Luck of The Irish (Getting Lucky)

What the fuck was Liam doing there? I was equal parts furious and terrified.

"Is he dangerous?" I asked.

"Aiden?" the diver asked, his eyes flashing at me in the rearview again. " Sure, he can be with an arm like that. But you've got nothin' to worry your head about. He's changed directions in life. Found his purpose. McCarthy’s a good man," he mused as he tapped two fingers against the steering wheel.

I sat and stared out the window, worrying my hands in my lap. I was careful not to ask the driver another question I didn’t want to hear the answer to. I’d had some doubts about allowing my brother to come. Liam had promised me through and through he wouldn't cause trouble here like he did back home. I was fuming at the fact that he must gone out looking for it to get himself caught up in problems already. Barely even knows the lay of the land and yet finds himself on the doorstep of a man like Aiden McCarthy.

We pulled into warehouse district where the street turned bumpy and the buildings loomed, monochromatic and stark. It looked like a good place to get murdered.

“Liam, you little shit,” I whispered under my breath.

"Here you are. That would be eight-fifty." The driver turned in his seat, straining as if he wanted to get a better look at me. His eyes were twinkling blue with deep crowsfeet when he smiled.

I pulled out my wallet and handed him ten euros. "Please keep the change."

"One thing I love about you Americans, you always tip." He nodded at me and tipped his cap. I smiled and slid out of the backseat, slamming the door to announce my arrival. I turned and looked up to the giant sign on the otherwise nondescript brick building. “McCarthy's Gym.” With my hands on my hips I scrutinized the sign and the street. I’d never even seen this area before. Liam was a goddamn magnet for trouble. The murder scenery was fitting because I was about to commit one against my younger brother.

Just then, a burly looking bald man in a shredded tank top and a plethora of angry tattoos lurched out of the gym carrying a duffle bag. He dropped it to the cobbled streets and fished out a satin jacket which he hastily put on over his protruding muscles.

When he noticed me, he stared like I was sorely out of place in this setting.

“Did you see a young man, about this height?” I demonstrated my insolent brother’s height which was accelerating to beat my own any day now.

“Beg your pardon?” The man looked even more confused. His brow was knit and he rubbed his two massive hands together as if to warm them.

“Never mind, I’ll just—” I pointed to the door of the gym. “I’ll just see myself in there.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.

The thick set man strode away without another look in my direction.

Liam, you are dead meat, if they haven’t already killed you.

I shook the tension out of my head and shoulders and marched into the gym wielding bravado I didn’t feel in the least.

"Liam Walsh!" I hollered as I stomped into the gym. The place smelled bad. Like metal, maybe blood, sweat, and cheap industrial cleaner. It was too large of a space for him to hear my call, so I stood scanning the place, my eyes searching the room wildly for any sign of my brother. The same brother I was about to ship back home tomorrow morning. Even if had to drag him out of a dumpster.

Nearby, a small group of men hitting large punchbags, some pummeling one another in a ring, that looked like it had seen some better days, turned to look at me. A few of them whistled.

"I can be Liam, baby," one hollered while the others laughed. "I'm sure I would get higher marks for satisfaction."

Gross.

"Connor, are you lookin' to get laid out flat?" a deep voice bellowed, causing every single male in the room to freeze in place. “Shut your mouth and practice your hook.”

I turned to where all the men were looking and a hulk of a man with massive bulging muscles walked toward me. His hair was buzzed short, so short in fact that his five o'clock shadow had more growth. He exuded an air of confidence and surprisingly, a certain amount of grace despite his body builder physique. The man was most certainly a pro. Boxer, wrestler, body builder? Boxer from the look of the gym, but he must have been at the very top of the weight class. Whatever the sport, there was no mistaking that this man was gorgeous. His energy hit me low in the gut and I felt riveted in place. When he got closer, I saw the ice blue of his eyes and felt them, too.