I had fully intended to seduce Lucy, but her words comparing my family to the Keans echo in an endless loop.
“They all act like they’re reputable businessmen when in fact they were murderers and fraudsters just like the Keans.”
The words offended me. Hurt me. We’re nothing like the Keans. Sure, we break the law. But we’re not in it for the cruelty like the Keans are. My father was all about the money. Did people get hurt along the way? Yes. But not for the joy of causing pain. It was to protect the family. I’m fully convinced that O’Brian brought Lucy to the alley not to threaten her about asking questions, but simply to assault and murder her. His buddies planned to join in as well. If they knew who she was or were concerned about her asking questions, they’d have killed her by now. It would be easy to do, considering her lock is a piece of shit.
Maybe I’m defensive. Maybe I’m off the mark. But I know my family has some scruples, especially around the use of violence, unlike the Keans. Okay, so I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt Lucy or my family, but who wouldn’t?
Oh, how I wanted to defend the Ifrinns to her, but how could I without revealing who I really am? The thought of her looking at me with that same judgment in her eyes pisses me off. She sees the world in black and white, good guys and bad guys. Right now, she thinks I’m some noble undercover cop working to take down criminals. I’m the same fucking man, but in her eyes, noble Flynn Tine and criminal Flint Infrinn are worlds apart, the latter not worth a second thought.
Lucy’s comment reminds me of the dangerous game I’m playing with her. It’s clear once she figures out who I am, she’ll see me in the same light as the Keans. It won’t matter that I’ve saved her life. That I’ve been gentle. All she’ll focus on is that I’m Flint Ifrinn, missing son of the former head of Boston’s organized crime.
So I’d left her apartment and did my damnedest over the next few days to focus on my job, which tonight is to fight. I give my head a shake to clear it of Lucy, but it’s not easy. It’s not just her words that continue to rattle in my brain. It’s knowing that she’s here. I don’t know if I can focus with her in the crowd. If she doesn’t faint, she could end up saying something that puts a target on her. She’s a walking trouble magnet.
I roll my shoulders, working out the tension as I scan the area fighters use to warm up before their match. A dozen other fighters prep for tonight, many of them Kean muscle looking to prove themselves. Perfect breeding ground for loose lips.
‘Hey, nice work last week.’ A burly redhead nods my way. ‘Thompson, right?’
‘Tine. Flynn Tine.’ I keep my tone casual as I stretch. ‘You fighting tonight?’
‘Nah, just watching. Name’s Murphy. Been with the Keans about ten years now.’ He puffs up with pride. Like that’s something to brag about.
‘Nice. You must’ve come on right when they took over, then.’ I test the waters. ‘Must’ve been wild times.’
Murphy scoffs. ‘I was just a grunt back then. All the good stuff happened before my time. But my cousin Eddie? He was there for the big takeover. Says it was something else.’
“Really? How so?”
“It all went down so fast,” Eddie said. Mr. Kean… he’s a smart, strategic man.”
He’s a fucking psychopath, but I keep that to myself.
Another fighter chimes in from the bench. ‘My old man talks about that night. Said no one saw it coming. They took out that other family in a single move. Poof.’ He makes an explosion gesture with his hands.
“That is an amazing feat. Seems like they’d have needed someone on the inside to help pull that off, right?” I keep my voice nonchalant. Just making conversation. Giving them a chance to gloat.
“That’s the story.’ Murphy shrugs. ‘Above my pay grade, though. Only the inner circle knows who actually did the deed. Smart move keeping that quiet. Loyalty’s worth more than gold in this business.’
“Still, would be fun to know, don’t you think? I mean, someone must have been well rewarded to give access to old man Ifrinn.”
“You seem to know a lot about it,” the other fighter says.
“Nah. Just the rumors, you know.”
I decide that these guys are probably too low-level to know the traitor’s identity. But they’ve confirmed what Lucy heard the other night. Someone close to my family helped orchestrate their murder. Someone who’s still protected by the Keans’ upper ranks.
“The Keans have a lot of friends,” Murphy says.
What does that mean?
“It’s clear that being an enemy is dangerous,” I say with a laugh.
“No joke,” the other fighter says, coming to join us.
“Just saying that having friends in high places helps. Like cops.”
He’s not wrong. My father had a lot of “friends” too. But I’m thinking that perhaps Kean didn’t just turn someone in the house against my father, but my father’s friends as well.
“That would make it easier to stay out of jail for sure,” I agree.
“My old man said they had a “pet” in law enforcement.” The fighter beside Murphy scratches his stubbled jaw.
‘Police protection’s nothing new,’ I say, pushing to find out how this situation might be different.
Murphy shrugs. “Yeah, I guess, but I think this guy is able to close down any questions before they’re asked, if you know what I mean.”
“Like say a fire is an accident when it isn’t?” I probe.
