Forever Dublin (Forever #2)

by Brittney Sahin

  “Wow. That is old,” Chloe said, allowing the first smile of the evening to slip to her lips.

  “At least you’re here,” Jenna whispered, her eyes growing dark. “And that counts for more than you know.”

  Chloe and Jenna flung their arms around me, and then Conor joined in on the hug.

  Oh God . . . how would I ever leave Ireland?

  ***

  “You guys ready to experience something totally savage?” Rick waggled his brows as he rubbed his palms together. Narisa, Kate, Craig, and I were standing out on the sidewalk. The air was much colder than it had been last night. I wasn’t sure if I’d made a colossal mistake in coming tonight. Was I crazy to trust Rick again after he brought us to that horrible bar last night?

  My purse vibrated, and I slipped my hand inside. As the group started down the sidewalk, allowing Rick to lead us to the unknown, I looked down at my phone.

  I miss you, baby. Why won’t you forgive me? Please, please forgive me. I love you.

  How many times had Jax said those words to me? Moments after his icy fingers had detached from my neck, he’d apologized and begged for my forgiveness. But by then I had realized . . . his “I love yous” had no meaning.

  And I was stronger now. The distance between us had given me even more clarity, and the way Adam treated me was a reminder that there were good guys out there. Maybe Adam wouldn’t be the one for me, but at least I knew that not all men were abusive—not all men raised their fists.

  “You coming, Anna?” I looked up to see Narisa heading back to me. Everyone else had made it all the way down the block.

  “Um. Yeah.” I stowed away my phone. “Did Rick tell you what tonight is all about?” I asked as Narisa and I trailed behind the others.

  “Rick just said that his brother knows of some secret spot that is always rotating from place to place. I assume it’s a club or something,” she answered.

  “Oh.” The same brother who worked at the bar last night? I could only imagine what we were getting ourselves into.

  “It’s just ahead.” Rick pointed to a building tucked away at the end of the street. It looked like a condemned factory building, with boarded windows, bricks lying in piles out front, faded paint, and no sign.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Kate rubbed her hands over her black leather jacket as we stopped in front of a massive brown door.

  “This is the place. I promise.” Rick reached for the handle.

  As the door creaked open, I took a cautious step back. “You sure about this?”

  Rick nodded, his eyes gleaming like a schoolboy’s.

  I had a bad feeling.

  Strike that—I had a gut wrenching, gaping hole in my stomach.

  Yet, I followed Rick into the building. A faint roar of sound filtered up from beneath the floor as we walked down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. Were we stepping onto the set of a horror film?

  The noise grew louder, but it wasn’t music. It was people—cheering and yelling.

  “Just down these steps and we’re in.” Rick pointed to a stairwell.

  “No secret password?” Kate crossed her arms, scowling at Rick. Even the easygoing Kate looked nervous—if she was scared, what should I be?

  “Apparently, there’s no need. This place is only known to a select few.” Rick waved his hand at us girls, who were huddled together like he might be leading us somewhere to have our bodies hacked into little pieces.

  “Sounds like more than a few,” Narisa quipped before we began down the set of wooden stairs, which were lit only by a soft glow at the bottom.

  Rick opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and a cold chill brushed across my face. My body grew stiff.

  “What the hell?” Craig looked as surprised as I did when we entered a room filled to the max with people. It took me a minute to get my bearings. There were so many people, and they all appeared to be crowding around something in the middle of the room.

  “What is this place?” Kate yelled at Rick as we were shoved and elbowed by the crowd. We squeezed tighter together as people brushed past us, moving toward the center of the room.

  “It’s an underground fight club.” He smirked, and Narisa slapped his arm. Then her chest slammed against Rick’s as some guy with tattoos spiraling down both his naked arms bumped into her.

  “You’re for real?” Narisa gasped, and my stomach turned.

  No. God, no. Fighting was the last thing I wanted to see. “Why would you take us here?” I asked, panicked. I looked back around for the door that we’d come through, but several layers of people now stood between us and the door.

