1
DECLAN
"That all you got?" I taunt, circling the big fucker who outweighs me by at least thirty pounds. His eye's already swelling shut. "My grandmother hits harder, and she's been dead seven years."
The crowd laughs and roars, the sound bouncing off the walls of this shithole basement. Money is being taken by my bookies as I look over my knuckles, which throb, the skin split open across three of them.
My opponent goes by Brick, apparently, because he hits hard and stands like a brick house. But he's the one coughing on his knees right now, arms trembling as he tries to crawl back up.
He spits a mouthful of blood onto the mat. "Fuckin' rich boy," he yells. "Pretending at being tough."
I laugh. "Playing?" I spread my arms wide and then motion for him. "Come show me how the real men do it then."
He gets to his feet, wobbling. Brick's legs are shot, and that last right hook cracked something in his jaw. I felt it.
The people are happy to see him up, thirsty for more action.
"Kill him!"
"End it, Killaney!"
He takes a deep breath and charges. I sidestep, but a wild punch catches me. I stumble back, and the crowd gasps. If I go down, millions will be lost. I recover, drive forward with a combination that sends him stumbling.
I don't fight for money. That's for desperate men.
Shit, I could buy this entire building and everyone in it. This is about proving something. Not that I dwell too much on the reasons, but it's safe to say it starts with proving I'm not just Callum's younger brother. That I'm a force all my own, asserting my dominance, gaining control. The kind of fear that permeates every alley in this fucking city when they hear my name.
Brick comes at me again, but his movements are sluggish. I press my advantage, landing blow after blow, the impact vibrating up my arms. His face is a mangled mess of blood, but he's still standing. Gotta respect that.
"Just stay down next time," I tell him.
"Fuck you," he gasps.
I shrug. "Fine. Have it your way."
I move in for the finish, but the bastard has one last desperate move. He lunges forward and slams his forehead directly into my face. Pain explodes across my right eyebrow. Warm blood instantly cascades down, turning my vision red on one side.
I wipe my eyes, smearing a trail of blood down my cheek.
"Motherfucker," I say.
I channel the pain and explode. I throw two sharp jabs to his chest, then an uppercut that drops him to the mat instantly. His arms go limp at his sides.
The ref pushes in, looks him over, and waves his hand, calling the fight.
The bell rings.
Chaos erupts, and I raise my arms like a fucking god.
I don't feel the pain. Not yet. Adrenaline's still riding me in all the right ways, like a high-class woman on a Friday night.
One of my men jumps into the ring and slaps me on the back. "Fucking beautiful, boss," he says and hands me a towel. "Nasty headbutt though."
"Yeah?" I ask, wiping blood from my eye with the back of my hand. "Had worse from Keira when we were kids."
He laughs and shakes his head. "Yeah, still, you should get that looked at. There's a nurse in the back room, patching up the fighters."
"I'm fine," I say, rolling my shoulders. Blood trickles into my eye.
