Chapter 1 #2
The adrenaline from the fight still pumps through my veins, sharper now, hotter. These fuckers tried to take somebody… in our territory. Tried to hurt somebody younger, smaller, innocent.
Big fucking mistake.
I grab the first man by the collar and haul him up. He's conscious, barely, blood pouring from his nose. In my peripheral vision, the hooded kid scrambles to his feet.
“Who sent you? Who are you?”
I don't recognize the bastard. He spits blood at me.
I hold him by the shoulders and slam him against the brick wall hard enough that his head cracks and bounces.
“I asked you a fucking question.”
“Fuck you,” he wheezes out.
I'm about to hit him again when I remember the victim. I glance over my shoulder and freeze. It’s a kid dressed all in black, backed up against the opposite wall, with wide, terrified eyes.
I turn back to the arsehole. I want to slit his throat right here, right now, in front of somebody who could report me.
The man in my grip tries to twist away while I'm distracted, but instinct takes over. I drive my knee into his stomach and let him drop.
He stays down.
Behind me, one of the men groans. I glance back and see him trying to crawl away. Without thinking, I step on his hand, grinding his fingers into the pavement until he screams.
When I look back, the boy has pressed himself flat against the wall.
Fuck. I'm not helping the situation. I haven’t given these arseholes half of what they deserve, but the lad's seen enough.
“Go,” I tell him. “Get out of here. Find somewhere with people. Somewhere bright.” He shouldn't be out here fucking alone at night.
He doesn't move. Of course he doesn't. Probably terrified.
The clouds shift. Moonlight catches pale skin, dark hair spilled loose from a braid, and I go very, very still.
Not a boy.
Christ. Not a boy at all.
I take her in the way a man inventories a threat, except she's… the opposite of a threat. She's soft and slight, bleeding from a cut on her cheek.
She's no older than eighteen, with wide blue eyes as deep as a winter night, staring straight back at me. There’s a scrape on her cheek, angry and red, welling with fresh blood. My vision tunnels.
They hit her. Those bastards put their hands on her and hit her hard enough to break skin.
My hands shake from something I don’t have words for .
The lass looks like she stepped straight out of a fairy tale, all dark hair and pale skin and red lips, with those wide, innocent eyes…
And me? She's staring at me like I'm the monster.
To be fair, I probably look like one, covered in blood—some mine, most not. Knuckles split. Shaved head. Scars. Ink.
And I've got some bastard slammed against the wall.
She's too young to be here. Too young to be caught up in whatever the fuck this is. Too young to be alone. My chest tightens, and I make a fist.
“Y’alright, lass?” I ask, my voice rough.
She doesn't answer, just stares. Still in shock, maybe. Can't blame her.
“I'm not gonna hurt you,” I say. “Do you know who these bastards are?”
Over my shoulder, I hear an engine. Bollocks . They've got backup. Course they fuckin' do.
“Hey—” I growl.
Gunshots ring out. Jesus .
I release the arsehole and lunge for the girl, slamming us both to the ground. My body covers hers, a shield of muscle and bone, as bullets spark off the brick above us. The two men scramble into the car, tires squealing as they tear off into the night.
Fuck .
I push myself up slightly, still shielding her. “Did you know who they were?”
I didn't get fucking anything on them.
She shakes her head slowly, those dark-blue eyes as deep and endless as the ocean, locked on mine.
Christ.
“What's your name?” I ask her.
She opens her mouth, then closes it, her lips trembling. She doesn't trust me.
Right, then.
“It's alright,” I say, gentle now, even though it feels strange and unnatural, and I’m not sure I’m very convincing. “You're safe. They're not going to hurt you.”
Then I realize what this could look like—me, with a young woman, alone in an alley, hovering over her. Everybody knows who I am. I can’t be seen like this.
Jesus, the rumors.
I leap up as if she's lit me on fire.
“Go,” I bark this time, angrier, sterner. “You've got no goddamn business being here alone!” I reach for my wallet and toss a fistful at her. “Get a fucking cab and get the hell out of here!”
Finally, she grabs the money, jolts into motion, and leaps to her feet, backpedaling.
Good. Good girl.
“And don't you fucking go out here alone again!” I scream after her retreating figure.
I watch her disappear around the corner, her footsteps echoing in the alley. I blow out a breath when I look around the corner and see her flag down a cab. Something in my chest twists when she glances back once, just before she shuts the door.
Then she's gone.
The air's too quiet after everything that went down tonight.
She could have been one of my younger cousins. Something terrible could have happened right here in Ballyhock.
And once again… I'm alone.
It should feel better than this to be a savior, but it’s only a reminder of who I couldn’t save.
I shove my hands in my pockets and head home. It's too quiet after what just happened.
I think about telling my family what I did, what I saw. But something stops me, something I don't want to name.
We're not in the business of saving people.
I'm Ashland fucking McCarthy. Feared across Ireland .
I'm no hero.
But I can't shake the image of her backed against that wall. Her wide, terrified eyes. The way she looked at me as if I was the monster instead of them.
Little does she know… I am.