  Rick probably couldn’t hear me over the noise.

  There was a man holding a microphone at the center of the room inside a tall, angular cage. He was shouting something, but I could barely hear what he was saying.

  I’d seen the movie Fight Club, but this looked more intense. A lot more organized, for one thing. And I didn’t anticipate I’d see Brad Pitt anywhere down here.

  The guy at the mic, well, his voice was too accented for me to quite understand. The slang words were coming out so rapidly they started to blend with the murmurs and shouts of the crowd surrounding me. Not that I cared what he said. At this moment, all I cared about was getting the hell out of there.

  I’d lost contact with my friends. I glanced around, seeking them out, but I was surrounded by men. On one side was a gentleman in a well-tailored suit that screamed money, and the other seemed to have stepped out of a catalog that sold athletic and biker wear. Every inch of skin covered in ink.

  I spotted the group and shot my hand up in the air as I was scuttled around. I pushed and shoved, making my way to the center. I wanted to go the opposite direction more than anything, but I was also afraid to be alone.

  As I neared my friends (although Rick was about to be booted to the enemy column after this stunt), I heard the people around the room begin to chant, “McGregor! McGregor!”

  Well. It was a common name, right?

  I looked closely at the ring and at the man whose back was to me as he squared off with another fighter. The tattoo on his back drew my eye, and all the blood rushed from my face. Adam? No! God, no!

  “Holy shit,” I think Kate shouted, but I couldn’t be certain. It was hard to hear anything except for the pounding of my heart. It seemed to throb in my ears.

  I wanted to leave, to run, and yet, I didn’t. It’s like my mind was trying to process what I was seeing as the crowd pushed me closer to the cage.

  The guy fighting Adam was a tall redhead, but not nearly as well muscled as Adam. He had a slight bit of fat on his stomach, and he sported love handles. Adam was certainly more fit, but his opponent was so big. I wasn’t sure what would happen.

  The man swung his arm at Adam’s core, but Adam deflected the shot with his left arm while knocking the guy in the chin with a hard uppercut. I remembered that move from my self-defense class, although it never looked quite like that.

  Jax. I snapped my eyes shut as I remembered Jax’s raised fist. The memories hit me like fresh wounds. Jax was why I had taken self-defense lessons. And somehow, here I was in Ireland watching another man use his hands—the mark of violence.

  But why was Adam doing this?

  I slowly peeled open my eyes, flinching, as if I’d been hit by the fighter as he connected his right shin to Adam’s side. Adam took a slight step back and lowered his arms, shaking them out for a second. He then raised his hands, cloaked by black gloves, snapping them back into a guard in front of his face.

  I inched even closer to the cage, my eyes widening as I observed Adam. I noted the way the muscles in his body were taut—his jaw strained. A slight sheen of sweat was on his spine and forehead.

  But his eyes. Oh God, his eyes . . . my skin crawled with chills at the gleaming and dark look there as Adam circled his opponent.

  I’d never seen the fierce look in Adam’s eyes before. It was as if he weren’t the same man I had come to
know.

  I gasped as Adam sprung forward. His arm reached out, which had me slapping a hand to my mouth as fear curled inside my chest.

  Adam’s hand slammed hard into the guy’s cheek, and the people around me started screaming, growing wild as the redhead fell back and smacked loud against the ground.

  He was out—cold. And I was going to be sick.

  I stumbled a step back, bumping into someone as Adam knelt down next to the redhead and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was saying something to the fighter—and then Adam looked up as if he sensed me. His eyes landed on mine, and he held onto me for a few moments, not moving or speaking.

  I sucked in a breath of stale air, my body now trembling. I needed to get out of there.

  I turned away, breaking from Adam’s eyes, even though it nearly destroyed me. “Please, move,” I cried, knowing no one could hear me. Still, I fought against the crowd, trying to ignore the reaching hands of men who groped me as I barreled through them.

