by May Gordon
This was the simplest way to gain a lot, and he's not asking for much in my eyes. I can handle this, and when it’s all over, we get divorced, and she goes back to Ireland. The easiest deal I’ve ever made. I look at the calendar and notice the date. I was told they’d arrive sometime this week. Her guard, Shane, was supposed to call me when they got into town.
I did my due diligence and made up the guest room for her and asked my house manager, Betty, to shop for some shit she might like. I don’t want her crying back to her Grandfather because I need to maintain the right relationship. I don’t know much about her, only that she’s twenty-three and has never left Ireland. I guess I can ask more about her when she gets here, if I even care to know it.
“Boss man. We got a stir up in one of our clubs,” Jack, one of my second in commands, says as he walks into my office.
“Fuck.”
I’m busy with a shitstorm of work since there’s has been an influx of counterfeit money that’s been like a fucking cancer to my business. My army of loan sharks got hit hard, but what’s worse is it seems as if someone deliberately put the fakes into my system. No idea who, but its caused more than enough problems.
“Mallon?” I grunt. Ian Mallon is a slippery fucker, a pathetic excuse of a thug. He likes to hit up my many flight clubs and cause chaos. Rigging fights, sabotaging them, hurting contenders before their big matches, pushing his own loan sharks on my turf, and so much more. He’s as annoying as they come.
“Not this time. Allen just said you needed to get to the Plaza Club ASAP,” he says with a shrug.
Allen manages all six of my underground fight clubs. They're a huge moneymaker for me.
“Fuck,” I curse again. I don’t talk much, but when I do its usually a four-letter word. I stand and grab my leather jacket before storming out, Jack following close behind me. “Where’s Ryan?” I ask as we head to the garage. Ryan is my other second in command. Yeah, I have two.
“He’s on his way there now. He was doing his rounds with the loan sharks.”
We get into one of my SUVs and drive to the strip. If Allen wants me down there it must be important. He can usually handle most of the shit that goes on, though everyone knows not to mess with me, or my clubs.
Its located underneath one of my cigar bars in the heart of Vegas and we get there in no time. When we head downstairs, I see the huge crowd surrounding the ring blocking whoever is inside fighting.
“Boss,” I see Ryan and Allen walking toward me and meet them halfway.
“What’s the problem?” I grunt out.
“Your wife,” Allen chuckles.
I raise an eyebrow, indicating I want to know what the fuck he’s talking about.
“Molly O’Sullivan, formally Dunne,” Ryan says, clarifying.
“What about her?” Jack asks behind me.
Both Ryan and Allen point though I still can't see much because it's not elevated. I start toward it, pushing through the crowd, my men following me. When I get my first view of the ring, I stop in my tracks.
Fire.
She has a head of curly red hair. It’s brilliant, vibrant, and absolutely hypnotizing. She’s beating the shit out of some guy. Her punches are powerful, calculating. I watch her movements and quickly realize she’s smart, precise, and doesn’t hold back. She lands a blow to the man’s gut, making him keel over and land on his knee. Then she uses her own to clip him hard under his chin. Blood spews from his mouth, and he falls back. He’s not getting up from that.
“And for the third time in a row Irish has KOed another! Molly O’Sullivan is tonight’s top contender!” Hearing the O’Sullivan name makes me purr with pleaser. I love having mine attached to hers.
“She’s beaten three men?” Jack asks surprised. Hell, I am too.
“Yeah, all fifty plus pounds more than her. She’s a beast. Overturned the bets in-house,” Allen tells us.
I understand why people are upset with Ian throwing fights all around the city folks have lost a lot of money as of late. They wouldn’t expect a woman to beat any men, so they bet against her, only to lose three times in a row. You'd think after seeing her fight once they’d change their minds. Hell, I only saw her last one and know I’d never wager against her.
