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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Fighting For Chloe

  Copyright 2018, Harper Phoenix, Eva Jones

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Jeesh, where do we even start!?

  We’d like to thank all of you who believed in our dream and helped us to achieve it, you know who you are! To the sassy ladies who keep us sane; Joz, Antonette, Stacey, Amali, Sienna, Laura- We love you hard! Tania, Lesley, Amali, and Cheril- Thank you so much for being our alpha readers and making sure we stayed on track. To our beta and arc readers- Without you we couldn’t have done this! You all rock!

  Ginormous sized thanks go to Amali Rose for your unwavering support and kindness, for giving us honesty when needed and being our sounding board! You amaze us both!

  Antonette Santillo... You’re our rock! We love you forever and always. ‘Nough said.

  Thanks also go to JM Walker for designing the awesome cover and formatting our words so they can be read in all formats. And special thanks to Anna Bloom, our editor, for going on this journey with us and for putting up with the both of us, we love you!

  Those we love never go away, even when they can’t be physically present.

  They walk beside us. Still loved, and still missed.

  ~ Anonymous ~

  Dominic

  Nine Years Old

  I’VE GOT A new bike. It’s all I wanted and I can’t believe my nan actually got it for me. It’s my birthday, I’m nine today. I ride my bike up and down the pavement, Nan told me when I’m here I can play in the street, between the two lamp posts at either end, so long as I don’t go past either one, I’m good. We’ve come for tea, Mum never cooks like my nan does, so I always have seconds and a pudding. I’m allowed because she said I’m a growing lad. I am, you know. I’m on my second pair of school trousers already this year. Mum said if I grow anymore she’s taking the hem down because she can’t afford to keep up with me. My nan buys my uniform anyway, my mum and dad don’t.

  As I turn my BMX around, and loop my way back down the street, a group of bigger boys come around the corner. I know who it is straight away, so I try and peddle off, but my foot slips. The ringleader, Tommy, is the hardest in my school and he’s horrible to everyone. As my shin scrapes against the peddle, I start to fall. Laughter rings out behind me and I know they are watching me. Before I can pick myself up he’s in front of me, his friends close by, blocking me in. I start to shake and it makes me mad. I shouldn’t show weakness. I know this, yet I can’t stop it. My heart echoes in my head. I flinch when he lifts his arm, thinking he’s going to punch me. Instead he fakes it, and slicks his hair back, laughing because I flinched. He pulls his leg back and kicks my bike.

  ‘Don’t you dare kick my new bike.’ I yell at him surprising even myself.

  ‘What you gonna do ‘bout it?’ He stamps aggressively on the front wheel, and I push my chest out and yell again.

  ‘I’ll tell my dad and he’ll kick your head in.’ He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t give a shit about me, or my bike. But I wasn’t going to tell them that. Tommy turns to walk away and I start to pick up my bike. The wheel is buckled, and I hold back stinging tears, but when I turn my back, he pushes me over, and I fall onto my bike. The handlebar sticks me in the ribs and I scrape my face across the pavement. My eye is closing up, it hurts so bad. My heartbeat pounds louder and louder. Just as I’m getting up he kicks me right up the arse.

  ‘Yer bike’s shit,’ he says. They all walk down to Tommy’s house, on the corner of the next street. I can’t ride my bike because the wheel’s all bent out of shape, so I push it best as I can back to my nans. I cry all the way back. I’ve been desperate for this bike, for as long as I can remember, and my nan has saved up to give me it. Now I can’t even ride it. I walk around the back of the house and stand it up against the wall, before I sit on the floor and pull against the wheel with my hands while I force my feet against the bottom. It won’t straighten. I sit and cry with my head on my knees, my nan comes out to see what’s up. Pulling my face towards hers she gasps in shock.

  ‘What the hell happened, did you fall off the bike?’ I shake my head and swallow the lump in my throat as I swipe at the tears running down my cheeks, proof that I’m weak. Boys don’t cry.

  ‘What the fuck happened?’ Dad yells from the backdoor. Great. ‘Answer me, boy.’

  ‘It was Tommy, he pushed me over and broke my bike.’

  ‘And you fucking let him?’ My chin quivers and I nod in answer. ‘Where does the little fucker live?’ I shrug my shoulders. I know, but I also know what my dad’s going to do. He isn’t mad they’ve hurt me. He’s mad that I let them. Now I’ll be taught a lesson. It’s always the same. Nan stands with her hands on her hips, before she takes my chin with her fingers to examine my face.

  ‘Let’s get you inside and clean up your face.’ She smiles at me, but she’s not happy, she’s sad, I can tell.

  ‘The fuck he’s going inside, get your arse over there right now and you kick his arse, otherwise I’m going to kick yours all over this fucking street, you hear me, boy?’ It takes a minute to understand what he’s just said and I’m slow to stand. My nan starts to protest, but he ignores her, dragging me round the front of the house by my shoulder. He grips it so hard I know I’ll have a bruise tomorrow. Nan’s still calling us as we reach the front gate and I spot the lads hanging around outside of Tommy’s house.

