Aaron Dolan’s world is scars, calloused hands and chipped knuckles. The life of a bareknuckle boxer. Look at him the wrong way and you’ll find out why they call him an animal.
Dragged into his world, Zoe Daniels, broke art graduate, is tricked into filming the very violence she hates. Night after night she watches him pound men’s faces into bloody pulps. He’s a monster.
Around him she can feel herself plummeting, down the rabbit hole, into love with the worst kind of man. And it’s getting harder. Harder to keep the camera steady, when all she can think of is climbing between the ropes and running her hands over his bare chest, licking the sweat from his neck.
Violence, strong language and sexual content. 18+
Part of the Bareknuckle Boxing Brotherhood series. Can be read as a standalone.
Book II out Christmas Day.
35,000 words – A novella.
Available through Kindle Unlimited!
Zoe watched, biting her lip. This was the sort of pugilistic display she had always ridiculed—all that testosterone and all that macho posing. Now it was strangely thrilling, the sweat glistening off taut muscles, the tension and conflict, the broad power of his shoulders and back, the wet look of the blue-green ink of his tattoo. She shrugged out of her jean jacket, feeling suddenly overheated just watching him. She tried to hold the camera steady but all she could think of was climbing between the ropes and running her hands all over his bare chest and arms, licking the sweat from his neck and kissing his mouth. It was primitive and visceral, the sexual tang of battle coursing through her as she watched him fight.
Within seconds, the opponent was back on his feet but breathing hard. Sweat and the rusty tinge of blood were thick in the air. The crowd that had been rowdy had grown more silent, hanging by the tension. Saxon circled Aaron, trying to get close enough for a hit. Aaron toyed with him in another series of long jabs, exhausting his shorter opponent. He swung at Saxon’s side and barely connected, a calculated miss that drew the man in closer. Aaron attacked him savagely, striking his eye and nose in a quick pair of hits, then landing a vicious set of body blows. Saxon fell to the mat, curling in on himself for protection as Aaron continued to pound him. He was dragged off by an official and two bouncers and declared the victor. The audience screamed wildly, and the gamblers collected their winnings on successful bets, buying rounds of drinks for the room.
Aaron wiped his face with a towel and downed a bottle of water, reveling in the adulation of his brother, his boss, the crowd. Baylee and Mia, the ring bunnies, hung on him for a picture and people whipped out their phones to capture his victory. Zoe fought her way through the crowd to his side. Holding up her camera to indicate her need for an interview, she waited, tight-lipped, for his comment. She wanted to hit Baylee and Mia in the face with her own forehead. She didn’t like them touching Aaron, especially not when touching him was all she could think about. Her very fingertips tingled with the longing to trace the lines of his tattoo, the curve and bulge of the muscles on his chest. Chewing her lip, she stood in an agony of silence, recording.