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“Yourmammywill weep for you tonight,” the big guy sneers, his Boston accent jarring for some reason. On either side of me, Fitzy and Lucky suck in a breath.
“Jaysus feck,” one of the men behind me breathes. “The lad has a death wish.”
Paddy Flynn raises one eyebrow – I really wish I knew how to do that – and there is a lull in the crowd, everyone eager to hear Paddy’s response.
“Ye take that up with God.”
There is a roar as the referee steps back. I wonder what Paddy meant. Like, is his mother…dead? Or is this guy about to die? It was an ambiguous comment… and a little ominous.
The crowd is baying now as the bear of a man charges at Paddy, and I suck in a breath, my hand coming up to my mouth. I hope Paddy Flynn doesn’t get beaten to a pulp. It might be hard to put my request to an unconscious man.
I don’t think I have anything to fear. Josh never let me come and watch him fight, but I did get to see him train sometimes. Josh had a grace about him when he fought, but Paddy Flynn is poetry in motion.
His movements are fluid as he dances around the ring, his strikes swift and devastating. It takes eleven minutes. I count every blood-filled one of them.
The knockout blow comes from a sharp cross as the beast of man crumples at Paddy’s feet. The air is filled with Irish phrases, the men around me surging to their feet, roaring their approval.
Paddy doesn’t celebrate. He simply turns and climbs back out of the ring, heading through the crowd into the back room.
“That’s us done,” Fitzy tells me, turning to crane his neck, peering through the crowd, clearly looking for someone. “Where the fuck is Perry?”
I don’t respond because I have no idea where Perry is, probably in his announcing booth. Fitzy doesn’t need a response, climbing to his feet and walking in the direction Paddy left. Like Paddy, the crowd parts easily for him. That must be nice. I always get squished in crowds.
My heart thuds, my mouth dry again. Are they just going to leave me? How am I supposed to talk to Paddy Flynn if I lose the Irish? Maybe Perry will come back. Hopefully, Perry will come back.
Fitzy must be someone important. The sandy blonde man behind us is flanking him, eyes darting around the crowd like he is a bodyguard.
“Let’s go, Lucky,” the strawberry blonde guy says, pausing beside us. Lucky stands and my heart sinks. Crap. Maybe I should ask him to pass on my name to Paddy? Before I can start to panic, he saves me.
“Come on.” Lucky tugs me to my feet, draping his arm around my shoulders again, picking up my duffel bag, and steering me behind the other two.
“Yer funeral, Lucky,” strawberry blonde mutters, falling in step behind us to the left. Like he’s Lucky’s bodyguard. I fight the urge to shiver. Just who has their arm around my neck?
As they reach the door, Fitzy turns back, his eyes searching until they land on us. His eyebrows raise as he takes in Lucky’s arm around my shoulders.
“What the fuck, Lucky?”
“She’s my lucky charm,” Lucky bleats. “I didn’t lose a single wager while she was sitting with us.”
Fitzy rolls his eyes and keeps walking. Hey, Lucky can call me whatever he likes if it gets me to where Paddy Flynn is.
Chapter Two
PADDY
The lads pile into the dressing room as Delic drops my takings in my lap.
“Good knockout tonight.” Fitzy slaps me on the back. Unusually, he seems distracted. “You seen Perry?”
Why the fuck would he care where Perry is?
“No,” I grunt, wincing as I probe a tender spot on my side where I took a decent right hook tonight.
“Lucky,” Fitzy snaps. “Take your fucking arm off her before Perry comes in and loses his shit!”
My eyes leave my bloody knuckles, raising to where Connor is standing beside the door. Sure enough, he has his arm around the little brunette I noticed before the fight. The one who hypnotized me with her eyes until Connor spoke to her and broke the spell.
She can’t be more than five-two or three, a good foot shorter than me. A generic face, freckles dusted across her nose, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, uniform in color, and somewhere between sleek and frizzy.
