Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Better stand back,” Niall says, sounding grim. He glances at me. “You better be worth it.”
I open my mouth to say, I’m not, but it’s too late.
Ronan slugs Gregory across the face, and all hell breaks loose.
I stagger away from the mass of fighting men, staring in horror as the MC gang and the Irish fighters brawl. It’s absolute chaos, but at least nobody’s getting shot. Ronan’s in the center of it, breaking Gregory’s nose, and he doesn’t see another of the MC guys kick him in the back of the knee and punch him in the head. Seamus throws himself in the thick of it, punching with wild glee, and Niall’s busy kicking a big MC guy’s ribs into a fine paste.
I don’t know what to do. I can’t stop this. These are big, vicious, violent men hell-bent on beating each other to death, and I stand and watch in horror as Ronan breaks Gregory’s nose and knocks the big MC leader out, only to get his own face kicked by a random biker soldier. I lose sight of him for a while, and the fight lasts way too freaking long, until finally someone in the back starts shouting about the cops. The fight breaks up as the motorcycles kick to life and the bikers drag their leader back to their protective ring. Ronan storms over to me, blood pooling from his split lip and broken nose, looking like hell and beauty all at once, and my heart’s racing as he drags me into the back of the Hummer.
“Drive,” he barks at Niall, who doesn’t look much better than him. Seamus gets in seconds before we pull out, and he’s grinning like a maniac.
“Good sport,” he says, looking back at Ronan.
Ronan nods back. “Good sport,” he agrees, then turns to me.
There’s no amusement in his eyes. There’s no flirting, no teasing, no fun-loving Ronan. There’s only the cold calculation of a crime family boss glaring right into my face.
“You fucked up,” he says.
“I know, I shouldn’t have spoken up, but—”
“No fucking buts,” he snaps, and I pull back in surprise. “Gregory’s an odious fuck, but if we have to work with him to get what we want, then we work with him.”
I feel my own anger begins to swell. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one he’s going to sexually harass.”
“I would have handled him.”
“Like you did just now?”
“Yes,” he says, leaning forward. For a second, I think he’s going to yell in my face. But instead, he pulls off his shirt and uses it to wipe the blood from his face. I stare at his chest, damp with sweat, and bite my lip to keep from yelling in frustration.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I say softly.
“Which one is it, love? I need to protect you from Gregory, or I should let him say what he wants?” I open my mouth to answer, but he cuts me off. “No, don’t, I don’t care. You fucked up and you know it. But I would’ve defended anyone in my family like that. Fucking childish fight. Goddamn fucking childish. We’re lucky Gregory and his guys are disciplined, otherwise someone would have died.”
That’s the end of the argument. I sit and stew in silence, honestly madder with myself than I am with Ronan. He’s right to give me crap: I screwed up back there, all because I hate Gregory and couldn’t stand getting involved with a creep like him.
And Ronan did defend me. He risked himself and his men to do it. The blood on his face is there because of me, because Gregory was being a prick, and I have to honestly wonder if he really would have picked a fight with a vicious MC gang for Seamus or Niall. Some part of me doubts it.
We ride in tense silence back to the city. Niall parks outside of my building, but I don’t get out. Ronan stares at me, saying nothing.
“Where does this leave us?” I ask him, too ashamed and annoyed with myself to meet his gaze. I stare out the window instead. “I think business with Gregory is probably not happening now, considering you knocked him out.”
“You’re probably right.”
“And I’d understand if you wanted to cut ties with me too.” I take a deep breath to steady my voice. Shame rushes into me, cold and ugly. “I’m sorry, okay? I fucked up. I should’ve kept my mouth shut and trusted you.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, but his tone’s softer. “I’m not getting rid of you, love, except you need to learn how these things go. You’re not the Don’s daughter anymore.”
I close my eyes, fighting back tears. “I know that.”
His hand touches my arm. It lingers there, and I’m not sure what it means. Is he trying to comfort me? There’s not much he can do about how I feel. I know he didn’t mean to wound me, but bringing up my dead father still hurts, even though it’s been over two years since he passed.