Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
He tosses me a towel. I wipe away sweat and blood, then ball it up in my fist, shrugging. “You're acting like I tried to kill the bastard. If I wanted him dead, he'd be dead.”
I wink at him. He stands beside me, my bodyguard by habit, even though I haven't actually needed one for some time now.
Tiernan huffs a laugh, but there's truth in it. We both know what I'm capable of, what I've been taught, and what the family's made me.
I'm the weapon they bring out when negotiations fail.
I'm fucking good at it too.
I like to think the ring's like sharpening a blade—necessary maintenance for what I am.
I walk toward the exit, and he follows. I’ll forego the locker room tonight and shower at home. I want to be in my own place, alone for a little while.
“Your da wants you to ease up, you know,” Tiernan says, falling into step beside me as we head toward the back exit. “He says you're fighting too hard, too often. People are starting to talk.”
I shrug. “Let ’em talk.”
I drag the towel across my face again, tasting copper and sweat. I know what I'm doing. I don't like to think about what would happen if the coil of violence inside me didn't have an outlet, but I know better than to say that out loud.
Tiernan sighs but doesn't push it. He knows better. We've been doing this dance for years now—him trying to keep me from going too far off the edge, and me pretending I'm not already halfway there.
The ring's a few blocks from The Craic, the McCarthy family bar and exclusive club, which means the crowd largely favors us.
I nod to people who cheer and absorb the congratulatory slaps on my back.
This is home.
But sometimes, every once in a while, I fantasize about getting on a plane and flying far, far away—somewhere nobody knows my name or what the ink carved into my skin symbolizes. A place where I don't have to be who I've been trained to be.
“Fancy a drink at the club?” Tiernan asks, hands shoved in his pockets. He doesn't go much now that his family needs him. Still, he likes to grab a pint with the lads, just like I do. “I heard Cavin's there. Declan too.”
I shake my head. Cavin runs the place, and Declan's a frequent flyer, but I'm not in the mood to see my cousins tonight.
“Nah, I'm good.”
“Honestly, brother,” he says, giving me a look. “I know things have never been the same since Donovan—”
“I don't want to talk about Donovan.”
I interrupt him before he can go further. My older brother betrayed the McCarthy family and paid the ultimate price. When I go to The Craic, I still fancy I can see him there sometimes, with his pale blue eyes, smirk, and sharp tongue.
His punishment was justified, but I won't ever forget. Ever.
“Not tonight,” I say, my voice husky. “I might—”
I freeze when I hear a scream just outside.
“Did you hear that?”
Tiernan concentrates and listens, then shakes his head. “Sometimes my ears ring a bit after a fight. Aye, but doesn't sound serious, does it?”
Laughter follows the scream, and I reckon it's just some drunk eejits having a go at each other.
“Go home, lad,” he says. “Take care of yourself, will you? I'll have supper with you at the weekend. See you?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
Maybe not. I like my quiet.
“Alright, then,” he says. “Watch your back. Don't think that lad from Cork has anybody who's gonna shiv you in the alley, but you never know, eh?” He says it with a wink, but it's only half a joke. We've all learned to have eyes in the back of our heads.
“Sure you don't fancy a ride?” he asks. “I got here by cab.”
I'm rarely fit to drive home after a fight, but tonight, I want to walk.
“Nah, I'm good, honestly, Tiernan. Please, just go to the club. Have a pint. Maybe I'll see you at the weekend, right?”
He nods. “Right.”
“You did well there, lad. Proud of you.”
Something like warmth blooms in my chest.
I cuff his shoulder back. “Thanks. Could still best you, eh?” He fakes me out and lands a solid but playful jab to the stomach before I block and retaliate. We jokingly spar before he gets into his car and leaves.
But before I'm a few paces into my walk, I hear it again—a scream, sharp and sudden, cut off too quickly. I wait, my breath caught. This time, no laughter follows.
Every instinct I have flares to life. I stand up straighter, my hands balled into fists.
I'm already reaching for the knife tucked in my waistband before I realize I left it in the fucking locker.
Jesus.
The scream came from the alley behind the ring, the one that runs parallel to the main street. It's dark back there, with only one flickering streetlight at the far end. I observe everything in an instant, cataloging threats. The smell of rain on the blacktop, a dog barking in the distance, the hum of traffic on the street.