Chapter 17
Seventeen
“When words fail, the fists remember. Every punch is a memory, every bruise a vow.”—Cyan MacBrady.
Amerciless sound cracked through the air, and my sister Ciara’s body jerked forward, her shoulders snapping back. For a heartbeat, she stayed upright, eyes wide. Then her knees gave out, and she collapsed onto the tile.
Her head struck next, with a blunt, hollow thud.
Ciara’s blood flowed thick and dark, seeping fast from the wound.
It spread beneath her, a slow red tide curling outward.
The burned copper smell hit me, and still my frozen mind refused to accept what I had just witnessed.
I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. She twitched once, fingers clawing weakly, reaching for nothing as her soul left her body.
HOOOOONK. The blast of a horn cuts through the fog in my mind, a brutal yank back to reality.
Instinct takes over. I swerve hard to the left, tires screeching, as the SUV jerks to a violent stop at the side of the road.
An eighteen-wheeler barrels past, close enough for the air pressure to rock the vehicle.
Fucking memories. I was useless then. I couldn’t save her.
Gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles crack, I push a hand into my pocket, fingers curling around soft lace.
Aria’s panties are still damp. I let out a slow breath, and I swear her scent clings to my skin, a ghost of what happened between us.
My teeth grind together as I squeeze the delicate scrap of fabric, the pressure shooting up my arm, grounding me in the here and now.
More snippets of memories claw at me as if waiting to drag me into their unyielding depths.
Thankfully, Aria’s moans begin to replace the failure of my past. I press down on my swollen tongue, focusing on the pain before I pull back onto the road.
Turning left between the towering trees onto the estate. The road narrows, winding. My SUV glides along, the tires thrumming rhythmically against the asphalt, as my compound comes into view. It’s over twenty acres. This is a kingdom built on blood and power, on the cliffs of Crescent Bay.
Ten mansions, one for every member of my mob family.
The Ten Irish Fists live here, our empire, our law.
The ornate wrought-iron gates are reinforced with steel and monitored by our trusted soldiers twenty-four hours a day.
Armed guards stand on either side, scanning every movement, their hands resting on holstered weapons.
The gates part for me. The snipers stationed along the rooftops barely shift.
Inside, more soldiers move in silent rotations, scanning for any threats.
Motion sensors and infrared cameras blanket the estate.
No one enters or breathes inside these walls unless I allow it.
Because I know what happens when security fails.
I know what happens when you think rules will protect you; people die, and I won’t make that mistake again.
Parking in front of my place, I step out, the sharp ocean air cutting through the heat rolling off me.
The weight of steel presses against my side—twin guns I go nowhere without.
There’s a knife in my boot and extra clips in my jacket.
I don’t take chances. Not with my life. Not with my family.
My home, a blend of cold stone and ocean framed through bulletproof glass, sits against the cliffside.
Every entrance is reinforced with titanium.
Beneath it, bunkers, escape tunnels, and contingencies making it impossible to breach.
Control isn’t a choice; it’s how we’ve survived.
I push through the doors, my body humming with unspent energy. Aria biting down on my tongue, tangles with the memories I can’t escape. I need an outlet. Or I’m liable to do what I dissuaded Collin from doing earlier. Troy is already in the ring, fists taped, stretching. I storm toward him.
He looks up, eyes narrowing. “That expression looks familiar, C.”
“Aye, it’s either this, or I do something real fucking stupid.
Troy, I can’t afford to lose focus.” But I already have.
Because of her, Aria Boschett. She’s inside my head, inside my fucking blood.
Her scent no longer grounds me; instead, it digs into memories I swore were buried, into places I had bricked up and left to rot.
These feelings make no sense. If she were here, I wouldn’t keep my hands off her.
The woman has taken up residence in my mind, as if she owns it, rearranging my thoughts without permission, making me feel things no other woman has: that soft voice, those sharp eyes—that damn backbone.
I’ve publicly claimed her, and it was reckless.
It’ll put her in the crosshairs. That should be enough to justify the fury at myself.
But that’s not the whole truth. I want her too much, and that makes me weak.
Weakness gets people killed. Ciara’s bloody corpse flashes in my mind.
I told myself today was about her actions and my consequences.
In truth, I revealed my vulnerability. Today was unnecessary; all I needed to do was spread the word around town that Aria belongs to me.
I knew it the first time she looked at me with fire instead of fear.
I shouldn’t care what she thinks; shouldn’t want her to choose me freely.
But deep down, the boy I was, the weak kid I pretended never existed, wants her to.
Now I wonder if she’s scared, or if she’s thinking about me, the way I haven’t stopped thinking about her?
There’s only one way to exorcise this mind-bending obsession.
There’s only one way to shut it up long enough to think straight again.
