Chapter 29
Samantha
I’m watching Killian recover from the blow to his gut when there’s a low chuckle beside me. I glance up to see Sully smirking down at me. “Well,” he says, “now it makes sense why my brother won’t let you dance on The Lucky Sinner.”
I want to ask him what he means, but just then our attention snaps back to the fight as a collective cheer roars around us.
Killian’s wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. My stomach clenches. I don’t know much about boxing, but I don’t think bleeding in the first round is a good sign.
The sight of the blood appears to have flipped a switch in The Punisher, electrifying him as he lunges forward in a flurry of swings aimed at Killian’s head.
Killian easily dodges the effort and lands a punch to the big guy’s ribs that has him stumbling back a few steps.
But that seems to have only pissed him off as he roars and lunges again, long powerful arms sweeping through the air like wrecking balls aimed at whatever part of Killian’s body isn’t protected.
Killian covers his face with his fists and does his best to duck and weave, but a few crushing body blows land, sending the crowd into another tizzy. “Finish him!”
Killian’s expression is ice, calm, focused, showing no signs of panic despite the brutal blows. Just that small gleam in his eye as he stares The Punisher down.
By the time the bell rings, I’m dizzy from holding my breath. The Punisher gets in a few more dirty hits before he shoots the cheering audience a cocky grin and heads to his corner.
Killian’s gaze finds me again, his jaw set hard like his attention is on me against his will.
I bite my thumbnail and hold his stare. If things continue like this, I’m afraid he’s going to come out of this with more injuries than I can patch up. I know he sees the panic in my eyes because he shakes his head subtly. I can almost hear him saying, “Stop worryin’, Vixen. I got this.”
Then he winks.
My eyes narrow. Are all Irishmen this cocky? There’s a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. That mouth that gave me so much pleasure.
Stop it. Heat warms my cheeks.
His smile stretches like he knows what I’m thinking.
The voices and laughter fade around me. I’m only aware of his burning stare, the trickle of blood on his swollen lip that I want to kiss, the sweat rolling down his glistening, pumped body. He’s filthy, bleeding, dangerous and so fucking hot I have to hold back a moan.
Guilt immediately rises up. Lusting after a cold-blooded killer? Come on, Samantha. Didn’t you learn your lesson? I have a death wish apparently. And really bad taste in men.
The bell rings and he saunters to the middle of the ring, still holding my gaze with that knowing smirk. Then he turns to give his attention to the giant who’s intent on bashing his brains in and the spell is broken.
I suck in a deep breath, feeling disorientated and out of control.
Sully leans down and yells in my ear over the crowd. “He’s got this, love.”
But I have to watch another round of Killian taking blow after blow, and while he is getting in a few lethal shots of his own, they aren’t enough to deter his opponent.
Killian’s right eye is swelling, and there are red welts all over his chest and stomach from the beating. I’m sure he’s got a few cracked ribs.
I feel so helpless. What is he doing? I know he’s quick enough to move out of the way of the majority of those blows.
With a minute left in the round, I can’t take it anymore.
My anxiety is already at a level I’m barely controlling.
I push my way back through the crowd and order a Tequila shot and throw it back.
With the fire in my belly burning through some of the unbearable anxiety, I return to Sully’s side just as the round ends.
I cross my arms and huff up at Sully. “He’s not going to last much longer taking those heavy blows.”
Sully takes a sip of his beer and studies his brother, who’s pressing an ice pack against his eye. “He trained with the best in Ireland. He knows what he’s doin’.” He glances down at me and shakes his head. “At least in the ring.”
I can already tell something has shifted in the next round when Killian rolls his shoulders as he nods at The Punisher.
Gone is the careful, calculated stance. As he dances around the sweaty Italian, who’s breathing hard and dropping his hands again, Killian jabs and measures, his body loosening.
It’s like he’s taken off whatever leash he had on, his energy shifting into high gear.
And then it comes. Killian steps in and unleashes a flurry of punches, both fists working the Punisher’s ribs as the giant stumbles back, caught flat footed and off guard. Then a brutal uppercut throws The Punisher into the fence.
Before he has a chance to recover, Killian steps in and delivers blow after blow to his face. The Punisher slides down the cage fence as a collective gasp comes from the crowd.
