After that, he’d only trained against his own. Men who knew not to try and kill him.
But maybe that had been a mistake.
He flexed his fingers, prepared to deliver the blow that would make him the victor when Callahan straightened. A look of death darkened Callahan’s gaze, raw fury twisting his features as he launched himself directly at Finn.
The impact caught him off balance and then he was falling with Callahan’s arms wrapped around his torso. The dirt floor came up to greet him, smacking the back of Finn’s head and shooting pain into his spine.
He heard the roars, a mixture of cheers and protests, before he felt the first blow. A fist smashed into his nose with a crunch, the wetness spilling onto his chin leaving no doubt as to what had occurred. Another blow followed, this time to his jaw. Then another and another before someone had the good sense to drag Callahan from his person.
Finn wheezed a breath. He couldn’t move. It felt like his face had been rearranged.
Someone dropped to their knees beside him. “Christ, Finn. Ye all right?”
A gasp was all he could manage. It was as though a millstone rested upon his chest.
“Up.” He needed to get on his damn feet if he was to murder Callahan as he deserved.
“You sure about that?” The same voice. Brian Kelly’s voice. “Ye look like ye might be needin’ a–”
“Up,” Finn hissed, forcing the word past his swollen lips.
A heavy sigh brushed his brow. Strong hands settled beneath his armpits. The world began shifting.
Holy mother of…
Teeth gritted so hard they risked crumbling, fists clenched until his nails pierced the skin of his palms, he fought the howl of pain that clawed its way up his throat.
“You'll want a doctor,” Brian muttered, hoisting Finn into position. Destroying what was left of his spine, more like.
“What I need,” Finn hissed, the tang of blood coating his mouth as he peered out from under a puffy eyelid, “is a drink. I'm Irish, not British, ye bastard.”
Brian’s beefy arm wrapped around Finn’s torso, steadying him against his solid frame. Weak-legged, Finn stumbled as they started making their way from the ring, but Brian held him upright. He made sure Finn made it through the tumultuous crowd and all the way to the spot where Sean and Patrick waited. The table, tucked away in the darkest corner of The Mad Bull tavern, had two chairs to spare.
Finn collapsed into one of them with a grunt. A handkerchief was produced and he held it to his nose to staunch the bleeding. Brian’s hand gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll get ye that drink then. An’ somethin’ for yer face if I’m able.”
“Focus on the drink,” Finn muttered. He flexed the fingers of his free hand, causing raw skin to stretch across his knuckles. Air hissed between his teeth. As long as he could numb the pain, he’d be fine.
“What ’appened?” Sean asked, his voice low and cool, devoid of emotion. He set his crossed arms on the table and leaned forward, peering up at Finn’s face from beneath lowered brows.
Patrick snorted around the cheroot he was smoking and rocked back in his chair. “Can’t ye see he got his arse beat?”
“Course I can,” Sean said, his steady gaze staying on Finn. Not even Brian’s return distracted him from getting the information he sought. “What I’m wantin’ to know is if the fight was fair.”
Brian set a full glass on the table. “Whiskey,” he said, and lowered himself to the last remaining chair before telling Sean. “To a point. Callahan’s last attack was brutal. Threw ’is weight against Finn. Knocked ’im down, then proceeded to beat ’im before ’e was able to get ’is bearin’s. The ref jumped right in with me on ’is heels. Dragged the scoundrel away.”
Finn sniffed, the action making his whole face ache. He set the glass to his lips and took several gulps, ignoring the way the alcohol stung when it found open wounds. “Is he still here?”
“Who? Callahan?” Brian asked. A short nod from Finn and, “Right over there, grinning ’is ’ead off. Celebratin’ ’is victory, I reckon.”
It wasn’t rage or fury that slid through Finn’s veins, but something far more lethal. It was the same quiet and purposeful motivation that had always provided him with his next goal. The same that had taken out numerous adversaries before and that would eventually lead to Croft’s demise.
Calm as ever, Finn drank some more whiskey, then said to Brian, “Invite him to join us.”
No one questioned the order, each man holding his tongue as Brian went to do as Finn asked. Patrick tipped his chair forward and snuffed out the last of his burning cheroot in an ashtray while Sean leaned back in his seat, arms still crossed.
Finn considered them both, or rather, where they sat, before looking to Patrick. “We need to switch places.”
There was no need for Finn to explain or ask twice. Patrick simply pushed himself upright while Sean helped Finn move. He dropped into his new spot a second before Brian returned to the table with Callahan.
