Eoghan (The Boston Syndicate #3)

1. Eoghan

Chapter one

Eoghan

M y brother is a twat. And a cockblocker.

Three weeks ago, Finn made me look like an ass in front of one of the most stunning blondes I’d ever laid eyes on. The woman is his new wife’s best friend, and he thought it would be funny to fuck with me. Not even married for four hours, and he was already acting like the stick-in-the-mud I constantly ragged on him for being. Shouldn’t have surprised me, but Jesus, he could have backed off and let me talk to the girl. It wasn’t like I was going to take Alessia’s best friend, Gemma, home with me. Maybe .

Who am I kidding? I was ready and willing if she was. But then, Finn had to pull that ridiculous little stunt. Right before I struck up a conversation with Gemma, Finn paid one of Alessia’s cousins to pretend that I’d made plans to take her to my hotel room. I didn’t even have a room at the hotel, for Chrissake. Gemma took off before my brother could wipe that smug-as-hell smile from his damn face. Did I try to talk to her again that night? Of course. Did she avoid me like the plague? One hundred percent. When I eventually lost sight of her in the giant ballroom, I asked our security guard if he saw her leave. He confirmed the valet brought her car around, and she’d left not long after my brother and his new wife.

However, never let it be said I’m not a persistent man. Or a mild stalker. Whatever people want to call it. It’s not as though I have nefarious intentions, but her ice-blue eyes have done…something to the part of my brain that usually tells me to forget about a girl who plays hard to get—not that many, or any, do. The way she looked at me, like she could see right through me, was oddly refreshing. I could get any woman in Boston with a smirk and a beckoning of my finger. Could be the Monaghan charm that my mother says I’m cursed with, or it could be the fact that I’m part of the most powerful crime family in Boston. Women love a little walk on the wild side. But the way Gemma looked at me told me she knew exactly what my game was, and she wasn’t fucking having it.

And I liked it.

I need to see her again. See if my first reaction was due to the whiskey or from something else—which brings me to the little neighborhood kickboxing gym she’s a member of. I may have had one of Cillian’s tech wizards do some digging after making it clear that he’d better not get any ideas about running to my brother’s lieutenant about our little fact-finding mission, of course. Nothing intrusive, just a general background search that included bank transactions for monthly subscriptions. I found two things of interest. One, she has a monthly subscription to an online lingerie shop—handy information—and two, I found where she has a gym membership. Now, I’m not sure if she’s here today; like I said, I’m not an actual stalker. But I know she frequents the place, so I’m giving it a shot. Plus, I’m always on the lookout for new fighters. I organize fight nights in the basement of a couple of my family’s bars. The fights rotate on a biweekly basis, and the cut the bar takes from the bookies on our payroll brings in a pretty little penny for my family business.

I step inside the warehouse-style gym and look around. The layout is impressive. It’s a hell of a lot bigger than most others I’ve been to, with three rings spaced throughout and several sets of weights and hanging bags. The high ceilings have exposed ductwork, giving it an industrial, open feeling. The fast-paced rock music blasting from the speakers, paired with the determined looks in the patrons’ eyes, makes one thing clear—these people are ready to throw punches. It’s not particularly busy for a Tuesday evening, but the weather outside is shit, which is typical for springtime in Boston. Rainy as hell one minute, then warm and sunny the next. Never know what you're going to get this time of year.

Looking around the gym, I don’t spot her at any of the bags or weight machines. My guy says she usually comes in after work a couple days a week, but maybe today isn’t one of those days. Since I’m here, I may as well check out a few of the fighters. I step toward the ring in the right corner of the gym. The two guys inside are working hard at some mixed martial arts. It’s my job to watch fighters and recruit the ones I think would bring energy and competition to my more seasoned guys. I find the hungry ones, the ones who want to get out and make some real money. That’s what I provide and why we usually have a wait list for guys who want a shot. They make a hell of a lot more at one of my nights than any of the other small-time operations around Boston.

One guy in the ring is giving it his all. There’s a look of determination on the kid’s face that far outweighs the tired look in his opponent’s eyes. Kid is doing it right, running circles around the other man. He’s quick, I’ll give him that, but he needs more training. That’s okay. I can work with that. I have trainers to work with the guys who have the most potential. After the kid lands a complex series of punches and kicks, the tired-looking lumberjack of a man falls to the mat and taps out as blood pours from his lip.