I let out a growl when I see an older man walk into the ring and grab her arm before pulling her away. “Follow them and don’t let them leave.” I bark out, already moving toward their direction. It’s crowded as fuck in here. She didn’t look concerned, but I still don’t like any man touching her. The ridiculous notion isn’t lost on me. I've never had feelings for a woman, and here I am chasing down one when I haven’t even seen her face yet.
I make my way to the other side of the large room, not seeing where they went.
“Out back, boss,” I hear one of my guys say.
I push my way through the last of the people and make it to the door, running up the steps with Ryan and Jack behind me. I search the busy streets, the night making it harder to see, but then I spot her. That hair of hers is easy to find.She’s walking away from me, and I get a feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t want her ever to walk away from me. Ever.
I hear her chatting with the man with her, but can't make out what’s being said. Her accent is loud and clear though. She’s definitely Irish. I reach out and grab her shoulder, a little harder than intended but I'm worked up.
“Hey,” I grunt.
And before I see what’s coming she spins around and pops me right in the face. I'm so shocked by it that I fall directly on my ass. A six-four beast of a man laid out by a spitfire no more than five-eight and damn if I didn’t just fall in love.
“Shit. She punched out the boss,” I hear Jack announce behind me.
“Oh fuck,” Ryan says, sounding just as shocked.
Luckily, my nose doesn't bleed. I've been punched in the face so many times I'm used to it. I look up and see the man she’s with take a step back. He doesn’t appear surprised or concerned at all about the situation.
“What the bloody hell, boyo? Don’t be grabbing me or I’ll pop you another,” her words pour over me, thick and warm.
I get a good look at her face for the first time. It’s round with a dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks. She’s breathtaking with her piercing green eyes. And has a mean left hook.
“Molly O’Sullivan?” I ask as I get up. I know who she is, I just want her to confirm it.
“Who wants to know?” She stands tall and crosses her arms. Her powerful eyes are staring into mine, not intimidated by me in the least. She’s fucking perfect.
“Quinn O’Sullivan,” I state, wanting to see her reaction. All she does is raise a brow.
“He such a pussy he can't wrangle me in himself?” she asks. Shit, she’s straightforward. I like it.
I hear Jack and Ryan chuckle and I crack a grin. Something I've never done.
“I’m no pussy.” Her eyes flash with recognition, then a smirk forms on her face.
“So, you’re my husband.” It isn't a question.
“I’m your husband.” I declare, my voice full of pent-up passion just from the small exchange “And you’re my wife.” My words sound like a vow, and it is.
Because she's mine
She actually rolls her eyes at me. “Yeah, that’s usually how it works.” She sticks her thumb over her shoulder then says, “this is my Uncle Shane.” I feel better knowing they’re related but am still jealous over the fact he’s been showing her around for god knows how long. I give him a nod and he replies with an easy smile.
“How long you been in town?” I ask.
She shrugs with indifference then says, “three days.”
“And you or Connor didn’t notify me because?” I demand, hating that she's been wondering this city without me.
Again, she shrugs. “I told him I wanted to explore before becoming your ball and chain and he understood. I’ve never left Ireland before.” Her excitement is endearing, and suddenly I'm not that mad anymore.
“Jack, Ryan, take Shane and show him to the guest house he’ll be staying in.” My place is more like a fortress, and quite a few of my men stay on the grounds.
He stares me down, giving me a good once over. I know Connor has brought him in on most of our discussions. Finally, he gives me a nod, then leans toward my Irish Queen. “Go easy on him,” I hear him say, and can't help but chuckle, earning a glare from my redhead.
“We’ll stop by the hotel we were staying and pick up our things,” he tells me, and I nod as he leaves with my men. Finally, we’re alone. Or as much as we can be with the busy nightlife.
I take a good look at her. She's wearing athletic pants, sneakers, a loose-fitting tank top with a sports bra underneath, and a baggy hoodie covering her. Her hair is wild, and there’s still a sheen of sweat covering her face. She’s a mess, but I find her beautiful.
