

  Olivia recalled the last time she'd cried. It'd been the night her parents and sister had been murdered. So much pain and anger. Her family, her home. Alive on a Tuesday, dead on a Wednesday. And now, happiness. Pure, concentrated. All because of Peter. She let the tears roll down her cheeks and wet her pillow. She tried to relax her body as she withheld her sobs. It'd been a long time since she'd cried and now that she'd started, she was having a hard time stopping. Olivia pushed her lips together.

  Peter's hand slid up her arm. “Your body temperature is a million degrees and I can feel your sobs even if you're trying to hide it. What's wrong?” he whispered.

  Oh right, he was a light sleeper. Asshole.

  Peter moved up, pressing his lips to her warm neck. She shook her head and wiped at her tears, “It's nothing.”

  “Livvy, what's wrong?”

  Livvy. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had used her nickname. This brought back the tears and she covered her face with her hands.

  “Third time's the charm … what's wrong, Olivia?”

  He rolled her to face him. Worry, concern, and fear were etched around his tired eyes. She wiped at her eyes and blinked at him. He took her hand and kissed the top of her head. Taking a deep breath, she smiled. Excuses and lies flashed through her head. For once, she settled on the truth. He'd always be hers, no matter what the future held.

  She shrugged and ran her hand down his cheek, “I'm in love with you.”

  Peter swallowed and cleared his throat. Closing his eyes, his voice was rough and barely audible, “Yeah … I … love you, too.”

  Olivia's eyes began to water as she touched his face again to get him to look at her. Peter let out a long sigh as he pulled her to him and kissed her. Olivia ran her fingers through his blond hair. She knew it would be hard for him to say.

  Smiling against his lips, “What time did you get home?”

  Home.

  “Few hours ago,” he mumbled against her lips.

  “Babe, you need to catch up on sleep, I bet you're exhausted.”

  He nipped at her neck, “I may be exhausted, but I need the woman I love on my dick right now.”

  He pressed against her and she slide her hand into his boxers and gripped his cock.

  “Hmm, how about a compromise?”

  Peter laughed, “Uh-oh, this can't be good.”

  She let go of his cock and kissed his lips, “Well, the compromise was going to be you watch me fuck myself with my new dildo. Wearing nothing but my new stilettos--”

  Peter held up his finger to her lips, silencing her, “You're going to make me cum if you say anything else. I want to watch you fuck yourself as you gag on my dick.”

  Olivia’s eyes glinted as she began to strip off her shirt and pajama pants. He watched her saunter into their closet. Peter hopped off the bed, moving towards the window. He took off his shirt and opened the blinds. Morning light flooded the bedroom. Peter stood gazing out at the city. It was a beautiful morning.

  Olivia said his name and he turned towards her. His whole body ached as he saw her in the black heels. She dropped her new toy on the ground as she pressed into him in front of the window. Their lips met. Biting, sucking, fighting. Breaking the kiss, Peter pushed her blonde hair from her face and said looking out the window, “Chicago is going to watch us.” Tracing his thumb along her lips, he continued, “Now, be a good slut and get on your knees.”

  Olivia watched the beast Batista take on two newbie fighters. Watching him instruct them in the basics of defensive strikes, Olivia sipped from her water bottle and tried to work out the lactic acid building up in her quads. Movement in the corner of her eye made her look over towards the door and lock eyes with Ronan as he entered the gym in a crisp white shirt, vest, and tie.

  Ronan’s expression hardened as his eyes fell on Olivia. He plucked at the cuff of his shirt and made his way towards Peter’s office. Olivia broke eye contact, setting down her water bottle and wiping her face with a towel. Ronan eyes flicked to Peter sitting in his office, lost in thought. Olivia moved towards a set of stretching bands and jump ropes along one wall that was shared with Peter’s office. Olivia grabbed a toning band and began to work her legs on the floor and listen in on their conversation.

  Ronan sat down and began to fidget with a pen on Peter’s desk. Peter watched his brother and waited for him to speak. Peter raised his eyebrows when Ronan didn’t speak up but continued to fidget with the pen.

  “Ronan, what’s up?”

  Ronan’s concerned eyes met Peter’s.

  “Have you noticed anything odd lately around here? I mean, odder than usual.”

  Peter nodded and cleared his throat, “I was just thinking about that before you showed up. It seems that the Feds have seemed to stop taking an interest in us. That or they suddenly got good at their surveillance.”

  “Well, to be honest, I’m surprised you’ve noticed. You’ve been …”

  “Pussy whipped?” Peter suggested.

  “Yes. She’s distracted you,” Ronan snipped. Peter shook his head, biting his tongue. “You fucking hypocrite. I know you’re stressed and pissed about everything in your life, but don’t take it out on me.”
<
br />   Ronan bit back a retort. He huffed out a breath, pushing down his Irish temper, “Anyway, Feds. They’ve stopped watching the pubs as well. Almost like they’ve disappeared overnight.”

  Peter drummed his fingers on his desk and ran a hand over his face.

  “Think they have someone on the inside and they’re gearing up to take us down?”

  Ronan’s thoughts centered on Olivia. He didn’t want to plant that seed in Peter’s mind without evidence. It would destroy him. Ronan decided it would be best to keep his suspicions to himself.

  “We don’t have the resources to find out. We could move money around to try and get information but that’s extremely risky. What’s clear is something is going on with both the Feds and the other families and we’re in the dark.”

  Olivia startled as one of the fighter’s Batista was training hit the floor. She sucked in a short breath and switched to her working her right leg.

  “All we can do is be prepared for anything. We’ve been in these situations before, granted not this big, but it's all we can do.”

  Ronan stood and shook his head, “Watch your back, brother.”

  Peter moved towards him and both men hugged each other. Olivia scooted away from the wall, putting some distance between her and Peter’s office.

  17

  “Oh come on! That is not a good movie,” she said popping the last bit of her pizza crust in her mouth. It was pizza night again. The television was muted as they sat together on their plush white couch eating. Peter paused, a glass of water halfway to his lips, “Those are fightin’ words lass.”

  A huge grin spread across Olivia's face and she raised her fists, “I'm up for a good clean fight if you are.”

  “Clean fight?! Ha! I'd be surprised if the outcome of this doesn't involve us getting naked and very, very dirty,” he said. His eyes roamed up and down her body as he set his glass down. She set her plate down on the polished black coffee table. She stood and straddled him, setting down on his lap.