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“Well, yeah,” Liam nods. I stare at him nonplussed, though Niall has started chuckling in the backseat.
“What would I talk to her about?”
I have no idea why I’m entertaining this ridiculous conversation, yet here we are.
“Ye could ask her about her family,” Niall rumbles. “Or what she likes to do. Mellie likes yoga and cooking and drinking wine.”
Liam nods along to the Reaper. I’ve gone through the looking glass. “And Tiggy likes drinking weird-smelling tea made from herbs or some shit and reading poetry.”
“Aye,” Niall continues. “And Connor’s wee wife likes baking.”
“And Lauren likes reading all Paddy’s weird-ass books.”
Now I’m wondering if the two of them have had body swaps. What are we, fucking schoolgirls?
“Are ye bothfinished?”
Liam sighs and Niall grins at me from the back seat. Fucking prick.
“Can we concentrate on the task at hand and not get distracted. I’m not hauling either of yer arses if ye catch a bullet.”
“I’d haul yers,” Niall protests. I flip him off as we all snap to attention as we enter the docks.
Liam’s blood trail the other night was because he managed to get himself jumped by a splinter faction of the Italian mob here in Boston.
We’ve had an alliance with the Italians since Sean Fitzpatrick took over as head of the Boston Irish Mafia some years back. That was about a year after I moved here from Belfast after catching some trouble back home when I was twenty-two.
Nine years and we’ve not had a lick of trouble from them since. Not until they wanted Paddy’s lass to work off her brother’s debt against her will.
We weren’t having that, and we gave the Italians what they asked for in order for them to consider the debt paid. As far as Sean Fitzpatrick and Gianni Manchetti, the head of the Bianchi Crime Family, were concerned, that was enough for the matter to be at an end.
Clearly, there were some issues we were unaware of within the Italian ranks. Now a disgruntled faction, who don’t agree with the way Gianni handled matters with Paddy, has splintered off from the main Crime Family, and they’re causing issues for us all around.
Most recently, they riled up a Moldovan who had owed Gianni money. He hired men to ransack Connor’s house, attack Connor’s wee wife, and try to kidnap her.
Connor is still dirty on that fact, which is probably why he’s riding with Paddy and Seamus tonight. His cousin and best mate will keep him in line and stop him from going off half-cocked and getting himself killed.
The Reaper would probably drench Connor in exactly how much blood he wanted if he were here with Niall. Especially considering Connor’s little wife is close friends with Mellie. The Reaper only has one soft spot, and that’s for his wife.
The bastard would do anything she asked. Hell, only one person has ever lived after the Reaper wanted them dead, and that was only because Mellie asked him not to kill her abusive stepfather. Sean had the Russians carry out the hit instead. Niall is still dirty over that. I know how he feels. If someone had touched Fiona like that… I wouldn’t rest until I had choked the life out of them with my bare hands.
Chapter Five
FIONA
The bouncer nods as he waves me into the waterfront warehouse where the bare-knuckle boxing occurs. When I first started coming here, I had to let him cop an eyeful of my tits. But now, he knows me and waves me in each week.
Since I no longer need to use my body to get inside, I don’t bother to dress sexy. My boxing attire is now jeans, boots, and a ratty leather jacket zipped up to my chin.
Edging through the crowd, I hover around the fringes, my eyes darting around the room. I come here every week, and Grant has yet to confront me so far.
It’s probably a little bit stupid of me. Waving my presence in his face. But I don’t care. I have the protection of the Irish because I work in their club. But that’s not why Grant leaves me alone these days, and I’m not stupid enough to think it is.
Ronan spots me from where he is seated ringside with the rest of Seamus’s crew. They’re here to bet on Paddy’s fights. Lauren doesn’t come. Paddy would never allow it.
The crowd parts for Ronan like he’s Moses or something, and he makes his way over to me. Just like he does every week. I school my face into a cool, neutral expression as he stops in front of me. He’s wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket, looking sexier than should be allowed. Why does he have to be so sexy and yet so annoying? It’s not fair.
“Leannán.” He gets all up in my face, as usual. “Ye shouldn’t be here. It’s no place for a lass to be.”
