Underground Werewolf Fight Club #1
Bloodied, bruised and vulnerable. Bryant can take it all in the ring, but does he have what it takes to fight for his heart’s desire?
Bryant enters the dangerous and illegal world of underground werewolf fighting to support his little sister. He’s a warrior that knows how to roll with the punches. He’s been doing it his whole life.
He’s a successful veteran fighter without much left to prove, which is why he’s surprised at the way a pretty boy rookie, catches his attention. Bryant can’t put a finger on it, but there’s something about the long-locked Jake that makes him want to punish and protect him at the same time.
When the younger man begrudgingly asks the more experienced Bryant to train him, they’re both in danger of a total knockout.
But Jake is hiding something. It’s a secret that has the power to entangle these two fighters into a fight beyond their control, one that holds incredible danger for them both in and out of the ring.
Fight or Flight doesn’t pull any punches. Savage passions reign supreme in this gay romance as these muscled men discover even the most extreme training can’t prepare you for the blows you have to take when love is the ultimate prize. 18+ readers only!
Chapter One
The taste of blood was like salt and iron. He choked it down and ran his tongue along his teeth. They were all still intact; just a bloody lip it seemed. That wasn’t too bad. He shifted his weight from foot to foot as he danced away from his opponent to give him time to collect himself. His head was still ringing from the blow.
He could have easily dodged it, and he probably should have, but he knew the more blood he let his opponent get off on him, the more the bets would be against him. And the more bets against him when he won, the more money he would get. Still, he hadn’t realized the other man was going to lash out full strength at his face, at least not this early in the fight. It was only common courtesy. You avoid the face until you go in for the knockout blows. He should have known. This guy had a reputation for going hard from the starting bell. No showmanship. No sense for how to work the crowd. He didn’t know how to play the game to his advantage.
Luckily, Bryant did.
Bryant led the other alpha on a chase. He would go in close for a few quick and calculated strikes, then back off as the other man retaliated. He would then lead him around the ring, letting the man get plenty of strikes on him. He blocked most of them and dodged the others. No point in allowing the other guy to land a solid blow, not if he was going to throw all his strength into it. Bryant didn’t need any more bruises. Eventually, the other man began to tire. It was then that Bryant started to strike in earnest. As soon as he saw the man starting to lag and saw his arms begin to slouch, he switched tactics.
Bryant was quickly on the offensive. He struck out, blow after blow. The other man was so surprised, he only managed to block about half of them. After every punch had been blocked or landed, Bryant was pulling back and lashing out with his other fist. His opponent was getting frustrated. Good. His strength was lagging, and he realized he was about to lose. Now was time for the finishing show. Bryant saw it in the man’s eyes, in the shift of his weight. He lunged forward, intent on attacking. Bryant dropped into a squat, letting the man’s punch go clear over his head. Then he shot upward, his fist digging into the man’s gut. His opponent doubled over, the air knocked out of him, and Bryant brought up his knee hard, catching him under the chin and snapping his head back.
The man toppled over and landed heavily on the ground. Panting and groaning, he curled in on himself. Bryant slowly lowered his arms to his sides, his eyes never leaving the fallen alpha as the referee began to count. He knew from experience that a fallen opponent wasn’t a defeated one. He’d been knocked on his ass plenty of times by a fallen alpha who had lashed out and taken his feet out from under him. This man, however, seemed to be done.
When the count reached five, the bell was rung, and the crowd was a mix of cheers and angry shouts. The corner of Bryant’s lips quirked upward in a self-satisfied smile as he turned and headed for the side of the ring.
The ring, or the pit as it was commonly referred to by the fighters, was a sunken circle on the floor in the back room of the bar. The tall walls of the pit led to a circular bench area that rose several layers before reaching the main floor. It was built so that everyone could get a clear view of the fight, and to allow the betting humans to feel superior while looking down at the fighting shifters. Shifter fights were illegal, but that didn’t stop either party from participating.
Bryant rolled his shoulders and turned his neck from side to side to crack it as he walked toward the edge of the pit. There was a ladder leading out, and he climbed it as several of the lackeys jumped into the pit to revive and remove the loser. There was still a mix of cheers and shouts from the audience, and while they were willing to be vocal, none of them were willing have close contact, so they cleared a path as he headed straight for the bar.
He sat on an empty stool and slapped the counter.
“The usual, Bryant?” Jackie asked, already reaching for a beer. Bryant grunted and turned in his seat to look up at the board that hung over the bar.
