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“Don’t kill anyone,” Nikolai says before turning off the car. “That would really give your future father-in-law reason to hate you. You know he’d love nothing more than to arrest your Russian ass.”
I turn to glare at him, but he waves off my anger with a flick of his hand. “I know you’re pissed. They hurt your girl, and they’re going to pay for that.”
“Fuck yes they are,” I say, cutting into hiscalm your ass downspeech.
“But you’ve got to do it the right way, Dima. You’re too close to this, too emotional, and you need to take a step back.”
“You saw the bruises, Kolya. I think I’m holding up pretty damn well, all things considered.”
He lets out a sigh and checks his phone. “Aleksei and Anton are about a minute away. Time to do this, I guess.” His eyes run over the front of the rundown looking club with a green, white, and orange flag hanging in the window. “Fucking Irish,” he says with a groan.
I force myself to take a deep, calming breath before stepping out of the car. Right as I shut the door, I see Aleksei’s red sports car pull in with a very angry looking Anton in the passenger seat. To be fair, he always looks grim, but there’s an even rougher edge to him today. He seems to have taken a liking to Gina, and I’m sure he takes this as a personal insult. Hell, we all do. Someone has fucked with one of ours, and they’re going to pay dearly for it.
Aleksei steps out and looks at me. “How do you want to do this?”
I may not have known him as long as Nikolai, but I know he’s always got my back, and I’ve never appreciated that more than in this moment.
“We’re going to go in there and talk about it,” Nikolai says, shooting me another warning look. “We can handle this without the police getting called or someone ending up bloody and half dead.”
I’m not convinced that’s accurate, but I give him a curt nod to set him at ease before walking towards the front door. When I throw it open and step inside, I immediately scan the room and do a quick headcount. Aside from three guys in the corner punching bags and two sparring in the ring, the place is deserted. The club may not be as nice as mine, but the equipment is at least on the newer side of things. I would’ve felt almost sorry for them if they were punching bags with holes in them and didn’t even have a ring to spar in.
It doesn’t take long before every head is turned to us. I recognize most of them, but they’re not who I’m looking for, so I ignore them and instead holler, “Liam, get your fucking ass out here!”
Sean steps out from the back and as soon as he sees the wall of Russian muscle, he raises his hands in acalm downgesture. “He’s not here, Dmitri.”
I hear Nikolai growl “fuck” in Russian when I storm over to Sean. I’m so angry that it takes a second for my brain to work in English.
“Where is he?”
Sean’s eyes run over us, and I can see fear in them before he shuts it down and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s not a small man, but he knows he’s well out of his league right now.
“He’s not here,” he repeats, refusing to tell me where he is.
I take a step closer. “I talked to Gina. She said you weren’t the one to touch her, but that doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass for not stopping it. Someone has to pay, and you are the only one here.”
He gives an audible swallow, but doesn’t back down. He’s got balls, I’ll give him that, but that’s not going to change the outcome of this fight. All I can picture are those dark bruises marring Gina’s perfect skin. Adrenaline courses through my body, making it harder and harder to keep still. I can feel Nikolai’s presence behind me and his silent warning to keep calm.
A thick Irish brogue cuts through the gym, and the sound of it only serves to piss me off even more.
“What’s goin’ on here?”
Patrick O’Connor, the head of the Irish boxing club, comes walking out of his office with a scowl on his pasty face and a gut that’s threatening to bust through his tan slacks. Paddy was once a pretty formidable boxer, but those glory days have long since come and gone, and his barrel chest has now collapsed into his even wider belly. Now, he’s just an out-of-shape man in his late sixties who’s more likely to keel over from a stroke than throw a punch, at least not one that’s going to hurt anyone.
None of us move. We watch Paddy walk over, and I don’t think anyone fails to notice how out of breath that short bit of exercise has made him. He glares at the wall of Russian muscle that just walked into his club.
“You’ve got some nerve comin’ in here after what you did to Jimmy.”
Before I can say anything, Nikolai says, “He didn’t kill Jimmy. He has an alibi, and you know damn good and well that the police would have arrested him if it wasn’t airtight.”
He shrugs off the explanation, not exactly happy but not arguing about it either. Sean lets out an angry snort. One look at his face tells me that he thinks I killed him and that no amount of evidence will be able to convince him otherwise.
Eyeing Sean, Paddy asks, “What’s this about then?”
Sean’s eyes dart to mine before he says, “Nothin’, Paddy, just a misunderstanding between him and Liam.”
“Misunderstanding?” I can’t help but spit out. I point my finger at Paddy and take a step closer. “He put his hands on my girl, bruised her arms and pushed her onto the ground.” By the time I’ve finished my sentence, my jaw is clenching so tightly it throbs. “When I find him, he is a dead man.”
Paddy looks behind me at Nikolai. “Better get your guy under control.”
