Or is it something else? Something that looks almost like…
Arousal?
No. Can’t be. Not for this. Not for the monster standing in a ring, covered in another man’s blood.
But I remember the way her eyes danced in the club, the way her body practically screamed at me to be dominated…Christ.If Erin likes what I think she does…
I can’t tell in the dim light, but she doesn’t look away.
Neither do I.
The moment stretches between us like a taut wire, vibrating with tension. Everything else fades—the crowd, the noise, Tommy groaning on the canvas behind me. It’s just her and me and the question hanging in the air: Can she be with a man like this?
With a man who needs violence the way other men need air?
The crowd surges between us, drunk men stumbling, pushing to get closer to the ring, and when they clear, all I see is the back of the fuckin’ guard I hired for her—Declan’s man, escorting her out, protecting her like I asked him to.
But I felt it, that connection, that pull.
And I wonder if her presence was good luck or something darker.
I wonder if she came here looking for me, or if fate’s just cruel enough to keep throwing us together.
I wonder if she’s running from me or running toward something she doesn’t understand yet.
I climb through the ropes, and someone hands me my shirt and a towel. I wipe blood from my face, can’t tell if it’s mine or Tommy’s, and shrug into my shirt, not bothering to button it.
“McCarthy.” O’Grady flags me down. “Yer winnings, son.”
I frown. I don’t need the damn money. Still, I take the thick envelope and nod my thanks.
I walk to the exit, staring at my purse.
I didn’t do this for money. I think about what to do with it, and finally decide to call Bronwyn. I can trust her.
“Hello?” she says, sleepy.
“Bronwyn,” I say when she answers, even though it’s two a.m.
She sounds instantly alert. “Cav? Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I need a favor. A private one.”
A pause. Then, “Go on.”
“I’m sending you money. I need you to give it to Erin. Tell her it’sfrom you. Tell her it’s… I don’t know, wedding gift money, or shopping money, or whatever.”
“How much money?” I glance at the envelope. “Eighteen thousand euros.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. What did you do, rob a bank?”
“I fought.”
Another pause, longer this time. “You went back to the ring.”
“Aye.”
“Does Seamus know?”
