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Letting my eyes flutter closed, I picture Lauren’s eyes. Pure amber ringed with black. Huge and trusting. The most perfect features ever bestowed on a human being. God truly outdid himself when he made Lauren’s eyes…. I stagger as the first blow hits me in the jaw, my head snapping back.
My eyes fly open. I see my opponent’s grin as his fists fly and connect with my gut and face. It’s a punishment, pure and simple. I was expecting nothing less.
Every so often, the Bull will glance at Gianni, who will nod. I’m paying for my insolence. For keeping Lauren from them. For challenging them and not handing her over the second they went running to Sean.
I offer a few pulled punches, aimed at his gut where I couldn’t possibly accidentally knock him out, to make it seem like I’m just having an off night rather than taking a dive. Sure, fight fixing happens here, but you're out if Delic finds out about it. I have no intention of being barred from fighting here.
The Bull draws it out, milking it for everything he can. You’re not often offered my head on a platter with a certain win. He’s right to savor it because the next time I face the Bull in a fight, sanctioned or otherwise, I’m going to fucking flay him alive.
After almost fifteen excruciating minutes, Gianni raises his eyebrows and nods, flicking his wrist dismissively. As the Bull’s fist crunches against my temple, I think of amber, freckles, and fucking vanilla. So fucking worth it.
I can smell vanilla. It’s faint underneath blood and sweat, but I can still smell it. I’m floating on a fucking cloud as my eyes flutter open. I’ve been pumped full of Vicodin. It’s a strange feeling. I’m not sure I like it.
“You’re okay, Paddy,” Lauren whispers, her sweet-smelling hair tickling my nose as she leans over me. She’s giving me a fucking sponge bath.
“What a fucking waste,” I mumble.
There is laughing in the background. Probably Seamus. Fucking asshole.
“Fuck off, Fitzy, you cunt,” I mutter. He laughs harder.
“I think he’ll want to revisit the idea of a sponge bath once he’s recovered,” he chuckles to Lauren as she clucks her tongue at him.
“If you’re just going to make crude jokes, you can leave,” she scolds him. Seamus laughs harder, moving to help her sit me up so she can wash down my back. I know the movement should hurt, but I feel so disconnected from the rest of my body that it doesn’t really feel like anything.
“Good job, Paddy,” Seamus mutters as he leaves. Yeah. One item ticked off the list. Thank fuck it’s over. I don’t know if I’ve ever been in as much pain as I was after the fight.
A door slams, and there is silence as Lauren curls up next to me, her fingers gently stroking my face.
“I love you, Paddy,” she whispers. I know. That’s why I did this. “So don’t ever do this to me again.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,mo chroí,” I breathe, letting my eyes flutter closed as the Vicodin takes me off to a bed of feathers, inhaling deeply to fill my lungs with the smell of vanilla.
Chapter Twenty
PADDY
Stepping out of the shower, I shut it off, toweling myself down and wincing as I lift my arms parallel with my shoulders. It’s been a week since I took the worst beating of my life. The bruises have mostly faded, but some of the bone-deep aches remain.
Niall has assured me they will disappear soon. That can’t happen soon enough. I miss being able to fuck Lauren in a variety of positions. In fact, I miss being able to fuck Lauren, period.
She’s been very hands-off – afraid she’ll hurt me. I tried to get her to snap out of that silly notion by pointing out that my dick was aching to the point of pain, but she simply gave me the most incredible blow job of my life. I’m not complaining, but I want to fuck my woman.
Tugging on jeans and a button-down shirt, I shove my feet into my shoes and jog down the stairs. I’m up and about. I’m ready to go with Niall to fulfill the next items on Gianni’s list, and I’m ready to fuck Lauren.
Stepping into the kitchen, my eyes sweep over Lauren and Connor, seated on opposite sides of the kitchen table, cards spread out before them. Lauren has a tiny stack of poker chips. Connor has an obscenely large pile.
Lauren is officially terrible at poker. She wears her emotions on her fucking face, so Connor is cleaning the floor with her. The man could read tells on a fucking stone statue. I’m convinced he’s half been touched with the sight. Reading Lauren must be like reading a picture book for him.
“How do you always know what my cards look like even before I do?” she whines. Connor smirks at her, lounging back in his seat, his suit jacket hanging from the back of his chair, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. Neither he nor Lauren has left the house since we arrived. I have no idea why he wears a suit every day.
“Ye give it away with your eyes,seamair no cheithre duilleog,” he laughs, trying to duck out of the way as I aim a slap at the back of his head.
“Lauren,” I grunt. She’s hisnothing.I know the lad is simply winding me up –as he has done for the last twenty years –but it’s fucking working. Connor laughs, rolling his shoulders.
“Well, that’s notmyfault,” she grumbles, hunching over her cards. Flickering to the three in the middle, her eyes light up. Jesus fuck. I’m barely half-decent a poker, and I know that’s a tell. Connor immediately drops his hand on the table.
“Fold,” he snickers. Lauren pouts, my dick hardening at the sight. Christ, that’s sexy.