“Sorry about that,” the younger fighter tells him and reaches out a hand to help his opponent off the mat. When the bigger fighter swats his hand away, the kid shrugs and walks to his corner, grabbing his water and taking a long pull from the bottle. The other fighter stomps off to where I’m assuming the locker room is. Some guys get pissed when their blood gets spilled. Though he was a big guy and would probably make some money for my bookies, he’s not right for what I do.

This kid, though…

At first glance, he looks to be in his twenties, but as I get closer and see him wiping the sweat from his face, I’d peg him to be eighteen, if that.

“Hey,” I call out as he throws the towel over his shoulder and grabs his shirt from the rope.

“‘Sup,” he replies with a head nod, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested in talking to some random stranger.

“Good fight,” I say, and he simply nods again. Okay . I’m getting major screw-off vibes from this kid, and he clearly has no idea who I am. “Got a name?”

“Yeah.”

Seriously?

He pulls the ropes apart and jumps out of the ring in front of me. The kid is probably about six feet tall, and he has a medium build but is absolutely covered in defined muscle as if he works his ass off to stay in tip-top shape. The black curls on his head make him look even younger, and those dark-brown eyes are looking at me like I’m a complete nuisance standing in his way.

I’m not going to lie. It’s refreshing having someone who runs in these circles not know who I am. Most of the time, when I go to a gym like this, I have multiple guys trying to show off so they can be invited to fight in one of my bars.

“I’m Eoghan.” I hold out my hand, but instead of shaking it, the little punk looks at it then back at me. “Eoghan Monaghan,” I say.

That gets his attention. Not that I need validation or anything, but Jesus. Okay, maybe I do need a little validation. Finn walks around this city, and everyone practically drops to their knees. I can barely get some kid who’s still cutting his teeth in the ring to give me the time of day.

“Javier Rivera,” he finally introduces and takes my hand in a firm shake.

“You know who I am?”

“I do, sir. The guys in here are always talking about wanting to get on your roster.”

That’s more like it.

“Sorry, just the way you were eyeing me when I was in the ring made me think you were trying to talk to me for other reasons.”

The look on his face when he lets that little tidbit slip is hysterical. I’ve never seen a man look like he wants to physically take back the words that came out of his mouth and choke on them quite like Javier does right now. The laugh that explodes from me instantly relaxes him, and he chuckles a little at his minor faux pas.

“Nope, just checking out your form.” I wince and smile in his direction. “Saying that now sounds a little weird.” We both have a laugh, and I reach into my pocket, pulling out my wallet to retrieve one of my black business cards, which has just my name and phone number on it. These are the cards I reserve for the guys who I meet at places like this. The ones I think have a shot at making me and my family—and themselves, of course—some money.

“Give me a call. You need some more training, but the raw talent I saw up there”—I nod to the ring—“has my interest…piqued, shall we say.”

Javier takes the card from my fingers and nods enthusiastically. “Thank you, Mr. Monaghan.”

“Mr. Monaghan is my dad, kid. Call me Eoghan.” I’ve never liked standing on ceremony the way my dad and brother always have.

“Okay. Thank you so much.”

The excited enthusiasm rolling off this kid has me wondering about one very important detail.

“How old are you, by the way?”

“Nineteen, sir. I mean Eoghan.”

“You live around here?”

“No, but I work here, cleaning up at night and doing a little maintenance here and there. Freddy lets me work out and train for free, so I don’t mind the train ride. Beats any place around my neighborhood.”

Just like I thought. Hungry.

Freddy is the owner. I've met him a few times since we’re both in the fight scene. He opened this place up a couple months ago and has been asking for me to come check it out. It was a happy coincidence that this is the place Gemma makes monthly payments to from her checking account. Okay, fuck, that does sound a little stalkerish.

Deciding I might as well get a workout in while I’m here, I turn to where I saw the beaten fighter scurry off to.

“Can I get changed in there?” I ask, pointing to the small hallway.

“Yeah, man. I’ll show you around when you’re done.”

“Sounds good, kid.”

I head into the locker room and appreciate the simplicity. There are no fancy wooden lockers with an attendant ready to take your towel from you after you finish your shower. In fact, the showers themselves are sectioned off with those aluminum panels you would find in any run-of-the-mill high school locker room. Instead of oak or cedar lockers, these are metal. They’re newer than the ones in the makeshift locker rooms we have. I like it. No fuss, no muss. This is where you go to train and work out, not bullshit in some fancy room with your buddies after doing an hour on a rowing machine like you find in a lot of gyms in the ritzy neighborhoods.

When I walk out in my workout shorts and a sleeveless shirt, Javier is grabbing a bag of towels. Damn, this kid goes right from training to working. “I’ll be right back, just have to throw these in the laundry room.”