Troy, rolling his shoulders, watches me approach.
I don’t stop walking. My muscles tighten, coiled with raw energy, as I launch into the ring.
I don’t want the neat, controlled precision of a gym fight.
I need an all-out brawl, a brutal, unforgiving release.
Tearing off my jacket, weapons, shirt, and shoes, I toss them toward Johnny, who catches them with an arched brow.
“Up for bare knuckles?”
Troy examines me. “That look of yours, I’ve seen it before, C.” He would know; he’s the one who jumps in the ring when I’m unhinged, close to snapping. Like the day I came back to school after my family’s murder. The day I beat the shit out of Troy in the middle of the cafeteria.
I crack my knuckles. “Aye, Troy. It’s precisely that.”
He exhales, stretching his neck. “Alright then. Nmer, cut me loose.”
Nmer doesn’t hesitate. With a flick of a blade Troy’s fists are free. A mouthguard soars through the air. I catch it and shove it between my teeth.
“I hope you know this will not be like our first brawl, C. I ain’t holding back.”
The sound of Ciara’s head hitting tile echoes behind my eyes.
I swing. Troy dodges barely, his grin widening as he counters with a jab to my ribs.
The pain sharpens me, grounds me. But he isn’t who I see—it’s the fuckers who shattered my world.
It’s Lorenzo; it’s Ivone, Lorenzo’s enforcer, the second man I’ll kill.
He assaulted my mother in the most unspeakable way.
Troy has honed himself into a fighter. He’s no longer that kid from years ago; he’s a match for me, my second in command.
My fist connects with his cheek. The crack of bone against flesh is satisfying, but not enough.
Not nearly enough. We exchange blows. Every punch I throw is my rage turned physical.
Every hit I take reminds me of the retribution I swore I’ll collect.
Ciara’s reaching hand. My father’s broken body.
My mother’s last words. I failed to protect Collin.
I fed his darkness…and shaped the monster he became, all for the sake of my revenge.
Now I’m consumed with Aria. Her fire, her insubordination.
Troy catches me with an uppercut, snapping my head back.
I taste blood. Good. I duck his next hit and slam my fist into his ribs, making him grunt.
We move in brutal synchronization, a violent dance with no music, just the percussion of fists and pain.
Troy’s next punch clips my jaw. Pain radiates through my skull, but it fuels me.
I’m not fighting Troy. I’m fighting the weight of my past. The fear of watching another person I care about get ripped from me.
That I’ll never be strong enough to protect her.
That thought makes me reckless. I lunge, Troy’s eyes widen before I’m behind him, my arm locking around his throat.
Troy thrashes, muscles tensing against mine, but I don’t let go. My grip tightens, choking the life out of him. For a moment, I see Lorenzo in his place.
I imagine ending him here, now. Troy’s struggle weakens. Then Troy unexpectedly, he slams his skull back, hard. The impact crashes into my nose, and blinding pain explodes through my face. My grip slips. We both stagger back, breathless, and bloody.
Troy spits out his mouthguard. “You good now, or do I need to knock some more sense into you?” Reality is back. I’m seeing Troy’s face again. Shit, I almost killed the wrong man. I need to get a fucking grip.
I rip mine out, chucking it aside. Reaching up at my nose, checking if it’s broken; it’s not. But it’ll bruise like a motherfucker. “That last hit… I gotta hand it to you…was fucking epic.”
Troy snorts and spits out blood. “You’re welcome.” Then he grins, showing off his blood-stained grill.
Johnny leans against the ropes, arms crossed.
“You two are fucking insane. When Ma sees you at dinner, she’ll rip you both new ones.
” He’s right. Rosa will lose her mind. Troy’s face isn’t any better than mine.
His lip is split, one eye already swelling.
My knuckles throb, and blood is smeared across my skin and dribbling down from my nose.
I snort hard, clearing it. A spray of dark flecks dots the canvas. A sting crawls up behind my eyes; I drag my thumb under my nose, see the smear of red, and grin. For the first time since I dropped Aria off, I feel calm.
Troy slaps a hand on my shoulder. “C, listen…whatever shit’s in your head, get it straight. We need our tactician, not you self-destructing. We’re making dangerous moves.”
“I know that.”
He wipes blood from his brow. “Then act like it. You lost your shit over a goddamn accountant.”
I turn slowly. “Careful, Troy.”
His grin is pure provocation. “Look, I get it. Hell, I backed your play when you had me deal with that cop for just taking her out to dinner.”
I smile, all bloody teeth. “That fucker got what he deserved.”
Troy leans closer. “She means something. Bring her here. Because when we go after Lorenzo, she will be a target.” I don’t reply because I already know he’s right. The thought of Lorenzo, or anyone, laying a hand on her is fucking unacceptable.