  ‘You don’t get respect by acting like a fucking little girl, Dominic. You earn respect, and you don’t let cunts like them smack you around, you listening, boy?’ I don’t answer. When we get closer I can see Tommy straighten his back waiting for my dad to rip him a new one. He doesn’t though.

  ‘Which one of you cunts is Tommy?’ he asks. None of them answer, so my dad turns to me. ‘Which one?’ I point at Tommy my face getting hotter and hotter. Tommy doesn’t say a word. Just stands there looking dumb. My dad lets go of my shoulder and shoves me toward him.

  ‘You sort this out like men do, you don’t let anyone smack you around, Dominic. Now you fight him or I’ll beat the fucking pair of you!’ Tommy laughs like my dad is some kind of funny man. I know different. He’s dead serious, and I have to decide what will be the lesser of two evils. Tommy fucking me up, or my dad. I make a quick decision and bring my hands up like the boxers do on the telly. My dad grunts in approval.

  I go forward and Tommy sticks his hands up
quickly realising what I’m doing. He’s about twelve years old, and a lot bigger than me. I swing my arm out and land a punch just under his jaw. I aim for his face but hit his throat. He bends forward giving me an opportunity to punch him again. So I do. Twice more before he falls on his arse. Like I said he’s a lot older than me, and a lot bigger. He surprises me by grabbing a handful of my hair, and then he rains punches into my stomach and chest. I’ve suddenly got no air and he still doesn’t stop. My nose crunches and I feel warm liquid run down over my lips. He kicked my bike. He said it was shit. And now he’s busted my nose. Bastard. I go wild and kick him in the shins. Hard. Then I punch him with both hands over and over until he finally lets go of my hair. He’s bleeding now and is on his knees in front of me. Before I can do anymore damage, Tommy’s dad comes barrelling down the road, headed in our direction.

  ‘Don’t stop, boy,’ Dad orders. So I punch him again. He looks like he wants to give up now and I want to too. But as his dad gets to my dad, all hell breaks loose. There is screaming and cursing, and the next thing I know my dad is beating Tommy’s, and my mum is out screaming at Tommy’s mum that she will kick her arse to kingdom come. There’s complete and utter chaos before the police are finally called and my dad is arrested. I learnt a lesson that day. And I never let anyone pick on me again.

  Dom

  I LOOK IN the shitty mirror and flex, I’m tatted up, broad as hell and fit as fuck. Have to be, where I come from it’s the survival of the fittest. And I’m the fucking fittest.

  No excuses.

  No giving up.

  In it to win it.

  When I walk in the ring I’m there to do one thing. Take my opponent down. There’s no rules, anything goes. No medic on standby to wheel you away when you get hurt. Best you can hope for is being dumped in an alley somewhere you might be found. Losing isn’t an option for me. It’s not just that, there’s a big payday after each fight if you win. I need that money. So I take them out. It’s me or them. It’s my third fight in two weeks, I ache but it’s a good ache. It keeps me on my toes and the pain is a reminder of why I’m here.

  The place is a shit hole and I’m in what was once a public toilet, the sinks are fucked, the taps don’t work, and I dread to think what the toilets are like. I wrap my knuckles in red wraps, it was a pain in my ass at first to do it on my own, trying to wrap my right hand with the left but I’ve learnt now. It was a case of having to. My knuckles have been broken and popped too many times to count. It’s not much protection but it’s better than nothing at all. I shake my arms and jump from foot to foot on the spot, cracking my neck from side to side. I put my mouth guard in and push the door open. The crowd are screaming for blood and I push my way through them. The fight before mine is over and the guy is being dragged from the cage unconscious. He’s a mess. His first time, and no doubt his last. He’s tossed to the side like fucking garbage. Paying him no more attention than I need to, I make my way up the stairs and into the cage. The little guy who announces the fighters is crudely mopping at blood with a white towel—it smears in arcs across the ring and his attempt to make it better fails. I step in and start to stretch my legs, side stepping around the cage. Arms shook out and rolling my neck some more until it clicks, I absorb the ache. Getting in the zone. I need to hurt this fucker and fast. I don’t need to put my body through any more shit than necessary today. In and out Dom.

  My opponent comes in the ring. I’ve seen him before and he’s a good fighter. I’ve watched him take a few down, but he hasn’t come across me yet. I won’t be going down. Not for him. Not tonight. Not ever, if I can help it.

