by Henry, Jane
“She’s what?”
The woman was like a sister to me, annoying, but still someone I didn’t want to see get hurt.
He nods. “True story. Boner found out night before last, came to tell Lachlan since she was friends with Fiona. Said she’s gotten… loose,” he snorts. “Pretty sure Boner was just confirming before he fucked the girl. Lachlan was with me at the time, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind since.”
White hot rage ignites in me.
If Boner put his fucking fingers on her, I’ll beat him fucking senseless. I will tear his dick from his fucking gangly body, and—
“Easy, lad. He didn’t touch her.”
I blow out a breath, noting the way Keenan’s brow rises.
“You think Lachlan told Fiona?” I ask, trying to school my features.
He shrugs. “Who knows?”
Keenan keeps jogging, and I bend to pick up the weights again.
“Saw you were with Danny Cook this morning?”
Jesus Christ, I forgot about the cameras. Keenan misses literally nothing.
“Aye.”
“Was he harassing you?”
I chuckle. “Of course.”
Keenan grins back, and out of respect for me, doesn’t push.
I place the bar on the back of my neck and squat. “Made me an offer.”
Keenan gives me a quizzical look but doesn’t pry. It’s one of his better leadership qualities. He gives us jobs to do, and he holds us to high expectations. He’s a stern but fair leader, the most loyal brother in the entire Clan. He trusts we’ll do the jobs right, never holding back.
I blow out a breath. “He asked me to fight tonight.”
“Oh?”
I nod, squatting, welcoming the burn in my quads and glutes.
“Aye.” I’m panting as I work these muscles. “Said he’d give me thirty k, win or lose, and a night with one of Vivian’s girls.”
Keenan cocks his head to the side. “Thirty thousand quid?”
My stomach tightens.
“Seems they’re… sponsors, or whatever the fuck.”
He snorts. “Did you tell him yes?”
I look at him in surprise. “Hell no. You told me you didn’t want me fighting in the ring anymore.”
He shrugs. “Eh. That was back when we had rival battle on our hands. Now, things are at an even keel. I don’t think it’d be as risky.”
I can’t help the feelings of hope and excitement that come unbidden.
“Really?”
“Aye. You want to fight again, brother?”
I huff out a breath, squatting again, as I answer. “Ha. Fight again? Are you out of your fucking mind? It’s like asking a fish if he’d like to go back in the water, or telling a horse she can run again.”
Keenan winces. “Ouch. Did it hurt you that badly, Tiernan? Not being able to fight?”
I don’t respond at first. I don’t know what to say. Finally, I settle for the truth. We all speak plainly to one another within the Clan.
“It hurt,” I tell him. “I missed it fucking loads. But I won’t lie, it wasn’t unbearable, and I knew it was for the greater good.”
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 2
Aisling
For 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 b
ag.
“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.
His eyes go wide but only for a second, before his face splits into a sickening grin.
“As if you know how to use the fucking thing. Do you have any idea who I am, you stupid girl?” If he wasn’t such an arse, I’d think the guy was kind of hot, in a thin, sinewy way, but he isn’t even the littlest bit familiar.
“I don’t care who you are,” I say, my voice wavering and my stomach rolling like waves on the shore. I wave my pistol at him. “You touch me again and you’ll lose your fucking bollox.”
And I mean it, the fucking wanker.
He shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets. He jerks his head out the door. “Thirty seconds left, slut.”
I should be immune to this by now. It shouldn’t affect me like it does, but hell, it does.
I make it to the door before I flip him off, and slam it before he makes it to me. I run, but he doesn’t pursue me. Christ, I must look a wreck, but I don’t much care at the moment. I need to get away from that bastard.
I stumble down the long hall and make it to the lift. Thankfully, it opens immediately. I step inside and slam the button, afraid the arsehole will pursue me. It glides downward, and I groan when it opens on the next floor instead of the landing at the first floor. Goddamn it.
An older, well-to-do couple dressed in impeccable clothing steps onto the elevator and gives me disapproving looks. God, I must look a sight, wearing the same dress from the night before painted on me, my hair a wreck, my makeup smeared. I turn away from them to hide my shame, too sick to really care much beyond getting out of here and getting to my bed.
My phone falls out of my bag when I exit the elevator, clattering to the gleaming marble floor in the lobby. I bend and reach for it, and my head feels like it’s going to literally fall right off my shoulders. I swallow hard.
I don’t cry. I haven’t cried in years. I bloody won’t now.
Something inside me wants to question how I got here, who I am.
I used to be a good girl.
I hail a taxi and gratefully slide into the back. The door shuts with a bang.
It’s then that I begin to tremble. Christ, I need a fix. I need a fucking fix. Now that I’m more awake, withdrawal symptoms hit me so hard I feel faint.
I don’t realize I’m rocking on the seat until the taxi driver gives me a concerned look in the rearview mirror.
“Y’alright?” he asks warily, real concern in his eyes. He looks like he could be someone’s grandfather, and for one weak, brief moment in time, I wish he were mine. There’s a bit of kindness in his eyes I don’t see often, and I need a little kindness right now.
“I’m fine,” I say. Even my voice is shaking now.
The edge of my phone peeks out of my bag where I shoved it in, and a pang hits my chest.
I wish I could call a friend. I could call my roommate, but I can’t bother her. Not again. She’s got class and work of her own.
I just wish I had someone to pick me up. Someone I could confide in. Long ago, I had friends, and honestly, a good friend, too.
One really good friend. But I fucked that up.
My hands tremble as I shove my phone further in my bag, and I watch outside the window as we move steadily past the luxurious apartment buildings to head further into the city where I live.