“You left the winnings behind,” I state.
“I fight for the thrill, not the money.” She smiles. I like knowing it doesn’t consume her.
“You want to explore the city?” I ask her, aware that’s what she wants.
She gives me a bright smile. “Hell yeah, boyo!” I can't help but laugh. I haven't been called that since I was a child back home and hearing her say it with that accent brings me a kind of peace.
“Call me Quinn,” I say in a rough whisper.
“Quinn.” God damn my name from her voice is pure magic. “I’m Molly.” She sticks out her hand and I shake it firmly. “It’s nice to meet you.” She smirks at that. The power I feel from our touch vibrates through me, through us.
“Nice to meet you too.” I use our joined hands to tug her closer, looking deep into her eyes. “You’re mine now, Irish.” And she is. Forever.
Chapter 3
Molly
Bloody hell my husband is a looker. I never expected to be attracted to the stranger I’d married, but damn am I ever. I’m sitting across from him in one of the most expensive restaurants in the city. After we left the streets, Quinn took me to a hotel where I showered and changed clothes. He picked out a brilliant green maxi wrap dress, my favourite colour, and some simple brown sandals. I had no idea Quinn had such good taste. Not long after that, we found ourselves here, me trying to read this menu which I think sells snail as an appetizer.
“See anything you like?” Quinn asks. He also changed and is now wearing a suit and looks hotter than hell in it. Closing my menu, I decide to answer the way I do to everything, with brutal honesty.
“Not a bloody thing,” I say, and watch his eyes widen in surprise. “Listen, I don’t know what girlies you're used to taking out, but I just want some street food and to explore the area. None of this stuffed shirt bullshit.” He stares me down, then cracks a smile.
“Well fuck,” he grunts, leaning back in his chair and putting down his menu.
I stand and move beside him, holding out my hand. He looks at it, seeming shocked for a beat before taking it and standing as well. I lead him out of the fancy restaurant and once we’re on the sidewalk ask, “Which way to the strip?”
We switch positions and he leads me now as we walk for a few minutes. No words pass between us while I enjoy looking around. We make it to the strip, and I see a line of food trucks. “Wow, there are so many!”
Quinn chuckles at my excitement. “Aren’t there any in Ireland?”
“A few, but nothing like this! What should we eat?” I glance up at him and realize every time I look at his face it seems softer than before. Maybe he’s warming up to me.
“Well, you don’t get more American than burgers and fries,” he tells me.
“Dead on.” I drag him to the correct truck and we order our greasy food, then find a seat in the eating area.
“I was trying to impress you,” Quinn confesses, watching me while we eat.
“Money and fancy restaurants don’t do a bloody thing for me,” I tell him honestly. “Now that fight club was impressive though.”
“It’s one of six I run,” he says with a shrug.
“No shit?” I ask surprised. “It’s set up smart and managed well.”
He smiles at me. “Allen does a good job. You're familiar with these clubs, so you must spend a lot of time fighting?”
“Since I can remember. Shane was my coach.”
“You fight professionally?” He asks.
I laugh. “God no, I’m the champion of the pits, Ireland’s underground league.” I grin at all the fond memories I made there.
“Most women wouldn’t smile over that,” he comments.
“I’m not most women.”
“I know.” He smiles, and just like it has all evening, my heart beats a little faster with each one.
We spend the rest of the evening exploring, gambling, seeing magic shows, and buying way too much shit from the gift shops. We also talked a lot. He told me about his time in Ireland as an orphan, or Irish rat as most call street kids, before the O'Sullivans took him in. He moved with them to Boston at ten and grew up in the crime family, though they eventually parted ways so he could be on his own. I learned so much about him, and told him numerous things about myself. I felt free with him, open to tell him everything and anything I wanted to. He talked about his friends, Novak, Lawson, and Foster, and their joint operations between states. It’s an impressive network. I also discovered he has a protective side, or maybe it’s possessive. He growled and snapped at every man that even looked at me. It’s a new feeling for me because I’m so used to people knowing I can handle myself that they don’t bother scaring off men.
