Well, mostly.
My phone beeps with another notification. I quickly silence it, but Cavin notices and flashes me a grin. “You got a woman, mate? What're you hidingover there?”
“Shut it.”
“You do! You fucking do. Let me see!”
He grabs for the phone, but I catch his wrist and twist. He winces and howls, pulling back. “Christ, brother, you don't have to?—”
“Don't touch my phone.”
“Why won’t you fuckin’ admit it?” he asks, still nursing his hurt wrist, genuine curiosity in his gaze.
I shake my head. “No. I’m not.”
“Will you ever see someone? Christ, lad, you can at least come to The Craic with us, get a quick lay, see if?—”
“No.”
How the fuck would I explain this? Explain her? I couldn't fucking do it.
They'd think I was a fuckin' predator, and I—I'm not.
Stalker?
Well, is it still stalking if it's for her own good?
And I don't go overboard. I'm very… moderate in my… methods.
Yeah, I was able to install tracking software on her phone, but that's only basic; that's the easy step. I know her major and might know she gets good marks as well. I watch her at all times because she doesn't have a fucking bodyguard on her, and why doesn't she have a bodyguard?
And I now know that Bianca White’s dad once worked for our family, managing the very ring I’m in.
Cavin lifts the rope to the ring and gestures for me to join him.
Happily.
We circle each other, and I let him make the first move. He always does.
Cavin lunges with a jab that I dodge easily, then another. I block the third and counter with a hook to his ribs that makes him grunt. He recovers quickly and lands a solid hit to my jaw that snaps my head back.
Good. I need this.
I come at him harder. A combination—left, right, uppercut that catches him under the chin. His head whips back. I don't give him time to recover. I'm on him, driving him into the corner of the ring. Another hit to the ribs, then to his kidneys. He tries to block, but I'm faster, angrier, and I don't know why, but I can't fucking stop.
I see her walking alone in the dark. I see those men from last year. I see every fucking danger she puts herself in without even knowing it.
My fist connects with Cavin's cheekbone. Blood sprays. He staggers, tries to swing back, but I catch his arm and drive my knee into his gut. He doubles over with a strangled gasp.
I'm about to hit him again when?—
“Mercy, brother! Mercy.”
I let him up, breathing heavily, and he scowls at me. “Jesus, Ash, you'd think I fucking ran over your dog.” He winces, dragging a hand across his chest to support his bruised ribs. Seamus would kick my goddamn arse.
“Save it,” Cav says, shaking his head. “For a fight that matters.”
Christ, I've got to get a grip. I have to.