Bryant’s name had already been circled as the winner. His match had been rather late this night, and there were still several fights to go. Up next were two veterans that he knew well. He also knew exactly which one of them would win. Josh was strong but too slow and far too impulsive. So long as Mike could wait it out and pick his punches, he had it easy. There were a few names on the board that he had only seen written out, but he didn’t have faces to match. He only remembered the names of those he had fought, and they were typically either veterans or stronger rookies. It was no fun for him, his wallet, or the establishment if everyone knew who was going to win from the beginning.
“How long are you sticking around for?” Jackie asked. He placed the beer in front of Bryant and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the bar with his hands clasped together.
Bryant grabbed the bottle and lifted it to his lips. “Only as long as this beer lasts.” He took a swig. It was a more expensive beer than he would usually buy, mostly because he got one free drink on the night of a fight.
Jackie stuck out his bottom lip. “You never stay later! Come on, just one more beer, on me.”
Bryant shook his head, barely glancing at Jackie before looking away. His gaze swept across the bar. He saw several of the fighters and more of the regulars. “Not tonight. I promised Anna I’d help her with her homework.”
“Anna’s a bright girl. What can you do that she can’t?” Jackie teased. He was no longer pouting, and his lips had curled into his usual half smirk, half smile. Jackie was a cute omega with a small frame, dazzling eyes, and pouty lips. He knew how to get his tips at the bar. He flirted with all the fighters and customers, but he had seriously tried to woo Bryant when he was new. It didn’t take long for him to realize Bryant just wasn’t up for a relationship, and they settled into being good friends.
Bryant glared at him sideways. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jackie snorted and rolled his eyes. “You know exactly what I mean. She’s a straight-A student.”
“A’s and B’s,” Bryant grumbled, taking another swig of his beer. He was proud of his sister. She had far better grades than he ever had, not that he couldn’t achieve them; he simply hadn’t had the motivation.
“Exactly! So you can stay?” Jackie said brightly. He took a moment to get a couple of customers their drinks.
“She’s struggling with math,” Bryant said when he came back. “And that’s my strong suit.”
Jackie snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh yes, I know. I still remember the day Robbie tried to swindle you out of your earnings.”
Bryant laughed at the memory. Everyone assumed because he was a fighter that he wasn’t very bright. But he was proud of his ability to understand and do math well. Numbers just made sense to him. He calculated his exact earnings every night, and when he came to collect, he made sure that was precisely what he got. A lot of the owners and managers were bitter about that because they couldn’t take a cut of his pay. But they never asked him to leave. He was too good a fighter to let go, so they made certain they paid him what he was due.
“Still, you should stick around. Check out some of the rookies,” Jackie said as he wiped down the countertop.
Bryant exhaled a sharp laugh, sipping his beer. “You know I have no interest in rookies.”
“I know, but some of them are actually pretty good.” He nodded to the chalkboard that listed the fights for the night. “See that guy? Jake? Look who he’s against.”
Bryant looked up at the board, both eyebrows raised. “Keith? Seriously?” Keith was, admittedly, one of the easier veterans, but he was by no means an easy win. He was primarily used as a means to test rookies that were showing more potential.
Jackie nodded. “Seriously. He’s only been here for a couple of weeks now, but the managers are impressed. The odds and bets are usually against him, so he earns quite a pretty penny.” He paused, grinning and chuckling to himself. “Not to mention he’s quite a pretty penny himself.”
Bryant rolled his eyes and looked into the pit, where the next two fighters were setting up. He set his beer down and adjusted the wrappings on his hands. “Do you ever look at anything besides looks?”
“Sure I do,” Jackie said, sounding offended, but he was smiling. “I also look at the size of their wallets,” he said, winking. There was some kind of commotion, and Jackie looked at something over Bryant’s shoulder. Bryant’s hearing told him exactly who it was before Jackie could tell him. “Well speak of the devil.” He leaned a hip against the counter, eyeing the man who had just come up beside Bryant and slammed his fists on the bar top.
“Can you believe this?” Keith said, voice loud. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his lips seemed to be stuck in a permanent frown. But that was Keith’s usual expression. He always looked like he had recently eaten something sour.
“Believe what, Keith?” Bryant asked though it was mostly to humor the man. He already knew the answer. He twisted around in his seat to put both elbows on the counter.
“They put me against a rookie! AGAIN!” He thrust one thick hand toward the chalkboard. “This is the third time this week! I need a real challenge!”
“You don’t think this one's gonna give you a challenge?” Jackie asked, already getting the man a beer and popping the top. He put it on the counter in front of Keith and the big man chugged half of it in one go.