I miss Ballyhock. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose as the car stumbles over the broken pavement. The streets here are neglected so badly that people break rims and curse them out.
For one moment, I imagine myself back in Ballyhock.
I can see the rollicking waves of the Irish Sea stretched out before me, the fathomless blue-green mesmerizing. When I was little, I’d imagine myself a mermaid that lived beneath the depths. The color of the sea and whimsical white foam made me feel as if it were magical. I’d sink beneath the depths, my sleek body swimming below the surface to my castle below. I was a queen down there. I’d wear a tiara and command my army of sea folk to do my bidding.
As I grew older, my fantasies changed, and I discarded the childish imaginations of my youth. So why do I go there now? I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to block the pain that skates across my forehead. It feels as if my head might burst at any moment. With effort, I bring myself back to my memories, the pleasant ones I tuck away like a chest filled with soft, cozy blankets I draw out when I’m in need of comfort.
In my memory, my old mate Fiona grins, stretched out on a towel as the waves lap at the shore. She wears large sunglasses, her flaming red hair fanning out around her like fire. She’s chattering on about something. It doesn’t matter what. Could be the twat of a French teacher we have, the new shoes her sister Sheena bought her, or her childhood crush, Lachlan.
The jarring crash as we hit a particularly large pothole yanks me out of my memories. My thoughts are jumbled and confused, floating through my mind like snowflakes.
Lachlan’s Fiona’s husband now. Do they have a child? Does she hate me? Do they live by the mansion in Ballyhock?
Why are some places to live so much nicer than others?
Why do some people get all the luck in life and others nothing but shite and misery?
Who have I become?
I clutch my stomach as it churns again, and the cabbie glances at me in the mirror.
“You going to be sick, luv?”
I shake my head, because if I open my mouth to respond I just may make a liar out of myself.
He pulls up in front of the old house I share with five others, and he frowns at me.
“You need something? Can I help you get in?”
Do I really look that bad?
I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
I open my bag to pay him when I realize my wallet’s gone. Sickening dread pools in my stomach. No.
Did the bastard I spent the night with clean me out? My memory of the night before may be shite, but I know for a fact I had three hundred quid tucked away in here from my work the night before, goddammit it. Part of that was for my rent. What the bloody hell am I going to do now?
I have some money tucked under my mattress, but that will mean leaving the cab, stumbling inside, retrieving the money, then coming back out here. And right now, the very thought seems like running a marathon.
He looks at me and must see the panic in my eyes, for he smiles benignly. “Ride’s on me,” he says. “You go take care of yourself now, will you?”
To my shame, my eyes fill with tears. I can’t speak, but only nod, and finally force myself to eke out a trembly, “Thank you.”
He opens the door for me and reaches for my hand, but I brush him off.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I lie and give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. By the way his eyes look troubled, I think I missed the mark.
I somehow make my way inside. My hands shake when I hold the keys, but the door’s flimsy and old, and easily gives way.
The sour smell of garbage, dirty dishes, and soiled laundry hits my nose when I open the door, and it only makes my queasy stomach clench even harder. When I’m sober and home, I clean the place, but neither of those circumstances happens often enough to make a difference.
I squint at the bright lights, a bare bulb in the kitchen shining like a beacon. Shane’s sprawled on the sofa, with a girl I’ve never seen before hanging over him, her tight shorts so high her arse is on display for all to see. I roll my eyes and stumble toward my bedroom.
Four of us work for Vivian, and I’d wager a bet that a few haven’t come home yet for the night. I push open my bedroom door, and nearly groan when I see Klara leaning over the dresser, staring at herself in the mirror as she curls her eyelashes. Guessed she’d be at school by now, but it must be earlier than I thought.
I don’t want to talk to anyone right now, least of all Klara, because she’ll want to know what happ
ened last night. And bloody hell if I know.
“Aisling, you look like absolute shite, love.”
“Thanks, babe. You, too.” It’s a lie. She’s lovely.
I toss my bag on the bed and reach for the bedside table, fumbling through the drawers. I’ll wait until she’s gone to shoot up. My hands shake, my mouth dry at the prospect of the hit I need so badly, that I briefly consider shooting up now, blissful relief just inches away.
Klara doesn’t turn around. With her back turned, I open the small bottles of pills I use for a quick fix and slide one under my tongue.
Instant. Relief.
I exhale as my body begins to go numb, and I roll over onto my bed. I close my eyes and hold my head in my hands.
“Aisling.” Her voice is closer, yet everything seems distant already.
“Leave me ’lone.” I don’t want a lecture or even concern right now.
“We need to talk.”
“Not now.”
The side of the bed sags when she sits down beside me. I roll over, my back to her, and reach for the duvet. I yank it up to my chin.
“Tea,” I mutter. “Do you have time to make me a quick cuppa?”
She reaches for me and I’m dimly aware of her hand on my shoulder. The touch is at once comforting, and I didn’t realize how badly I needed that until tears spring to my eyes.
“Listen to me, you pretty little bitch,” she says, which gets a snicker out of me.
I turn back toward her and open one eye. “What do you want?”
She bends down and tugs a lock of my hair. “Vivian called me. There’s a gig tonight, an important one.”
My body is pleasantly warm now, all tingly, and Klara’s face looks as if it’s surrounded by an aura.
“You look like an angel right now,” I say, my words strangely slurred and distant. She frowns, but quickly schools her features and rolls her eyes.
“Listen to me.” She takes my shoulders and gives me a half shake. She sighs. “Do I have your attention now?”
I nod. “Aye. Spit it out, I need to sleep.”
“For a little while, if you’d like. But as I said, you have a chance tonight to make some good money, and so help me, you’d better take it.” She sighs. “And honest to God, Ais, it’s time you came off that fucking shite.”