“He's throwing you in with sharks, Ashland.”
“But I'm a shark too, aren't I?” I kiss her cheek, her temple, trying to memorize the feel of her. “I'll be back before midnight, love. Promise.”
She searches my face, then nods slowly. “Alright.”
“Good lass.”
I leave her standing in the main room, Caitlin already moving toward her with a bottle of wine and a reassuring smile. They'll keep her occupied. They'll keep her safe. That's what matters.
Tiernan's waitingby the car, his arm still bruised from his recovery. He's lost weight and looks older somehow. But he's better now, stronger. His expression is unreadable, but I know. He wouldn't miss this for anything.
“You look tense,” he says as I slide into the passenger seat.
“Always am before a fight, aren't I?”
“Bollocks. This is different.”
I don't answer.
“Do you think he'll come?” Tiernan asks after a moment.
“Aye.” I blow out a breath. “I do. I hope he fucking does.”
He drives in silence, the city lights flashing past the windows. I've fought here dozens of times. I know the space, the crowds, the rules, but my instincts are screaming tonight.
I don't like leaving her behind. I don't like this public spectacle at all.
When we pull up to the warehouse, cars are already packed in the lot—more than usual. I scan the crowd as we walk in, looking for faces I don't recognize, but nothing jumps out at first. It's just the usual suspects. Irish. McCarthy fans. Some independents, looking to place bets.
The warehouse is packed. They're already screaming my name.
“McCarthy! McCarthy!”
“The McCarthy Monster! Roar!”
It doesn’t amuse me tonight the way it normally does.
The ring's set up in the center, the lights harsh and bright, the crowd pressing close. Money's changing hands, people are shouting, and at the smell of the ring and the vibe in the air, a part of me comes alive. I live for this. Love it. For fuck's sake, I've missed it.
Maybe tonight will be uneventful.
Seamus is waiting near the ring, his arms crossed. Cavin's beside him. My brother leans against the wall, watching the crowd with the same wary expression I'm wearing.
“Ash,” Seamus says, nodding toward the ring. “Clinton Sheehan. Clean fight. First blood or knockout.”
Good. I was afraid they'd try to pit me against Cavin, but Seamus still won’t let a McCarthy fight another McCarthy.
Clinton's young and hungry. He’s been trying to make a name for himself in the Irish circuit.
“Aye.” I nod. “It'll be a fair fight.”
“We'll win,” Seamus says simply.
Tiernan takes my hands, his movements practiced and efficient. “Watch the right hook,” he mutters low. “Kid's got speed.” He pauses, meeting my eyes. “And Ash—everything feels off tonight, lad. Keep your head on straight. Do whatever the fuck I say. You got it?I'mthe eyes on the back of your head tonight. You focus on the ring. Understood?”
“Aye, of course. Always do.”
“Good lad.”
