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ROHAN
Coupedat the top of the round tower, I stand with my arms folded across my chest, glaring out the small arched window cut from the centuries-old stone.
Light beams across the courtyard from the free-standing floodlights, blurring the faces of the rowdy crowd gathered below while also illuminating the walls of Kill Castle. In the centre of the old ruins, a large octagon consumes the courtyard, drawing the attention of every watchful eye. Most of the syndicate — or, as the locals know them, Kings of Killybegs — sit ringside, monitoring every jab and kick that is exchanged between the first two opponents.
Tonight is the night many of them have waited for, the night the last two male heirs fight for their place at the head table, leaving only one heir who is of age to claim their seat — Saoirse Ryan. Saoirse is a direct descendent of Caolain Ryan, the man who founded Killybegs and the empire it thrives off. It’s no wonder she threatens my father with her presence because with the right knowledge, and with enough power, she could strip him of his title, and leave him with nothing but the hair on his head. Something her mother, Éanna, failed to do.
Suddenly, the locked iron gate behind me rattles before the ancient-old hinges cry out as it’s pulled open. I don’t turn around to see who is disturbing my quiet sanctuary, because I already know.
“What are you doing hiding up here?” My company questions as he stalks into the room with soundless footsteps.
“Hiding.” I bark a laugh. “Kings don’t hide, they observe. How is he doing?” I continue, keeping my eyes trained on a blurred Aodhán as he glides effortlessly around the octagon, dodging every one of Donnacha’s advances. From this height vantage, the two figures dance around the canvas, ant-like, but that doesn’t stop me from leaning forward, squinting my eyes for a better view.
Ignoring my question, his broad frame appears beside me, fresh as fuck in a black tailored suit, black shirt, and black Gucci shoes. The burning glow of the cigarette dangling from his lips lights up his hard features, but then my eyes meet his amber depths, the mirror image of his daughter’s.
“Did you know my daughter was coming tonight?” he questions, eyes trained on the fight happening below us as he fills his lungs with nicotine.
“Saoirse’s here?” As far as I was aware, nobody told her about the trials. We were all instructed to keep our mouths shut. And although our generation doesn’t always agree, the syndicate vote was unanimous. Well, except for… “Beibhinn.”
“Seems so. They arrived together.”
“Fuck.” My hands raise to my head and I bury my fingers into my hair, tugging on the longer stands.
“Don’t worry. I’ve eyes on her. Nobody will touch her, not here.”
“If my dad gets to her…” I don’t finish that thought.
“Leave your dad to me. I’ll handle it. Nobody will touch my daughter, Rohan. I can assure you that.”
Suddenly, our conversation gets cut short by the thunderous roar of the crowd below. My eyes trail towards the octagon to see Gabriel King holding up Aodhán’s arm in victory while Donnacha lies unconscious against the canvas.
“Looks like you’re up, kid. Are you ready?” He leads me through the open gate and begins our descent.
Rolling my shoulders, I release the tension knotting my muscles. “Born ready.”
“Don’t get too cocky, Rí. Devereux is a mean fighter. That’s the reason they paired you with him. He is the only one who will give you a run for your money.”
“I got this.” My confidence echoes down the spiralled stone staircase. “Devereux may be good with his fists, but that’s not what’s gonna win this fight.”
“Oh.” His brow hikes up. “Enlighten me?”
I tap my temple. “Being a warrior is a state of mind, boss man. Brains outsmart brawn…every fucking time.” His lips quip into a slight smile, seemingly pleased with my confidence. “Besides,” I continue, “the best soldier the syndicate’s got didn’t train Liam. He trained me.” I wink, earning myself a rare smile.
“Save the flattery for whatever girl you’re fucking. That shit doesn’t work on me, kid.”
He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew who I was fucking.
* * *
Standing in my corner,I bounce on the balls of my feet, trying to keep myself warmed up as the late evening dew settles on my bare torso. Music pumps through the open air around us, filling the crowd’s growing anticipation with something other than mindless chit-chat.
My father flanks my front, gripping my face in between his palms, black eyes focused on mine. “Whatever you do, do not fuck this up, Rohan.”
It takes everything in me to not spit in his fucking face. In the months leading up to my eighteenth birthday, he’s done nothing to prepare me for any of the trials I’m due to face. But now, after Donnacha — his little pet project — lost the last round to Aodhán, he suddenly gives a shit.
Nah, there is only one reason. Daddy King is in the ring with me, and it’s because all eyes are on me, and his surname is at stake. Fuck that, Iwillwin this fight, but it won’t be for Daddy Dearest’s approval.
“Cause that’s what I do, right? I fuck everything up.” I raise a smarmy brow, egging him on.