“Right.”
‘Smart investment,’ I force myself to say. ‘Keeps things running smooth.’
‘Yeah, well, word is they’re paying through the nose for it. But worth every penny when you need evidence to disappear or raids to hit empty buildings.’
Just another day in the life of organized crime. I’ve seen enough corrupt officials in my time to know it’s standard practice, but in this case, there seems to be one man who made it possible for the Keans to get away with my family’s murder. I need to know who that is.
“I’m up,” the guy next to Murphy says. “Wish me luck.” He trots off.
“He’s gonna get pummeled,” Murphy murmurs.
I take a quick glance toward the ring to make sure Lucy is still alive and well, then return to my warmup. I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness from last week’s bout. My ribs still ache. Not ideal heading into tonight’s match.
I hear the crowd roaring. My opponent tonight is some mountain of muscle called ‘The Beast.’ Real subtle. I’ve watched him fight. He’s slow but hits like a freight train. One clean shot could end things for me fast.
I check again on Lucy. She’s looking pale but determined. Part of me wishes she’d stayed home. Having her here splits my focus. I can’t fight and make sure none of the Kean thugs recognize her from the alley incident.
Maybe I should’ve brought Blaise as backup. He could have kept an eye on Lucy while I focused on the fight. But having two Ifrinns here risks exposure. All it would take is one person remembering the Ifrinn twins, noting the family resemblance despite our different coloring. We can’t afford that kind of attention, not when we’re so close to answers.
‘Tine! You’re up next,” one of the organizers calls out.
I nod and make my way to the ring. This fight matters, not just for maintaining my cover, but also for being able to stay in the Kean family orbit. If I lose the fight, I also lose access to Kean’s men. No one wants a loser around.
So I have to survive the next fifteen minutes in that ring with The Beast while also keeping Lucy safe. The things I do for revenge.
The bell rings, and I bob and weave as I assess my opponent. Across from me, The Beast towers. He’s got to be pushing six-foot-five, all raw muscle and mean intentions. I’m no pussy, but he’s got a few inches and probably thirty pounds of muscle on me. His fists are the size of bowling balls and probably as hard.
I circle left, testing his reach with a quick jab. He absorbs it like I’m tossing cotton balls. Shit. His counterpunch whistles past my ear, slower than expected, but the air displacement alone tells me what kind of damage those fists can do.
My ribs scream as I weave under another haymaker. Last week’s bruises haven’t healed completely, and each twist sends fresh pain shooting through my side. I land a solid combination to his kidney, but it’s like punching a brick wall.
The Beast catches me with a right hook that makes stars explode behind my eyes. Warm blood trickles down the side of my face. The bastard opened a cut above my eye. The crowd roars, hungry for more violence. Through blurred vision, I catch a glimpse of Lucy’s horrified face at ringside.
My legs feel like lead as I dance away from his assault. Each breath burns in my lungs. The Beast keeps coming, relentless, and I’m running out of ring to retreat to. My arms shake as I bring them up to block another crushing blow.
This isn’t going how I planned. The size difference is too much. I can’t match his raw power, and my speed advantage is shrinking as exhaustion sets in. But I can’t lose. Not with Lucy watching. Not when I need to be able to continue to come around to learn about the Keans.
Blood drips into my eye as I reset my stance. My ribs feel like they’re wrapped in barbed wire. But I’ve survived worse. The Ifrinn in me won’t let this mountain of muscle break me.
Through sheer will and desperation, I find an opening in The Beast’s defense. My fist connects with his jaw, once, twice, three times in rapid succession. He staggers, finally showing weakness. I pour everything into a final uppercut that sends him crashing to the canvas.
There’s a gasp from the crowd, as if they’re surprised, but then a roar of excitement. Stay down, I chant in my mind. The crowd wants me to hit him while he’s down. No doubt, it’s what he’d do if the situation were reversed, but it’s another difference between Ifrinns and Keans. So I catch my breath as I wait to see if he’ll get up.
He makes it to his knees. Fucking hell, stay down, you bastard. He finally staggers onto his feet, and I move quickly, hitting him again, not wanting him to get set. I catch him in the gut, causing him to bow forward slightly. I follow up my punch with a hook that sends his head twisting back. For a moment, he teeters, and I get ready to hit him again, but then he keels over.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” he says as he tries to get up again.
“You have to stand up to do that,” I taunt, hoping he stays down.
He gets to his hands and knees, and a part of me wants to kick him, but I don’t.
“Get him out.”
I turn to see Ronan Kean’s beady eyes on me and then on The Beast. I puff up, shuffling from side to side.
“Get him out,” he says again. I’m not sure who he’s talking about, and as men enter the ring, I’m a little worried I’m about to be carried out and dispatched. I wonder how much money I’ve caused everyone to lose. Or maybe not. I recall at the pub some of the men remembered me. Even tried to recruit me.
