Keenan nods, quickening his pace. Sweat pours off of him in rivulets, but he quickly swipes at his eyes and blinks.
“If you want to do it, I’ll allow it.”
I can hardly believe what he’s saying.
“For real?”
“Absolutely. Some of us are trained because it suits us. And some of us were made to fight, Tiernan. Plus, I happen to know that Walsh will be there tonight, and you know I’ll send our men as well.”
Walsh, the local Ballyhock police officer, is on our payroll, and the “men” Keenan will send will be part of our guard, sitting front and center.
“Seems fucking safe, then,” I tell him jokingly, and he smiles at me.
“Walk in the park.”
I finish my workout and quickly grab a shower before I head upstairs for breakfast.
I meet Nolan in the dining room. Unlike the others, Nolan’s blond, but he looks older these days as even he has flecks of gray around his temples. Nolan is somewhere between older brother and father to me and Fiona, as my sister’s husband. My brother-in-law is a good man, dedicated to my sister and their family, as well as to his brothers of the Clan.
I fill a plate with the good, hearty scones our chefs make right here and top them with fresh-churned butter and jam made with berries from our very own garden. I tuck into fried eggs, sausages, and tomatoes, and I’m on my second plate of food and third cup of tea when Nolan finally manages to extricate himself from the others and sit down beside me.
“Y’all right, Tiernan?” he asks.
“Never been better.” I fill him in with the news about the fight.
“Jesus,” he says, smiling. “Who fucking knew, eh?”
I grin. “Right.”
“So you’ll go,” he says. “And you’ll win, pocket the money and a girl for the night, and come home none the worse for it.”
“Well, if I win,” I say.
“Course you will, or I’ll kick your arse,” he says good-naturedly.
I grin at him. “Noted. You have time for a refresher this afternoon?”
“Aye. Would love to.”
I can already feel the adrenaline from being in the ring. The victory. The comfort of a woman to share my bed with me. A chance to really pad my income.
Something tells me this is a fight that will change things, though, and I can’t put my finger on why. It must be nerves, I decide. I ignore the inner voice, and when our meeting’s over, I meet with Lachlan and Nolan back in the training room.
I throw myself into training.
I push myself to prepare.Chapter 2AislingFor one brief moment in time, I’m in a cozy cocoon, wrapped up in a warm blanket, before the pain of the night before hits me.
I open one eye and stifle a groan.
My head pounds from whatever I drank last night—likely fucking lots. Sharp, stabbing spasms at my temples and across my forehead. I lift my hand to my head and look around the room.
No.
I broke one of my cardinal rules. Jesus.
I have no idea whose bed I’m in.
I sit up and look about me. There’s no sign of whoever the fuck I slept with last night, save used condoms on the bedside table and the stench of his dirty laundry.
Ew ew ew.
I wince. God, is this how low I’ve sunk?
Gotta hand it to the man, though. Whoever he is, he’s got money.
The bed’s four times the size of the little cot I have at home, and from where I’m lying, the door to the jacks is wide open. I can see gleaming tile, though it’s covered in more of his—or my?—discarded clothing.
Someone snaps open a shade, and I jump, blink, and bring my hand up to my eyes to stop the light from making the pain worse.
“Get up.”
His voice is harsh and cruel, and I try to remember who he was.
“One of our best clients,” Vivian said the night before, that much I remember. I squint at him, trying to place him, but all I remember is his limp dick that he made me suck.
Who the fuck have I become?
“My head bloody hurts,” I protest. “Give me a minute.”
“Get the fuck out of my bed. You have exactly two minutes before I haul you out by your fucking hair.”
Jesus. I blink in surprise at his sudden and vicious fury. I don’t remember anything about the night before, but I think I’d remember if he was a prick.
I get to my feet, wobbling, and the world spins. I fall to my knees, clutching my stomach. I’m going to be sick.
“Get out,” he says. He stomps over to me, and to my utter horror, kicks my stomach.
I scream, bend over, and retch all over his floor.
“You fucking bitch!” he howls, rearing back to strike me. I duck, just missing his blow, and grab for my bag.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” I unzip my bag and remove the pistol I carry for times like these, tucked into a secret pocket I sometimes use for lifting things.