Maybe not. I like my quiet.
“Alright, then,” he says. “Watch your back. Don't think that lad from Cork has anybody who's gonna shiv you in the alley, but you never know, eh?” He says it with a wink, but it's only half a joke. We've all learned to have eyes in the back of our heads.
“Sure you don't fancy a ride?” he asks. “I got here by cab.”
I'm rarely fit to drive home after a fight, but tonight, I want to walk.
“Nah, I'm good, honestly, Tiernan. Please, just go to the club. Have a pint. Maybe I'll see you at the weekend, right?”
He nods. “Right.”
“You did well there, lad. Proud of you.”
Something like warmth blooms in my chest.
I cuff his shoulder back. “Thanks. Could still best you, eh?” He fakes me out and lands a solid but playful jab to the stomach before I block and retaliate. We jokingly spar before he gets into his car and leaves.
But before I'm a few paces into my walk, I hear it again—a scream, sharp and sudden, cut off too quickly. I wait, my breath caught. This time, no laughter follows.
Every instinct I have flares to life. I stand up straighter, my hands balled into fists.
I'm already reaching for the knife tucked in my waistband before I realize I left it in the fucking locker.
Jesus.
The scream came from the alley behind the ring, the one that runs parallel to the main street. It's dark back there, with only one flickering streetlight at the far end. I observe everything in an instant, cataloging threats. The smell of rain on the blacktop, a dog barking in the distance, the hum of traffic on the street.
I turn the corner, and my eyes adjust instantly.
Who screamed, and why?
I see it all in seconds—two men. They’re vaguely familiar, though I can't place them.
One holds a struggling figure who's fighting with everything he's got, while the other pulls a black bag over his head. They work in sync, wasting no time. Professionals.
They haven't seen me yet. Good.
The figure they're trying to kidnap is slight, small enough to be a teenager, but I can't see their face with the bag half over their head.
“For fuck's sake, hurry,” one growls. “The goddamn McCarthy fight got out.”
“Thought it'd be easier!” the other snarls.
We're in McCarthy family territory. This is my turf. Could be anyone, someone I fuckin' know for Christ's sake.
I don't think. I move.
The first man doesn't even see me coming. I hit him full force, shoulder to his ribs, and he goes down like a sack of shite.
The second one drops his victim and reaches for something, but I'm faster. I grab his wrist, twist it until I hear the snap, and drive my fist into his face so hard bone snaps.
He crumples.
The adrenaline from the fight still pumps through my veins, sharper now, hotter. These fuckers tried to takesomebody… 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.