When he was done, he snorted, his lip curling back from his teeth. “A challenge? Please. None of the rookies these days give any sort of challenge. This one’s unlucky number three. I’m pissed. My car broke down again today, and I’m ready to pound someone’s face in.” He chugged the rest of his beer and slammed the bottle on the counter. “Another!”
Jackie eyed it, already pulling out another one. “You know you only get one for free?”
“Add it to my tab,” Keith grunted, taking the beer and walking away.
Bryant watched him go. He’d seen Keith riled up before, and it usually led to a pretty dramatic fight. But it was only good for a fifty-fifty chance of whether that fight went in his favor. If his opponent played the game smart and let Keith tire himself out, and if he was quick enough to dodge the man’s broad attacks, his opponent had a sure win. Too bad his opponent was a rookie and probably knew none of that. Bryant eyed the chalkboard again.
“I almost feel sorry for Jake.” Jackie sighed, sounding almost sad.
Bryant saluted the chalkboard with his beer bottle. “Good luck to him,” he said, not without some dry sarcasm, and finished his beer.
He said goodbye to Jackie and went to collect his things from the locker room. He made his final round of the bar, clapping several of his friends on the shoulder as he passed, letting them know he was on his way out. The bar was very clearly divided. Humans and shifters stuck to their own kind with very little mingling between the two. The humans were always easy to spot. They either looked very uneasy or very drunk. They eyed Bryant cautiously as he headed for the door and shifted out of his way.
The early morning was always a peaceful time to drive. The streets were empty, and the sun hadn’t yet peeked over the horizon. It was a strange time where it felt like he was the only one in existence, and it gave him plenty of time to relax and get out of his head before getting home. He pulled into the parking lot around four in the morning and shuffled up to the small apartment that he shared with his sister.
Bryant opened and shut the door silently and kicked off his shoes. He left his bag in the entryway and tiptoed his way to the kitchen. He tried his best to walk quietly, but the floorboards squeaked. He was convinced that the squeaky floorboards continually moved to make sure they always made as much noise as possible. He paused in the kitchen and listened. Nothing. Anna was a pretty heavy sleeper. She had to be if she wanted to get any sleep around here. He sighed and started cleaning up the kitchen.
By the time Anna’s alarm went off the dishes were finished, coffee was brewing, and there was a plate full of pancakes on the table. He sat in his usual chair, his laptop in front of him as he ate his breakfast. Anna shuffled out of her room in her pajamas and barely spared the table a glance before going to pour herself a cup of coffee. She sat at the table next to him, coffee cradled between her hands, and yawned.
“Morning,” he said, closing his laptop and pushing it aside.
“Evening,” she said, sipping her coffee and shaking her head as it burned her tongue. “How’d the fight go?”
He smirked. “I won, of course.”
“Of course,” she said drowsily, her lips curving up at the corner.
“You told me you needed some help …?” he prompted as she picked up a few pancakes and dropped them on her plate.
She glared at him, her hair still a mess from sleeping. “Let me wake up first. Sheesh,” she said, reaching for the syrup. They ate in silence. It was peaceful and cozy. She was tired, having just woken up and he was tired, having been up all day and fighting before driving home. Still, despite their lack of words, they were happy just to have the time together. It was their morning tradition, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
When they were done eating, she grabbed her school bag and pulled out a textbook and a notebook. She was a straight-A student, bright and dedicated. She would go far: a lot farther than he did. He would make sure of it. She didn’t particularly struggle with math, but she was starting to have difficulty with calculus. Still, she was a fast learner, always picking up his explanations quickly. Bryant had a suspicion that she was just using calculus as an excuse for them to spend more time together. Still, he didn’t complain.
Around six thirty, Bryant shooed her out the door to go to school and shuffled into his room, yawning widely. He barely remembered hitting the bed before he was asleep.
Noah Harris is a 31-year-old bisexual man currently single and living in a small apartment in New York.
Being a natural introvert with significant extrovert tendencies he expresses himself through the world of writing MM books, often with a darker, paranormal twist. His books are written from the heart of his deep, sensitive and mysterious, but playful and creative, wild spirit.
Noah is dedicated to giving something back to the universe, sharing generously in his successes and inspiring and motivating others through his writing and in any other way he can. He believes in living a natural, healthy lifestyle and has embraced meditation as a way of clearing the 'noise' in his head and allowing his dark creativity to shine through in his books.
He is determined to reach out to as many readers, who he considers his 'friends', as he can through his unique personal touch and through building like-minded communities online. It is this personal touch, with his readers, that sets him apart from most other authors today.
