Page 102 of Broken Blood Ties

“Ye ready to head down?” Cormac nudges me, and I give him a look that makes him retract. Several moments pass. “I’ll just meet ye down there,” he finally says.

After I finish my water, I make my way to my office for my call. Typically, I dial Allie’s phone to talk with Aoife, but the number I dial isn’t hers.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Kieran.”

There’s brief silence, then, “Hi, how is work?”

I can’t help but grin at that; the casual way she asks about work.

“It’s work,” I grunt. “Anyway, I’m going to be working late tonight, and I normally try to call Aoife before things get …” Bloody. Rowdy. Full of debauchery. “Busy.”

“Oh! Yeah, she’s right here. One sec.”

The rumpling of fabric swishes across the microphone while I lean back in my chair, waiting.

“Hi, Daddy!”

“Hey, little love. What are ye doing?”

“Laying in our fort!” Aoife shrieks.

“Fort?”

“Uh-huh. Summer built us a fort in the living room.” Aoife’s voice is lit with joy, and I can almost picture her vibrating with excitement as she tells me.

I glance at my watch. “Isn’t it yer bedtime? Where’s Allie?”

“She’s in the kitchen. I’m going to bed soon, I promise.”

“All right,” I say. “Have fun. I love ya.”

“Love you, too!”

Summer’s sweet laugh comes through in the background and I swallow. I want to tell Aoife to put her back on the phone so I can hear her more clearly. My mind pictures Aoife and Summer giggling in a tower made of couch cushions and extra twin sheets, and suddenly the rest of the night isn’t as appealing as eating popcorn and candy under the makeshift fort.

It’s not what I should be thinking about. My plans involve beating my opponent’s head into the ground. That’s what I need to think about.

The noise on the other end goes dead and I know they’ve hung up. Sighing, I toss my personal items into my locked drawer and mentally lock away my mushy thoughts as well.

* * *

The crowd’s roar crescendos into a frenzied wave surging against the underground walls of the arena. Marco’s man struggles to breathe. His face is tomato red and his eyes bulge as Riku’s man squeezes his head between his muscled biceps and veiny forearm. I’m almost waiting for it to pop off like a dandelion head would if you applied enough upward pressure with your thumb.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead where I’m seated on the bench waiting for my fight. I’m up next, paired with Oscar, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off of Marco. He’s gripping the outer ring, knuckles white and seething, as he yells for his guy to get up.

The air is thick with sweat, and I wrap and unwrap the white tape around my scarred knuckles. I take deep breaths, willing the rhythm to steady my pulse.

Unfortunately, my mind keeps wandering back to Summer. With the amount of Italians here tonight, I should’ve brought her. It would’ve been the perfect opportunity to parade this “engagement” around. It might have given Marco something to be angry about rather than his loss of mega money tonight.

I stand, muscles tightening as I roll my shoulders. Marco’s man’s eyes roll backward and his gloved hand taps on his opponent’s leg. The referee, who’s kneeling on his hands and knees, slaps the ring’s floor and yells, “Tap out!”

The crowd erupts as Riku’s man stands, arms pumping up and out to the sides repeatedly, edging the crowd into a further frenzy. Marco lets out a slew of curses as he turns and shoves one of his guards out of his way and into a few bystanders behind me.

“Marco lost seventy-five thousand on that one.” Cormac slides in next to me.

Another one of Marco’s fighters, already done for the night, enters the ring to help the downed man stand and he limps out of the ring.

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