I nod in his direction and look around at the other people. It’s getting a little more crowded in here but not so much that there isn’t plenty of space to do some weights. Maybe I can get in the ring with Javier and get a better feel for what he needs to work on, too.

As the kid walks up to show me around, I notice a woman with bright-blonde hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Her long legs are encased in a pair of tight black leggings, and her red tank top hugs her delicious form. Damn. I’m a sucker for a ponytail I can grab on to while I—

“Don’t even go there, man. Many have tried. All have failed. Miserably,” Javier says when he sees me eyeing the woman I came here to find.

“You know her?” Maybe I can glean some information from him. You know, more than I’ve already dug up.

“She's wicked good in the ring, but she doesn’t really talk to any of the fighters. Some guy she met here took her out once, but now they avoid each other like the plague.”

If it’s the guy I remember her being at the fights with about a week ago, then good riddance. I saw him buying some coke at the fight night last week, then I saw him talking to her before my brother knocked out a big Russian guy to get to his wife. I was outside dealing with the asshole who dared grab what wasn’t his, so I didn’t catch Alessia breaking a girl's nose for fawning all over her husband. My bartender told me it was pretty fucking epic, though. When I learned my sister-in-law could fight, the idea of having a female fight night sprang to mind. Now, knowing Gemma not only likes to watch fights but trains at a gym, the idea is really starting to take root.

“Have you seen her spar?” I ask Javier as I watch Gemma tape up her hands and test it in her fist.

“A couple times. She’s good. Kinda ruthless.” Javier shrugs and walks me over to the weight set. I’m no stranger to a gym, and this one doesn’t have any bells and whistles. There’s really no reason for him to show me anything, but I can tell he’s trying to impress me a bit, so I let him do his thing.

I load some weights onto a bar and lie down on the bench. “Give me a spot, yeah?”

Javier nods, and I do a few reps with him standing over me. When I sit up, I see Gemma from the corner of my eye. She’s in the ring with a guy who looks twice her size. She’s going through a routine of different kickboxing moves, and the guy is giving her a few pointers as she kicks the mitts he’s wearing. I wipe my face, wander over to a bag closer to Gemma, and start throwing a series of punches. They’re half-hearted at best, but that’s not really the point. I’m trying to get the damn woman to notice me, but she’s wrapped up in her own workout. Typically, female attention isn’t lacking when I step into a gym, but this girl isn’t paying anyone any mind. I respect it, even if it’s irritating me.

Walking over to the ring she’s at, I loop my arms over the ropes. “Fancy seeing you here, Gem,” I say with my usual smirk playing on my lips.

“First off,” she starts while she continues to throw her kicks. “It’s Gemm- aaa. With an A . Secondly, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me, given how you kept staring over here. But then again, I suppose I am just another faceless woman you tried to hit on one night.” She stops and stands in the middle of the mat with her fists resting on her hips. “Tell me, Eoghan, do we all just blur together in that brain of yours?” Even though she’s slightly winded from her workout, she has no problem giving me the dressing down she thinks I deserve. Goddamn, I must be some sort of masochist because I fucking love it.

The man, who I’m assuming is her trainer, releases a snort of laughter at my expense. Asshole.

“You want me to take care of this guy, Gemma?” he asks. Like he’s going to actually do anything. His eye catches someone behind me, and I turn my head to find Javier a few feet behind me, shaking his head at Gemma's trainer.

“Nah. I can handle him. Thanks, though.”

She thinks she can handle me? Interesting.

“I haven’t seen you since the night of the fights. How’ve you been?” Smooth, Eoghan .

“Busy not wasting my time stalking women at their neighborhood gyms.” She’s fucking sassy. And I’m so fucking busted.

I cock my head and watch her stalk toward where I’m standing. She bends over, grabs her water bottle, and takes a long drink. I’ve never been one to wax poetic about the way a woman’s throat moves while she swallows mouthful after mouthful of anything, but seeing her head tilted back and exposing her long neck with sweat dripping down it gives me the sudden urge to jump into the ring and trace the beads of sweat with my tongue. What is it about this woman that has me so damn… what’s the word? Struck stupid. Yeah, that’s a fair description.

She sets the bottle back down and picks up a towel, wiping at her face and neck. “What are you doing here, Eoghan? This isn’t your regular place.”

“I know Freddy. He’s been wanting me to come check it out. Said there’s some talent around here.”

Gemma quirks her brow as her lip tips up with a disbelieving smirk. “Really?”

It’s not a complete lie. “Yes. Really. How could I have known you worked out here?”

