Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Brendan
T his fucking tux is choking the life out of me. Sure, it’s a tailor-made Tom Ford, but it’s still a fucking penguin suit. I glance at my Rolex and wonder how much longer I’m on the hook for the schmoozing part of the evening.
If I have to listen to one more pompous twat go on about their stacked bundles or how they always thought they might be a boxer or an amateur fighter, I’m going to grab them by their fucking throat and toss them into the cage to test their resolve.
But I can’t.
Because this is a Quinn Industries charitable event for street youth.
And because with Laine actively growing the next generation, Tag is more determined than ever to grow our legitimate businesses and keep the respect of the community.
So, pummeling the shit out of an old man while his trophy bimbo watches would be bad form. Bad Brendan.
I scan the crowded room, half-listening to Mr. O’Reilly drone on about his latest physical trainer and how she has him working his way up to doing a Tough Mudder event. Come on—the guy is seventy-two and walks with a cane—that ship has sailed…and sunk.
My attention snags on a flash of blonde hair across the room and my heart kicks against my ribs. Is that…
“I’m sure you’re killing it, sir, truly.” I signal for Laine to come over and continue the conversation. “If you’ll excuse me. I have to see to something…”
Or someone. But no. Why would Nora be here?
“Brenny! Over here!” A brunette in a skin-tight dress waves glossy nails at me. She bats her fake lashes, and I fight not to wince. I don’t know her and have no interest in getting to know her. I give her a polite nod but keep moving.
I shoulder through the mass of bodies, searching for my angel as the crowd ebbs and shifts. Fucking hell. She’s gone.
Was it really Nora?
The chances of her being at one of our charity fights are slim to none. She doesn’t strike me as the type to enjoy watching men beat each other bloody for sport. That’s why I didn’t bring it up or invite her here.
Well, that and the whole ‘Quinn’ thing.
I’ve been blacklisted by more than my share of women because of my last name, so I intentionally avoided going that route with Nora. She’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure. Is it a crime to want to have her all to myself for a little longer while I show her the real me?
“Mr. Quinn, could I get a photo?”
Another woman touches my arm.
“Maybe later.” I brush past her, still searching.
The room is packed wall to wall with Dublin’s elite. They’re all here to watch us fight and to write fat checks for our troubled youth programs. Piper and Laine have Tag, Finn, Bryan, and me working the room and schmoozing with potential donors.
Sean is working security from the monitor room in the back—the lucky fucker. I don’t begrudge him the segregation. With his surly disposition, scars, and tendency to throw elbows, having him mingle with the high-brow is counterproductive to an evening of ass-kissing.
But tonight, the only ass I want to be kissing is?—
“Brendan!” Piper appears out of nowhere and even with her being a foot shorter than I am, she manages to look down on me and scowl. “What are you doing? You need to get in the back and get changed. First match starts in twenty.”
“Aye, I’m going. Did you see…” I trail off, realizing how obsessive it would sound if I asked about Nora. She isn’t here. She’s spending a quiet night at home reading her sexy vampire book.
“See what? Who?” Piper follows my gaze.
“No one. I just thought I recognized someone in the crowd.”
She tugs on my arm. “Well, unless you plan to fight in your suit, you need to get moving. Bryan’s already warming up. Focus, Brenny.”
I take one last look around the room. No sign of her. Of course not.
“Aye, all right.” I let Piper pull me toward the back rooms, but my mind stays fixed on blue eyes and golden hair.
For the first time in my fighting career, my head isn’t in the game. All I can think about is her. The way she wrapped herself around me on my bike. The way she tasted when we kissed. The way she?—
“Earth to Brendan!” Piper snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Get your head on straight. You’re taking on Paddy the Predator and I guarantee you, he’s here to win.”
She’s right. I need to focus or I’m going to get seriously hurt.
In the back hallway, half an hour later, I close my eyes and let my head hang heavily toward my chest. Shaking out my arms, I envision the match in five-minute rounds. First round, I’ll settle in and assess. Second round, I’ll make him work for it, tire him out, lull him in. And in the third round, I’ll drop the hammer.
For charity matches, we fight three rounds instead of the five rounds of a professional MMA match. Still, Bryan and I train for five, so we’re well-conditioned for three.
I’m ready for this.
I’m focused.
I’m lethal.
I repeat my manifestation mantras in my head and keep my head down as the announcer runs through our stats and the match details.