  He’s about my height maybe an inch or two taller. He isn’t as broad as I am but he has the muscle. He stares at me from the opposite side of the cage. Trying to psych me out, not going to happen, just a walk in the park. I glare back curling my lip slightly. My eyes never leaving his. There’s always a few minutes while all the greedy fuckers in the crowd exchange money for bets. Deciding on who they like for the win. I haven’t lost a fight yet, but neither has this guy. He’s about to though. I clench and unclench my fists, pacing back and forth in front of him. Eager to get this done. The little guy comes in and raises his arms, the crowd goes quiet. He doesn’t say shit, we know the rules. Fight until you can’t. That’s it. He Yells out, ‘To the left we have Dominic the Dominator, to the right, Jake the Jackhammer.’ Fucking stupid names if you ask me but it gets the crowd going. I watch him waiting for the clap of his hands to signal the beginning of the fight. His hands meet but the echo is lost in the thunderous roar the crowd makes baying for blood. With one thing on my mind I step forward, paying no attention to the little guy running for freedom from the cage. My eyes are on the Jackhammer. He dances a little on his toes, spinning his fists like he’s skipping a rope. I wait a beat of a second before I rush him not giving him time to protect his face as I fake a blow to the gut, with my right hand. I’m a righty, it’s obvious for anyone to see in my stance, but I’ve learnt to use my left with just as much power. He hasn’t done his homework like me. He doesn’t see my left uppercut coming. It’s that simple, that easy, he’s out cold. One punch. Like I said, it’s a walk in the park. The crowd goes wild, and I raise my left fist in appreciation. The little guy comes back in and he looks pissed. I grin.

  ‘You bet on the other guy?’ He shakes his head at me. ‘Fuck Micky you should know better.’ I grin harder and turn to leave the cage. As I hit the bottom step, I see a beautiful woman, her auburn hair drops below her shoulders in waves and her plump lips press into a hard line. It’s hard to take my eyes off her. Of course, there are women here all the time, they often watch the fights and then try it on after, wanting a walk on the dark side with a bad boy fighter. I know the types. But this one, takes up all my attention. I stand a beat of a second too long and the guys trying to dump my opponent out of the ring grumble as I block their path.

  Time is money here, and the next fighters are already on their way in. I move out of their way losing her in the crowd. Fuck. I have an urge to find her and I scan the crowd until I see her. One of the big guns has his hand wrapped around her upper arm, like he’s forcing her to stay at his side. Her auburn hair is pristinely done. As if she feels my gaze, her eyes meet mine. My dick jerks in appreciation, and before I know what I’m doing, I work my way towards her. Before I catch up, she’s being dragged away, I try to follow, but I lose them through a side door. It’s guarded, and the guy shakes his head at me as I approach. I keep walking toward the door as if I didn’t see the movement. His hand comes up to my chest.

  ‘No entry,’ he says in a strong gypsy accent.

  ‘Come on man?’ I plead.

  ‘No fuckin’ entry,’ I know I could take this idiot down. But I also know that I won’t like the consequences. So, I walk away. Pissed off. But, I can’t afford to lose these paydays, certainly not over a fancy looking pussy. I make my way over to the cash desk and collect my earnings. A grand a fight is easy fucking money.

  ***

  Chloe

  My one opportunity to escape and I get distracted by a damn fight? What the hell is wrong with me? Okay maybe it wasn’t specifically the fight, maybe it was more the man in the ring built like a tank who took the other guy as though he were nothing. The moment my eyes landed on him, everything else ceased to exist. As he left the ring our gazes locked and for a fleeting moment we just stared at each other. Could he have felt the same thing I had?

  ‘Get the fuck in there!’ A shove through the door I’ve just tried to run through, brings me back to the present. I chance a glance backward before I’m through the door and he’s there, coming towards us. I didn’t manage to get his attention, I should have been screaming for help but instead I was rendered speechless. I’m a moron.

  ‘Why are you doing this to me? I already told you my father won’t pay the ransom. He disowned me years ago.’ I screech the last part, hoping they will get it through their thick skulls.

  The douchebag henchman finall
y lets go of my arm and I start to pace back and forth in the shoebox sized office they have me holed up in. My father and I stopped seeing eye to eye years ago, when I was old enough to notice his career took the main focus in his life. I was nothing but an afterthought. All I ever wanted was to be a family and considering he was all I had left, I wanted that with him. So, when our relationship hit its final trial and nothing good came from it, I cut ties and bailed. Left the States and ran clear across the ocean to my favourite vacation spot. London. My mom used to bring me here and we’d spend all day looking at the sights and shopping. Dad never came with us.

  ‘Chloe come sit down.’ My main captor, Patrick, commands through gritted teeth, his American accent clanging against all the British sounds I’ve been around. He’s sitting behind a beat up mahogany desk, his face is a furious mask. I do as he says and drop into the chair directly opposite of him. ‘We’re not going after your father for ransom money. If he hadn’t stolen two million from us we wouldn’t be in this position. I wouldn’t have needed to send these two after you, to try to get my money back.’ He points behind me to the two towering English goons who took me from outside my apartment this afternoon when I was getting home from work.

  ‘Why would my dad have stolen money from you? The firm pays him a cushy little pay check. He’s never had money issues.’ I’m sure the confusion is written all over my face.

  ‘Did you get a good look at where we’re at princess?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re at a fight sitting in your crappy office.’

  He laughs at my response. ‘It’s not a normal fight, princess. It’s an underground fight and the only reason people attend is to place bets and watch people get beat to a pulp. I host these fights here and in the States. I met your father at one.’ He waves a hand as if this is all boring. ‘The details don’t concern you anyway. But I want my two mil back and I will do what I need to get it. And right now, that means keeping you until the money’s paid back.’