Her blue eyes narrow into slits. “Considering your brother runs the Irish mob in Boston, I have no doubt you have the means to find out.”

“You think awfully high of yourself, Miss Dalton. Don’t you think we have better things to spend our time and resources on?” We absolutely do. I may have overstepped when I used Cillian’s guy to help me out, but it’s not like anyone is going to tell me no.

“So this is pure coincidence?” Gemma asks, still giving me a narrowed gaze. God, I fucking love seeing that look on her face.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Gemma blows out a long breath and shakes her head, her blonde ponytail swinging from side to side with the movement. “I don’t hate you, Eoghan. I’ve just known a hundred guys like you. Hell, I’ve dated half of them. You all want what’s in front of you until the next pretty little thing walks by. Take the wedding, for example. You were chatting me up but already had a girl lined up to meet you in your room. It’s the same old song and dance with guys like you—have a sure thing on the hook and a girl waiting in the wings for when you get bored. I’m not into guys with revolving doors in their bedroom.”

“That whole thing at the wedding was my brother’s doing. I was ‘chatting you up’ because I wanted to get to know you, not have you as some sort of backup plan. I’d never seen that girl before in my life. I think it was one of Alessia’s cousins. Finn told me to stay away from you before the wedding, so when he thought I was getting too friendly, he cockblocked me. No offense.”

Gemma’s eyes widen in surprise for a split second when I tell her the truth about Finn's involvement. She lets out a little laugh and rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. “He didn’t have to bother.” She spears me with her gaze, the same piercing look that captivated me from the start, and looks down at me from the ring with her hands spread across the ropes like a queen addressing her subjects. She's ethereal. “Look, even if I wasn’t well aware of the reputation you have in this town, you're my best friend's brother-in-law. That’s a little too close to home for me.” She kneels down until she’s at eye level with me. “Your brother did us both a favor. No harm, no foul.”

Gemma jumps out of the ring and stands in front of me, raising her brows—probably wondering why I haven’t walked away with my fucking tail between my legs.

“I want to take you out. Dinner or drinks, whatever you want. Let me prove the rumors about me aren’t true.” Granted, her impression of me is probably spot on, but I’ve been obsessing over this woman since I first laid eyes on her. I’m sure as hell not going to throw in the towel now.

“Does that usually work?”

“What?” I smile at her. A lesser man would probably run in the other direction, but her fire doesn’t scare me in the least. Just the opposite, in fact.

“The whole I’m so handsome and charming and I’m going to show you a good time act you have going on.” Gemma waves her hand up and down between us.

“You think I’m handsome and charming?” My mouth tilts in a way that most women find irresistible.

“No. I find you annoying and in my way,” she says, taking a wide step around me to head to the locker room.

“I can work with that,” I call out as she pushes through the door.

The small smile on her full lips doesn’t escape my attention before the door closes behind her.

After watching Gemma walk out the door with a little flick of her hand to at least say goodbye to me, well, kind of, I head to Clovers—one of our four bars. There isn’t a fight tonight, so the place isn’t packed brick wall to brick wall, but we have a pretty decent after-work crowd. The bar is nestled in a blue-collar neighborhood, and unless it’s a fight night, the customers are your usual salt-of-the-earth kind of people. My kind of people. There’s no bullshit, well, aside from the occasional bar fight, but that’s pretty typical in any bar across the US. But no one is here putting on airs.

This is where I have my main office. Though I keep one at every bar we own, those are mostly a catchall for the staff. This place is where I keep the books—legal and otherwise. No one comes into this office but me. There’s one across the hall for my bar manager, but otherwise, this particular room is locked up like Fort Knox.

I have a seat at my desk to go over some invoices for the other three bars we own, but my concentration is shit. My eyes wander to the framed photo on my desk. It’s the same one Finn has in his office—a childhood photo of the two of us with my grandfather. That man taught us the importance of brotherhood and family. I love my brother, don’t get me wrong, but Finn really screwed me over with Gemma. We’ve always been competitive, but that’s how brothers are. I’d lay down my life for him, just as I know he’d do the same for me. But I swear to God, I’d like to punch him in the face for his little stunt.

When Gemma and I were talking at the wedding, there was a connection. She can’t deny that. Maybe it’s the challenge, maybe it’s my brother telling me not to go there, and I don’t take kindly to being told what to do. Still, I think it’s something more. There’s something in those piercing eyes of hers that possess a fire I’ve never seen. Fire and ice, that’s the sum of what I know of Gemma Dalton, but I plan on learning a whole hell of a lot more.