But the men go to The Beast, who isn’t happy. “I’m okay. I can finish him—”
“Boss wants you out,” the men say, helping him up.
“Maybe next time,” I call out.
“You mother fucker.” The Beast lunges toward me, but luckily for me, he’s slow and off balance now.
I catch Ronan watching me, and I turn away, worried he might recognize me.
“Who are you?” he calls out.
I keep my head down as I turn back. “Me? Just a street fighter looking to make a living.”
“That’s Tine,” someone says to Ronan. “New to our club.”
Ronan’s piercing gaze stays on me for a moment longer and then he turns away. I let out a breath and exit the ring. To be honest, I don’t know how I’m still upright. There isn’t anywhere on my body that isn’t screaming in pain.
‘You need a hospital.’ Lucy appears next to me like magic.
I look over my shoulder, not wanting Ronan to see her with me. Fortunately, he’s already left the area.
‘I’m fine.’ The words come out slurred. Maybe I took more hits than I thought.
‘You can barely stand.’ She slides under my arm, supporting some of my weight.
“I think you have me confused with The Beast. I’m fine.”
“You’re impossible. At least let me drive you home and clean you up.’
‘Trying to get me alone?’ I manage a smirk despite how much it hurts to move my face.
‘You wish.’ But her cheeks flush pink as she helps me toward the exit. ‘I just don’t want you passing out and cracking your skull open.’
‘Sure, that’s the only reason.’ The world spins a bit as we reach my car. I dig out my keys.
She snatches them from me. ‘Shut up and let me help you, you stubborn ass.’
The drive to my apartment passes in a blur of streetlights and Lucy’s concerned glances. I like being around her even though I know I should push her away. She thinks I’m like the Keans. Or she will when she learns the truth. Unless… maybe if she gets to know me, she’ll see I’m not a fucking sociopath. Maybe she’ll accept me, Flint Ifrinn.
“I can’t believe you went up against that giant,” she says as she helps me into my apartment.
“I beat him.”
“Barely.” She shakes her head as she guides me to my room. “I suppose it was impressive, for a guy who got his face rearranged.’
‘You should see the other guy.’ I wince as she deposits me on the bed. ‘Though I have to admit, this isn’t how I imagined getting you back to my place.’
‘You should at least let me clean that cut before I go. You’ll also need a boat load of pain reliever, I imagine.” She exits my room, and I immediately miss her. My sappy feelings are a clue that I’ve had my brain knocked around a bit and am loopy.
She returns, handing me pills and a glass of water. “I don’t understand why grown men want to beat each other to a pulp for sport.”
“We’ve never evolved from our baser instincts. Sex and violence.”
“Hmm.” She purses her lips as she tends to my cut. “It’s a wonder any of you make it to thirty.”
“I’ve got a few years left.”
She’s sitting on my bed, so close to me, and all I can think about is pulling her close. It will hurt like hell, but I don’t care. I have to touch her.
“Well, I think that’s it.” She shakes her head again. “Rest up.” She starts to stand, but I take her hand.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
‘Or you could stay.” It’s unsettling just how badly I need her to stay. I give her what I hope is a charming smile. “I might have a head injury. You should stay in case I pass out and choke on my own blood or something.’
‘That’s a bit excessive.’ But she doesn’t pull away.
‘I’m just saying, as a responsible citizen, you wouldn’t want that on your conscience. Plus, I make excellent pancakes.’
Her brows narrow.
“For breakfast,” I say, realizing she’s not following my thought. “I’ll repay you tomorrow with my most excellent pancakes.”
‘You’re impossible.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘And manipulative. I happen to love pancakes.’
‘I prefer strategically persuasive.’ I tug her down next to me even as my body feels like it’s on fire. ‘Is it working?’
‘Maybe I’m just worried you’ll try to go another round with that beast if I leave you alone.’
‘Nah.’ I turn to face her, ignoring the protest from my ribs. ‘Got something better to focus on now.’
Her breath catches as I lean in. For a moment, we’re suspended in that space between intention and action. Then her lips meet mine, soft and uncertain at first, before melting into something deeper. She tastes sweet and pure, and I forget about my aching body, everything except the way she sighs against my mouth.
When we break apart, her cheeks flush pink. ‘That was…’
‘Strategic?’ I suggest.
‘Unexpected,’ she corrects, but her smile tells a different story.
“How about this?” I lean in again, this time taking the kiss deeper, hotter. The pleasure from it offsets the pain. There’s something intoxicating about the way she responds, something that makes me forget why this is such a terrible idea. Not just because I’m battered and bruised, but because I’m lying to her. Because I know she’d never let the real me anywhere near her. Because I know that this can only end badly. The truth will destroy whatever this is between us. Unless I can convince her that I’m not all bad.