Then silence, like everyone is holding their breath at the same time. I can feel the disbelief in the air as seconds tick by. Then shouts explode as sprays of blood pepper the air. Killian is still demolishing the guy’s face, and the ref is taking his sweet time walking over there.
“Get up, you pussy!” “Punisher, get up!” The crowd is pissed.
Killian stands to his full height and steps back.
Unbelievably, after that beating, the big Italian is still conscious.
He struggles but holds onto the fence and pulls himself up with a grunt.
He shakes his head. Blood is pouring into his eye from a cut on his brow, both his eyes are swollen slits that he can barely see out of, and he’s got one arm wrapped around his middle.
Killian doesn’t go back at him, though I’m sure the ref would allow it. Instead, he walks a slow circle, cracking his neck and keeping an eye on the man.
The crowd is booing and jeering. Obviously, they bet on the wrong fighter.
I glance over at Sandro. He and his men are grinning and high-fiving. They obviously didn’t.
The ref checks the Italian’s eyes and waves his arms. “He’s done.”
Killian strides to the corner and grabs a water bottle, downs it. The Punisher pushes the ref out of his way, stumbling and breathing ragged as he falls out of the ring and heads for the safety of the locker room to lick his wounds.
“Guess you’re up, Doc.” Sully grins down at me.
I sigh and head into the locker room, purposefully ignoring Killian. I feel drained from all the worry and anxiety, and I blame him. He didn’t have to wait so long to turn the fight around, but it was like he was enjoying the pain. Asshole.
When I open the door, the ruckus makes me pause. There’s another loud bang. I peek around the corner. The Punisher slams his fist into a metal locker, denting it. Two men are trying to calm him down.
“Everyone has a bad night,” one man says. “It’s bound to happen.”
The pissed off giant lowers himself onto the wooden bench and swipes at his face with a towel, smearing it with fresh blood. “I want a rematch. Irish cunt just got lucky,” he growls.
I roll my eyes as I grab my bag from the side room and walk to stand in front of the sweaty beast of a man.
I know nothing about boxing, but I do know that brutal takedown was pure skill and power, not luck, and Killian was obviously holding back before that.
“If you’re done throwing a temper tantrum, I need to look at your injuries. ”
One dark eye blazes at me beneath prominent brows, the other one is completely swollen shut. His jaw muscle ticks as he looks me over. “You’re the doctor?”
I open my bag, toss him a gel ice pack and begin to pull out my supplies to clean and stitch his injuries. “And you’re the genius, apparently,” I mumble. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but I’m done tiptoeing around men, done being afraid for one goddamn night.
The two men snort, and The Punisher whips his head over to glare at them. “Fuck off.”
They do, but not without more snickering.
I patch him up as best I can. Killian really did a number on him in a short amount of time.
I’d be impressed if I wasn’t the one that had to fix his destruction.
After palpating his ribs, I’m sure there’s at least two broken.
“I suggest you get those ribs x-rayed and have someone stay with you tonight to monitor for a concussion.”
He grins, his teeth stained with blood. “You offering, darling?”
I crack open a second ice pack and hand it to him for his ribs, ignoring his comment. “No alcohol, no sedatives and no aspirin. If you need a painkiller, Tylenol is your safest bet. No more than 4,000 mg a day. Got it?”
He watches me pack up with one puffy eye as he holds the ice pack over the other one. “You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you.”
I feel his interest in me intensify. Time to get out. “Have a good night.”
By the time I step back out of the locker room, the place is almost emptied out. The lights have been raised, and the tables have been cleared. There’s a few knots of people left chatting.
I spot Killian in the group with his brother, Sandro and the other Italians. He’s taken off his gloves, put on a robe and is holding a bottle of Guiness. He’s listening intently to something Gunnar is telling him.
I fold my arms. His injuries need to be checked, too. Is he going to let me?
As he’s bringing the beer bottle to his mouth, his eyes meet mine. He pauses.
My heartbeat ticks up as I struggle with the traitorous way my body reacts to his attention. I swore I’d never let another man have power over me, yet here I am, unable to look away.
Just then, The Punisher comes out of the locker room and stops beside me. He presses a large hand against my lower back and leans down, his hot breath in my ear. “Offer still stands to come home with me, pretty lady. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Unlike when Killian touched me in the hospital, this time I freeze. Pressure builds in my chest.