Read Brawler's Baby: An MMA Mob Romance (Mob City Book 1) for Free Online
Authors: Holly Hart
made me sick.
She’s dead, you pig. And it’s because of you.
"Conor," he continued, tiring of focusing attention on me, or anyone other than himself. "I want you to think carefully about joining my crew. I have a significant, shall we say, investments in the CFL. We could do great things together." He looked toward me meaningfully, making sure that Conor saw exactly what he was looking at.
"You fight for me, you can have anything you want…"
What kind of father tries to pimp out his own daughter?
His point made, he wheeled away with his arms around Conor's shoulders. As they walked toward the bar, he turned to me and said. "Don't leave this place without one of my men by your side. Understood?"
I nodded my head mutely, broken by not just the tension of the last few minutes, but of all of the last four years, and collapsed onto the nearest couch – scattering a few nearby party goers, who hurried away from me like I was a leper.
My life was a gilded cage. Ordinary people were terrified of even making eye contact with me lest my father's men pay them an unwanted visit in the depths of the night; and the city's criminal classes treated me like a princess – but only because they equal parts feared my father, and hoped he'd marry me off to one of them.
They don’t understand him at all .
He was a criminal and a sociopath, but only looking at him through those lenses was like calling Genghis Khan just a troublemaker. It was too small – it didn’t even come close to scratching the surface of the man’s violent, all encompassing ambition. To my father, I was a business asset – a piece to be pushed around his chessboard with as much free will as an enamel bishop or an ivory pawn. That is – none.
In Mikael Antonov's eyes, marrying me off to some local thug would be a criminal waste of his twenty-five year investment. No, he had far bigger plans for his only daughter. He'd choose a husband for me – that much was certain, but his eyes were on a bigger prize than just solidifying his already impregnable control over Alexandria, and I had more than an inkling of what, exactly, that prize was.
My father's recent fascination with mixed martial arts was no passing fad. If I knew my father – and years of skulking about with one eye constantly attuned to his brooding presence meant that I knew him better than most – then he meant to dominate the sport as thoroughly as he dominated my life, my city, and my every waking moment.
At least when they put you in your cage you can fight your way out, Conor . All I have is an ax, held by a thread, forever dangling above my head.
I looked up, only to see my father's man staring balefully at me – clearly under orders to prevent me from departing alone. Big surprise. My dad wasn't just controlling, he was meticulous to a point – and he had the resources to make sure I did exactly as I was told. After the incident a few years ago, it had taken months before I’d been able to take a shower without some bumbling halfwit Russian gangster following behind me like a dog.
The first two years had been the hardest. Anchored in Alexandria by circumstances out of my control – though circumstances I wouldn't change for the world – I'd desperately wanted, perhaps even needed to find a way out, and not just for my sake.
But hour after hour, day after day and year after year spent living in closely-monitored quasi-captivity, with every attempt to escape callously knocked back, would be enough to wear even the sternest character down to the bone. Hope is like a flower – it grows in the unlikeliest of places, but it doesn't last long under a boot.
When my memories of freedom faded away, so did my desire to reach out and grab it – I hadn't felt hope flower within me for a long, long time.
Until now.
But Conor's surprise appearance changed everything. It reminded me of who I'd once been – a girl who had been filled with life, a girl who was bold, confident and unafraid to
She’s dead, you pig. And it’s because of you.
"Conor," he continued, tiring of focusing attention on me, or anyone other than himself. "I want you to think carefully about joining my crew. I have a significant, shall we say, investments in the CFL. We could do great things together." He looked toward me meaningfully, making sure that Conor saw exactly what he was looking at.
"You fight for me, you can have anything you want…"
What kind of father tries to pimp out his own daughter?
His point made, he wheeled away with his arms around Conor's shoulders. As they walked toward the bar, he turned to me and said. "Don't leave this place without one of my men by your side. Understood?"
I nodded my head mutely, broken by not just the tension of the last few minutes, but of all of the last four years, and collapsed onto the nearest couch – scattering a few nearby party goers, who hurried away from me like I was a leper.
My life was a gilded cage. Ordinary people were terrified of even making eye contact with me lest my father's men pay them an unwanted visit in the depths of the night; and the city's criminal classes treated me like a princess – but only because they equal parts feared my father, and hoped he'd marry me off to one of them.
They don’t understand him at all .
He was a criminal and a sociopath, but only looking at him through those lenses was like calling Genghis Khan just a troublemaker. It was too small – it didn’t even come close to scratching the surface of the man’s violent, all encompassing ambition. To my father, I was a business asset – a piece to be pushed around his chessboard with as much free will as an enamel bishop or an ivory pawn. That is – none.
In Mikael Antonov's eyes, marrying me off to some local thug would be a criminal waste of his twenty-five year investment. No, he had far bigger plans for his only daughter. He'd choose a husband for me – that much was certain, but his eyes were on a bigger prize than just solidifying his already impregnable control over Alexandria, and I had more than an inkling of what, exactly, that prize was.
My father's recent fascination with mixed martial arts was no passing fad. If I knew my father – and years of skulking about with one eye constantly attuned to his brooding presence meant that I knew him better than most – then he meant to dominate the sport as thoroughly as he dominated my life, my city, and my every waking moment.
At least when they put you in your cage you can fight your way out, Conor . All I have is an ax, held by a thread, forever dangling above my head.
I looked up, only to see my father's man staring balefully at me – clearly under orders to prevent me from departing alone. Big surprise. My dad wasn't just controlling, he was meticulous to a point – and he had the resources to make sure I did exactly as I was told. After the incident a few years ago, it had taken months before I’d been able to take a shower without some bumbling halfwit Russian gangster following behind me like a dog.
The first two years had been the hardest. Anchored in Alexandria by circumstances out of my control – though circumstances I wouldn't change for the world – I'd desperately wanted, perhaps even needed to find a way out, and not just for my sake.
But hour after hour, day after day and year after year spent living in closely-monitored quasi-captivity, with every attempt to escape callously knocked back, would be enough to wear even the sternest character down to the bone. Hope is like a flower – it grows in the unlikeliest of places, but it doesn't last long under a boot.
When my memories of freedom faded away, so did my desire to reach out and grab it – I hadn't felt hope flower within me for a long, long time.
Until now.
But Conor's surprise appearance changed everything. It reminded me of who I'd once been – a girl who had been filled with life, a girl who was bold, confident and unafraid to