“Give it up for the Dublin Brute, Brendan Quinn!”
I step over the steel wall of the cage and bounce on the balls of my feet, raising my hand to greet the crowd. Adrenaline surges through my veins and it’s like a shot of pure electricity coursing through my muscles, lighting me up from the inside.
“And to take on our Dublin Brute, we have Paddy the Predator!”
The crowd roars for my opponent, and it’s on. This may be a charity fight, but it matters. Coming out here like this is about respect, about proving myself—not just to my family, but to anyone watching.
Inside our chain-link fortress, Paddy and I have something to prove. The heavy door clangs shut behind me and the cheers of the audience hit me like a drug.
The referee finishes rattling off the match rules, but I’m only half-listening. I scan the crowd, searching for that flash of blonde hair I caught earlier. The woman had her hair up in a different style than Nora, but something about her presence lingers in my mind like an itch I can’t scratch.
For fuck’s sake. Focus! I stretch my neck and fight to shake off the distraction.
This isn’t some street brawl—it’s an arena filled with people who expect a show in exchange for their support—and right now, they want blood.
The bell rings, slicing through my thoughts like a blade.
I circle Paddy, sizing him up. He’s tough—everyone knows he can throw down—but he’s also cocky. His nickname is well earned. He is a predator, but there’s no fucking way I’ll be his prey.
The two of us settle in, bouncing on the balls of our feet, sizing one another up.
He’s hunting for an opening. Have at it, fuckwad, you won’t find one.
We exchange jabs, each punch landing with thuds that reverberate in my bones. My shoulder takes a solid hit, and it spins me onto my back foot before I shake it off and respond with a sharp kick aimed at his thigh.
He evades, but this dance is just beginning. I sweep my foot, but don’t expect him to fall for it. He doesn’t. His gaze is locked, and he comes at me with force. I meet his attack and duck, swinging low to catch him with an elbow to the kidneys.
The grunt he lets out is nothing but sweet satisfaction.
The crowd lets off a roar and I give the fans a wave.
I’m not sure how I pick her out of the hundreds of anonymous faces staring at me, but it’s like the heavens are glowing down and she’s the light in a sea of darkness—Nora.
The swells of her breasts are testing the resolve of her bodice, and I’m not the only horny fucker to notice. Asshole One sitting behind her smirks as he points her out to Asshole Two beside him.
My blood boils and a rush of fiery rage makes me want to smash their fucking skulls together for even thinking they can look at my girl.
My girl who is staring at me, her blue eyes wide with something I can’t quite read. Fear? Horror? Confusion? Betrayal?
Whatever it is pulls me in deeper than any fight ever could.
Paddy takes advantage of my momentary distraction and lands a breath-sucking hit against my ribs. The force spins me sideways, and I lose sight of her. I’m down and my head cracks against the mat of the floor. I get my arms up to block the hammering of fists that follow, but don’t escape unscathed.
I take one to the face and my vision fritzes, another bringing the sting of my lip splitting open. The buzzer sounds and the ref taps Paddy. He gets off me and I roll to my feet and walk the hit off.
“What the fuck was that?” Tag grips the metal of the cage, pushing in like he might peel the bars back and come at me. “You nearly got your block knocked off. Piper said you were distracted, but I didn’t believe it. What the fuck, B?”
I lean in and swallow as he holds up my water bottle and shoots water into my mouth. “I’m fine. I’ve got this.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me. If you’re not up for this, you say so and I’ll end the match here and now.”
“The fuck you will.” I lean in, meeting him practically nose-to-nose with the cage between us. “Win or lose, I have never fucking tossed the towel. I won’t be tossing one tonight either.”
The two of us are glaring at each other as my words ring out and then the tension is lost as both of us fight not to laugh.
“You know what I meant.”
“Aye, I do.”
I swipe my tongue over the wet warmth of my lip and let the copper tang work its magic. “These people came for a show. I’m good to give them one.”
“Fuck them. You’re more important.”
The buzzer sounds to signal the end of our one-minute break, and I push off the cage wall. “I’m good.”
I don’t know if he hears the lie in my voice or reads it in my expression. Tag has always had the gift of reading people and it’s really fucking irritating when that superpower is turned on me.
I’m good. I repeat to myself.
I’m good to finish this fight fast so I can get to my girl. Because no matter how angry or disillusioned she is with me, I won’t let Nora walk away from me without one hell of a fight.
Good thing I’m in fighting form.