Crowning spits on the canvas. “You think you're some kind of fucking hero? You kidnapped her, kept her locked up like a fucking prisoner?—”
“Right, and you were gonna marry her, rape her, then kill her like you did the others. Let's see who's the bigger monster now.”
His face doesn't change, but his eyes flash with pure rage. It’s not shame—it’s fury at being exposed. “I'm going to fucking destroy you.”
“I'd like to see you try.”
No ref. This is old rules. First blood means nothing now. This ends when one of us can't get up.
Crowning charges, and his first punch catches me in the jaw—a solid, trained hit that snaps my head back. I taste copper and spit blood on the canvas.
He's faster than I expected, trained. His combinations are clean and professional. He drives his fist into my ribs—once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Something cracks.
Iswing back and catch him in the temple. He staggers but recovers quick, then dances back, light on his feet.
“Getting slow in your old age?” He circles me, his hands up, stance perfect. “Or did you spend so much time fucking my fiancée, you forgot how to actually fight?”
Rage whites out my vision for a second. I charge, but he sidesteps and drives his knee into my thigh. My leg nearly buckles.
Tiernan's voice cuts through the roar in my ears. “Stay smart, lad. Don't fight angry. He's trying to bait you.”
Crowning lands another combination on my ribs. The same spot. I feel something give, and blood fills my mouth.
“She screamed for me, you know,” Crowning says, low enough only I can hear. “When I'd visit. Begged me not to hurt her. But she was so fucking innocent?—”
I roar and swing wild. He ducks under it easy, then drives his fist into my kidney. Pain explodes through my side.
“That's it,” he taunts. “Get angry. Get sloppy.”
Then I hear commotion at the door. Shouting.
“Let me through! I said, let me fucking through!”
Bianca.
My head snaps toward the sound, and Crowning takes advantage, driving his fist into my jaw. My vision blurs.
“Eyes on me, McCarthy,”he hisses.
But I can see her now. They're dragging her toward the ring. Not McCarthy men—two of Crowning's that we fucking missed. They must have been outside, waiting. They've got her arms, and she's fighting them, kicking and screaming. My blood boils.
“Ashland!”
Everything in me goes cold. Then white-hot.
Tiernan's shouting something behind me. Seamus is moving. But they're too far away.
Crowning sees my distraction and drives his fist into my solar plexus. The air leaves my lungs. I double over, gasping.
“Told you,” Crowning says. “I'ddestroyyou.”
He grabs me by the chin, forces my head up, and makes me watch as his men drag Bianca closer to the ring. She's sobbing now, her eyes locked on mine.
“Please,” she screams. “Marcus, don't hurt him!”
Crowning laughs. “Hear that? She's begging for you. Pathetic.”
He drives his knee into my face, and blood explodes from my nose. I hit the canvas hard.