  It took me a minute or two, but I found my way to the stairs and tore out of the building. Once outside, I bent forward, pressing my hands to my knees, trying to catch my breath.

  Adam was a fighter. What the hell!

  The signs had been almost obvious. How could I have missed them? Bruised knuckles, the cut and bruise by his eye. The way his fists locked at his sides when someone upset him. The guys from outside Les’s apartment . . . even they had looked like fighters.

  I flung a hand to my chest, trying to control my emotions. I didn’t want to cry.

  I refused to cry.

  I took off, thankful I’d worn flat-soled boots. I practically threw myself inside the first taxi that came into view.

  My phone vibrated as the cab drove.

  Was that really our boss in the ring? It was a message from Kate.

  I glared at the message for a solid minute before shoving the phone back into my purse. I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t even know what to think.

  By the time I had made it safe inside my hotel room, I was starting to feel surprised that Adam hadn’t once called or texted me.

  I bit my lip, looking around my hotel room, trying to think about what to do. My hands trembled, and my heart was still racing like the hooves of a horse.

  I rushed into the bathroom and peeled off my clothes. I turned on the shower and stepped inside, not waiting for the water to warm.

  The freezing water cascaded over me like rain. My mascara burned my eyes, and then I felt the taste of it on my lips. I sank to a crouching position, wrapping my arms around my knees.

  Jax. Adam. They weren’t the same people, but . . .

  My mind flooded with images of both men. I tried to separate the two in my head, but they kept merging into something ugly and evil.

  “No,” I cried and rose to my feet a few minutes later. I pressed my palms to the shower wall and hung my head.

  I wasn’t sure how long I stayed in the shower, but when I stepped out, my fingers were like prunes and my face was a hot mess. The mascara had become like strips of icky black tar etched into my skin.

  It was then that I cried.

  I remembered standing in front of a mirror after Jax had hurt me, my mascara running, my face drowning in tears.

  Angry at both Jax and Adam—angry at myself—I turned on the sink and began fiercely scrubbing away the evidence of my tears.

  I wouldn’t be a victim anymore.

  I was done with that.

  But as I stared at my skin, fresh and pink from the rubbing I’d given it, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to Adam than the urge to fight.

  “Anna?”

  I lowered my head at the sound of his voice. I’d given him the second key to my hotel room on Wednesday.

  My gaze flickered to the white hotel robe on the back of the door. I grabbed it and threw it on, then braced my hand against the door, trying to figure out how I’d face him.

  “Anna, can we talk?” His Irish voice was soft, pleading.

  As much as I wanted to cower in the bathroom, I knew I needed to look him in the eyes when he finally delivered the truth.

  I stepped back and opened the door to find Adam sitting on my bed. His hands were clasped together, and his head was bowed. He was in sweats and a hoodie. I’d seen him similarly dressed two weeks ago on the night he’d come to my room with a cut above his eye. He must have been in a fight that night, too.

  “What were you doing there?” He looked up at me. This time, there was not a mark on his perfect face. The fight had probably lasted no more than sixty seconds.

  I crossed my arms and stood firm a few feet away. “That’s the first thing you’re going to say to me? Really?”

  He rubbed a hand over his face and kept it over his mouth for a moment. When he stood up and started for me, I took an immediate step back, my hand outstretched between us.

  Adam cocked his head. “Are you afraid of me?” He backed up, cupping his neck as a prickle of guilt wrapped around my spine.

  “I don’t know what I am, but I didn’t expect—”

  “I told you I was dangerous, that you shouldn’t get involved with me. I warned you.” Adam’s blue eyes devoured mine—pain reflecting off his irises. “I’m a fighter.” He pressed a fist to his heart. “But I’d never lay a hand on you,” he rasped.

  And as I stared at the man before me, I realized that I believed him. At least, I wanted to believe him. But I’d never thought Jax was someone who could hit a woman, either. I wasn’t the best judge of character.

