Clinch (The Underground Book 2)

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

Published by The Hartwood Publishing Group, LLC,

Hartwood Publishing, Phoenix, Arizona

www.hartwoodpublishing.com

Clinch

Copyright © 2016 by Becca Jameson

Digital Release: June 2016

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Dr. Katie Schwan has no idea what she’s getting into when she rushes to the back of a speakeasy to tend to an injured underground MMA fighter. But the hot Russian guy leading her to his friend has her attention.

Leo Gulin allows the sexy blonde to take his friend to her clinic. He hates that she inadvertently becomes a part of his deep-rooted problems with the Russian mafia. However, he can’t seem to stay away from her, even though she doesn’t need his problems on her doorstep or his dominance in her bedroom.

Months pass before Leo has the balls to ask her out, thinking the threat from the mafia has passed. But he’s wrong. And now Katie’s trapped in his world, and he must keep her safe from the multitude of people following them.

What does the mafia leader want? How can Leo convince Katie to accept him permanently in her bedroom and her life? He must, or risk losing her forever.

To my awesome editor, Lisa Dugan, for spending a long weekend helping me hash out the particulars of this complex series! And to my husband for learning this world and making sure I don’t mess it up along the way!

Katie Schwan cringed as the final fight began. She’d never in her life been to an unsanctioned fight in the seedy section of Chicago. She’d never been to a hundred-year-old speakeasy. She’d never entered through any of the city’s small doors located under the L tracks or an overpass.

Katie knew nothing about the underground fighting system, and she could have gone her entire life without knowing what she’d learned in the last hour.

How had her life gotten so far off track that she found herself considering the idea of marrying Marshall Pierce?

Marshall shrugged her arm off his for the fourth time in as many minutes and cupped his hands in front of his mouth to scream some sort of cheer for whichever contender he was rooting for.

She cringed. She didn’t relish the idea of touching him any more than he did her, but she was somewhat concerned about the prospect of getting separated from him in the crowded room. He, obviously, was not the least bit concerned with her well-being.

When he’d picked her up that evening, she’d envisioned dinner and a movie, not this fight scene. The entire room was filled with the scent of smoke—mostly from cigars, she surmised—sweat, and alcohol. The patrons were packed in so tightly there was no room to move.

The speakeasy had received the bare minimum of updates in the last hundred years. The floor was nothing more than rough bricks—the same ones that made up the walls. Time had worn down the mortar between each brick, leaving deep cavities in the ground. Thank God she hadn’t worn heels. The sandals she’d chosen proved a much better selection for the uneven floor she hadn’t expected as part of their evening.

She was dressed completely wrong for this event—a pink-and-orange-striped dress that hugged her body in all the right places and made her feel sexy. She’d intentionally worn the dress in hopes she could inspire Marshall to show more interest in her than usual and thus increase her own attraction toward him.

As it turned out, he hadn’t said a single word about how she looked, nor had he paid much attention to her at all since the moment he’d picked her up and rushed her to the car, muttering about a fight and how much money he had at stake.

Marshall set his hands on his head as he watched the fight unfold in the strange, incongruent, makeshift cage in the center of the room. He closed his eyes for a moment before gritting his teeth. As he ran his hands through his messy brown hair, it stuck out in several places.

She assumed he must have placed a bet on the man currently losing the fight, although he said nothing about it to her.

She stared at his profile, hating him. Who brought a date to an underground fight? She doubted anything about this gathering was legal. She was a doctor, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t usually go around town getting into situations that might cause her to get arrested.

Marshall Pierce was officially an asshole. She suddenly didn’t care what her parents thought of the arrangement. They’d been harping on her about what a fantastic catch he was for months, nearly begging her to open her mind and stop whining about how she didn’t feel any magnetism toward him.

Her mother had chuckled. “Honey, magnetism is for romance novels. You don’t live in a romance novel. You live in the real world. And Marshall Pierce is an excellent match. His family’s an outstanding addition to ours. Stop being so particular and get a ring on your finger. You aren’t getting any younger.”

Katie had no idea why she’d ever paid a bit of attention to her mother’s choice in a spouse. The woman hadn’t chosen well herself more than thirty years ago. From what Katie could tell, her parents barely crossed paths with each other, let alone communicated. She didn’t want that sort of life. She wanted passion. Romance. Love.

She had no intention of settling for less. And this evening solidified in her mind that Marshall was the last man on earth she intended to walk toward on her way down the aisle.

The crowd screamed louder, and she turned her gaze to the center of the room—more out of boredom than anything else. She relaxed her shoulders with the realization she’d just made a monumental decision. This was the last time she would ever accept an invitation from Marshall.

The two men fighting in the ring were evenly matched. She’d heard people around her discussing this fight and knew it was the last one of the evening, and the most important.

She’d listened with increasing incredulity to the size of bets being placed before the fight began.

The man on the left was called Joe “Hothead” Mantoba. The man on the right was Dmitry “The Cossack” Volikov. She ignored the Hispanic man in favor of staring at the Russian—at least she thought he was Russian. Judging by the accents of the people surrounding her, several of the patrons were also Russian.