Around one in the morning I realized it’s the most fun I’ve ever had, and I didn’t want it to stop, but I started feeling a desperate need for bed. We drive to his house and it's beautiful. There’s lots of grass and trees, which you’d never expect so much of in a desert.
“It’s stunning,” I say as I start to get out of the car.
“Wait for me to open it for you,” he growls before walking to my side and giving me a glare.
“Bloody hell Quinn, I'm not a chiseler. I can open my door,” I sass at him.
“I know you’re not, but you are my wife,” he says as if that explains it. I just roll my eyes at him.
“Yeah, yeah. Bitch me out later. I want to see my bed, I need sleep.” I head toward the house. Quinn punches in a code and opens the door. “Wowza, this place is grand.” We walk in and I like the surprisingly homely and airy floor plan.
“You can explore later, now you need sleep.” He guides me up the wood stairs, and down the hallway to a set of double doors. The room is just as beautiful as the rest of the house, but it’s the king-size bed that catches my eye. There’s even a blanket that looks like a cloud straight from heaven.
“Oh god, I can't wait to fall into that,” I sigh out, and hear a low growl from Quinn behind me, but I ignore it, too focused on sleep. I pull the string on my maxi dress and let it fall open, then shrug it off as I walk to the bed. I'm only wearing the underwear set I got earlier today and should feel embarrassed baring myself to him so soon, but I don’t. I’m not like the beanpole women I've seen in Vegas. I’m tall, thick, and strong, with Irish meat on my bones.
He makes the same sound and I look at him as I pull back the blankets. His eyes are roaming my body, making me feel warm all over. His hands are clenched at his sides and I give him a light smile as I crawl into bed. As soon as my head hits the pillow I feel at peace, already dozing off.
“I’m taking a shower.” I hear an almost painful grunt from Quinn followed by cursing and fall asleep imagining him in the shower.
I don’t need much sleep, never have, so I wake up a few hours later. I feel a huge arm wrapped around my waist and know its Quinn because I already know his smell at this point. I slowly turn in his arms, so we’re face to face. His eyes are closed, but I can tell from his breathing my movements woke him up.
“You’re sleeping in my bed,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Our bed,” he corrects
as he pulls me closer, his voice sounding sleepy.
I let out a breath, giving up on this conversation, and instead rub my cheek against his chest. He has soft manly hair and smells great, which soothes me. “I’ve never done this,” I say softly.
I feel a small jolt go through him. “Done what?” He asks, sounding more awake.
“Slept in the same bed as a man,” I clarify.
I hear a low growl rumbling in his chest, and realize my comment could’ve come across that I just hit it and quit it.
“Easy boyo, I’m a virgin.” I lean up and kiss his bearded chin. He melts instantly, crushing me in his embrace.
“You’re my virgin bride.” I hear the pleasure in his voice. I don’t know what’s happening between us, but it's strong, powerful, and fast. For the first time in my life I don’t feel the need to fight back, but instead just let it take me.
Realizing I need a few more hours, I close my eyes and dream of the possibilities with Quinn, and it's the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.
Chapter 4
Quinn
I wake up and feel the loss of her a second later. My eyes shoot open, and see her side is empty which causes me to a panic.
“Molly?” I call out but hear nothing.
I glance at the clock and see it's already eight. Fuck. I never sleep late. But I've never felt this comfortable either. I was complete with her curled up beside. I remember back to when she took off her dress and I almost swallowed my tongue. She is impossibly beautiful. Pale creamy skin and freckles all over my body. I wanted to lick and touch every single one. I practically lost my mind holding her in the middle of the night, feeling her curves molded against me. All I wanted to do is flip her over and find out if she’s soft everywhere else.