  “Why do you do it? You run a billion-dollar corporation.” I leaned against the wall outside the bathroom door, needing the support to remain standing.

  Adam sat back on the bed, propping his elbows on his knees. “I stopped fighting five years ago. But Les got into some trouble, as you know, and he made a bet on a fight. And he not only lost the fight and the money, but he wound up in the hospital.”

  “So how does this involve you? If he’s your friend, couldn’t you front him the money?” That was reasonable—more reasonable than cage fighting. Wasn’t it?

  “When I used to fight, I made a lot of money for the people who ran the fights. I was undefeated.”

  The muscles in my body screwed tight, and my stomach was tied in knots with anticipation. With fear.

  “The guy Les recently fought is also undefeated. And this arsehole, Donovan, who runs half of Dublin thought it’d be grand if I fought to repay Les’s debt.” He patted his thighs and rose, his hand back on his jaw, black stubble beneath his fingertips. “He wouldn’t take the money I offered, and he threatened Les’s life if I refused to fight.”

  It took me a few minutes to process what he’d said to me. “I have so many questions that I don’t even know where to begin.” If Leslie had never gotten hurt, I’d probably never have gotten to know Adam. I wasn’t sure what to make of that revelation. “So was that it, the fight? Are you done?” I laced my fingers through my hair then pushed it to my back as I struggled to maintain control of my nerves. “Is that guy okay? You hit him pretty hard.”

  “I can’t believe you saw that. I’m so bloody mortified.” He tucked his chin to his chest. “I never wanted you to find out this way. I don’t know what the hell you were doing there. Please, for the love of God, don’t ever go near one of those places again. It’s not safe.” He lifted his head, and his eyes found mine again as my nails bit into my palms.

  “It was genius Rick’s idea. I didn’t know where we were going until it was too late. Believe me, watching a fight is not my idea of a good time.” He should know that.

  I guessed I should have let him come clean about his life. I’d never have ended up at the fight tonight if I had.

  “So?” I waited for my answers, impatience burning through me like fire on the short wick of a candle.

  “The main event is in November. The fight tonight was sort of practice for me. And, yes, my opponent is okay. I waited until I knew he was okay before I left t
o find you. He’s probably just got a broken nose.”

  Just a broken nose! “So you’re beating up other guys for practice?” I sat down on the bed, my knees tingling, my legs going weak. I looked up at Adam as he took my old position of leaning against the wall in front of me. “You’re a billionaire. Don’t you have enough money a hundred times over to pay this guy to leave you and Leslie alone? And, speaking of that, how’d you get into underground fighting? I’ve seen the UFC stuff on TV—my older brother used to watch it. Those guys do it for the money. What’s your excuse?”

  “I told you that this guy, Donovan, didn’t want my money. He has a reputation he cares about, and he also likes the idea of drawing his biggest fighting crowd to date. There’s some publicity you just can’t buy.” He shrugged as if that would satiate my need for answers.

  “And my other questions?” I folded my arms, glaring at him. Jeez, what had I gotten myself into? He was a billionaire businessman by day, and a fighter by night.

  “This is a heavy conversation to be getting into right now. Can we take a moment to breathe?” His brows pulled together, and he unzipped his hoodie. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but then he lifted his T-shirt, and I stared in shock at his chest. There were flecks of red on it. “Could I at least wash the blood off me?”

  Shit. “Uh, yeah, you can use the shower,” I muttered.

  He dragged both palms down his cheeks, something he did a lot when he was around me, and I realized now that he did it when he was stressed or struggling with his emotions.

  A few painful moments later, he turned and entered the bathroom, leaving the door open as he got out of the rest of his clothes. I tried to pull my gaze from his body as he stepped naked into the shower, but I couldn’t.

  His head bent forward as he braced both palms against the tiled wall in front of him, his beautiful, raw, and powerful body on display through the clear glass shower.

  He was a fighter.

  And he didn’t do it for the money.

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, or how I was supposed to digest it. And I probably couldn’t—not without more information.