Nothing could really save you if you were weaponless, other than using your own hands and brain to solve the problem.
My wrapped hands punch the bag, feeling the give under my palm. My knuckles throb, fingers compressed, but it’s nothing to the ache in my body.
I’ve spent the last seventy-two hours gaining votes from the clan members. By trading routes, favors, or just plain fist fights to win their confidence, I’ve gained some of the members to myside. I’ll need it—I’ll need as many men behind me as I can get, when I put my name forward.
I already knew of two men to beat in the running: Finley Kent and Ethan Ó Riagáin.
Both are cousins in the clan. Though not closely related, they’re blood. If anyone doesn’t like me, they’ll choose them out of family obligation.
My left fist connects, and the bag swings harder. Being a southpaw is a blessing in this world, giving me the upper-hand. Pulling back, I examine my knuckles. They’re bruised, and swollen from the abuse I’ve put them through.
It’s worth it though. Anything to keep Roman away from Collins—from this clan. He doesn’t care about an alliance. He hates Maeve—hates how she’s always been better than him. This is just his way of finally gaining control over the one woman who never bows, and the best way to do that is by taking her sister.
Roman thinks Collins will be easy to take—to break. And he enjoys breaking women.
I slam my fist into the bag again.Over my dead body.
Though, I can’t say it wouldn’t be amusing to see them in a room together. Collins looks like the perfect doll in the world—a stupid mask, really—but she would annihilate him. I’m almost tempted to let her.
Smirking, I raise my fist again as a wicked kick knocks me to my knees, my palms stopping me from fully collapsing.
“What the fuck!” I shout, glancing over my shoulder, seeing Maeve there, seething. Dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a black sports bra, her dark locks are pulled high and her fists are ready.
The woman is half my size, but she’s taken down men bigger than me. I know to tread carefully.
“What in the actual fuck are you doing?” I ask, sitting back on my heels. “If you wanted to spar, we could have set up a time.Get a few hits in, beers after, yeah? Maybe we have actually done this properly than you taking out myknees.” Standing, I turn, keeping my eyes on her because her energy is worrisome. “Want to talk about whatever is pissing you off?”
“How long?” she hisses, twin green orbs nothing but darkness. Uh-oh. She’s angry.
“How long,what?”
Her eyes narrow and she attacks.
She’s quick, I’ll give her that, as she darts around the mat, knee connecting with my side. My hand grabs it, pulling her forward, body absorbing the full hit. Pain radiates up my side and I wince.
“Ow, easy, Maeve. I’m fucking tender there.” One of my fights for votes ended with a few bruised ribs.
Not like she cares. She’s all rage and coiled tension, ready to rip my head off.
She struggles to pull her leg away but not because she can’t. She’s warring with something in her mind, making her movements choppy, chaotic.
That’s not Maeve.
“How long have you beenfuckingmy sister?” she asks, landing a solid right hook into my jaw. My head whips to the side, teeth gnashing together from the force of her hit.
“Fuckinghell, Maeve.” Releasing her, I cradle my jaw. Blood smears across my lip. “I’m not fucking your sister. She’smarried.”
“Not her.” She tries another punch, but I dodge, stepping away.
Roaring, she jumps into the air, using the wall to give her the added height for an upper attack. I barely avoid it, arms bracing, stepping to the side.
Fuck, if she hadn’t trained me, I’d be dead on the mat by now.
“Thenwho?”
“Collins.”
“Collins?” Dumbfounded, I stall long enough for her to land another hit. I fall back against the wall, hands grabbing her ankle as she pins me to the gray cinderblocks with her foot. Being the only girl, she’s always fought differently.