The guy was buff and sexy. With his bald head and the ring of geometric tattoos on his arms, he could melt panties all around the room. And he wasn’t alone. There were several other men standing near the cage who appeared to be as built as him and just as sexy.

The asshole standing next to her stressing over the possible outcome of the fight had nothing on the men she found herself ogling. Marshall was weak, tall, lanky, and nerdy. But her mother saw none of that. She only saw the size of his parents’ bank account.

She giggled inwardly as she imagined bringing a man like the Russian fighter home to meet Mom and Dad. Her mother would faint. She pondered the idea of doing it for the shock value alone.

“Fuck,” Marshall muttered. He hung his head and closed his eyes.

Katie turned her attention back to the ring. Jesus, what was his problem? He was a bigger idiot than she’d thought if he put much money on this charade.

Suddenly, she noticed something she hadn’t paid attention to before. The Russian fighter, Dmitry, had his left hand down by his side instead of up high to protect his face. He also stood at a slight angle.

The man was protecting his torso. While she watched, the other guy kicked him perfectly in that side, taking advantage of the obvious weakness anyone in the room—including Joe—could easily spot.

Dmitry buckled. He dropped to one knee, his face contorted in pain.

Kidney. She knew that look. And the kick to his side was perfectly lined up with his lower back. She also realized he hadn’t suffered a kidney injury from that single kick. The crazy man had come to the fight already injured.

What sort of fool would fight with a recent, life-threatening kidney injury? Apparently, Dmitry “The Cossack” Volikov.

She lifted higher on her tiptoes to pay closer attention to a fight she’d had no interest in moments ago. She still had no interest in the fight itself, but she was naturally inclined toward people with health issues. It was ingrained in her. Saving lives was her passion. Even the life of a stupid, idiotic underground fighter with a death wish.

Seconds after going down, Volikov rebounded to his feet and jumped out of Mantoba’s reach. He bled from a cut on his forehead.

The audience screamed when Volikov bounced back into position. He was undoubtedly the favored man. In fact, he was obviously the preferred fighter by Marshall’s standards too, judging by the squeal of elation next to her.

She winced as Dmitry used his arm to protect his side again.

His opponent hopped on his feet, waiting for another opportunity to take advantage of Volikov’s weakness.

Shocking everyone, including her, Dmitry lifted his good arm at the perfect moment and landed two punches to Mantoba’s face.

The crowd screamed louder.

Joe staggered backward.

Suddenly, Dmitry had the upper hand. He lifted his arm from his side into a proper defensive position—leaving his kidney in a vulnerable state—and spun around in a circle. As he returned to face Mantoba, he lifted his leg and kicked the guy in the side of the head.

Joe fell to the ground.

Katie cringed as she watched Joe’s head hit the floor with enough force to cause a concussion.

Before Mantoba could gather his wits, Dmitry straddled his body and pinned him to the ground with a forearm to the neck. Joe flailed, reminding her of a scared chicken, his arms swinging around in the air, unable to make purchase with any substantial force against Dmitry’s body.

She knew nothing about the rules observed in this unsanctioned sport, so she held her breath as Joe slowly lost consciousness. Would Dmitry actually kill the guy? God, she hoped not. Surely there were at least some rules in this disgusting basement.

Just when she thought she was kidding herself, Mantoba tapped the ground next to Dmitry’s body with one flat palm.

Volikov released his hold and staggered to his feet.

The crowd roared.

Even Marshall screamed at the top of his lungs.

She had no idea the man next to her held this level of passion for anything, let alone mixed martial arts. And then she realized that wasn’t the case at all. The only thing Marshall had a passion for was money. And he’d just won.

He spun around so fast, she was stunned, wondering what he was looking for. Without paying an ounce of attention to her, as if he’d forgotten she was with him, he wove through the force of people pressing in on them, heading away from the ring.

“Marshall,” she called out too late for him to hear. In seconds he was swallowed by the crowd, and she was left standing in the center of the room, suffocating among the screaming patrons. “Fuck.”

Her aggravation was short-lived however, as her attention returned to the man in the cage. The referee held one hand in the air. Volikov used the other to grip his side gently. His face was a mask of pain.

The announcer opened the gate to the cage and pressed through the crowd to lead Volikov toward a door on the opposite side of the room.

Someone bumped into Katie’s side, and she turned to find a man barreling past, making his way forcibly through the mass of people toward Dmitry. The guy physically could have been Volikov’s twin in the workout room. He clearly knew Dmitry well. His brow was furrowed as he shoved through the throng of patrons, heading in the direction Dmitry was moving.

Katie’s instinct for saving lives kicked in. Leaving her sanity at the door, she worked her way between two men to follow in the stranger’s wake. If she stayed at his back, he would lead her toward the injured fighter.

It was an easier task than she expected. The man in front of her was a beast of a man. His back had more ripples and muscles than anyone she’d ever seen. If his chest was half as buff, he would be a god without his shirt on. Unfortunately, he did wear a shirt, although it was stretched tight enough across his body to leave little to the imagination.