Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“How many?” I growl.
“Six with him marching in. Definitely more hidden.”
The back door to the ring flings open.
“You think you can take what’s mine and live to tell about it, McCarthy?” Marcus fucking Crowning walks in, flanked by six men, all armed, all focused on me, marching in like men about to take the front line.
But what he doesn't know, what none of his men know, is that they're outmanned and outnumbered. This is McCarthy fucking territory, and every face in this warehouse is loyal to us.
“I'm done,” Clinton says quickly. “He wins.”
The ref doesn't call the fight but bolts.
Some of the crowd begins to clear out, people pushing each other aside to get to the exits. This is a mafia war, and we all know it.
I track those who matter most to me, ready to fight, to defend if necessary. Cavin moves like lightning—two of Crowning's men are down in seconds. Lorcan's blade flashes, efficient and brutal. Seamus stands at the center of it all, orchestrating, watching.
I will not lose another fucking brother.
Two minutes and bodies are on the ground. Blood pools on the concrete. Crowning's men are groaning, hands zip-tied behind their backs, their guns kicked away.
Marcus Crowning stands alone in the center of it all. But he doesn't even look at me. He's looking at Seamus.
“McCarthy,” Crowning calls out, his voice echoing through the suddenly silent warehouse. “We need to talk about your cousin's fucking acquisition.”
Seamus steps forward, his expression as cold as ice. “Nothing to talk about, Marcus. She's McCarthy now. You lost your claim.”
“See, that's where you're wrong.” Crowning's smile doesn't reach his eyes, but there's a fury burning beneath the smooth facade. He's not afraid—he's infuriated. Humiliated. “That girl was promised to me. We had a contract. Money was exchanged. You just don't take what's bought and paid for.”
“Contract's void,” Seamus says flatly. “Her mother has no authority to fucking sell her. It's a modern age, lad. You ought to know that. You can't fuckin' buy someone.”
“Her mother's her legal guardian. Contract stands.”
“Not when she's twenty-four years old, it doesn't.”
I move forward, every muscle coiled and ready. “She's not going back to you, Crowning.”
Crowning's eyes finally land on me, full of disdain—not fear, but pure rage at being bested. “Ashland McCarthy. The enforcer. The monster.” He tilts his head, studying me with a smug satisfaction that makes my blood boil. “You think you can keep her? You think stealing her makes her yours?”
“I don't think, arsehole,” I say, low. “I know.”
His smile turns cruel. “You've already killed her, you know. She just doesn't realize it yet. The moment you touched her, you signed her death warrant. My death warrant was always going to be hers.”
Seamus's voice cuts through the warehouse. “You fire that gun, Crowning, this becomes a fuckin' war. That what you want? You ready to lose your whole family over a girl you don't even love?”
Crowning's jaw works. His eyes dart around the warehouse—at his men on the ground, at the McCarthy men surrounding him, at the cameras I now notice mounted in the corners.
“You're recording this,” he says flatly.
“Every fucking second,” Seamus says. “So everyone can see exactly what happens next. It's your choice, Crowning. Put the gun down and settle it the old way, or keep holding it and we settle it the permanent way.”
“Trial by combat?” he says, his grin sickening, smug, as if he knows something we don't.
“Aye,” I say.
Either way, he's a dead man, but I'm trying to use my powers of negotiation.
For a long moment, Crowning doesn't move. The sound of several guns being cocked at once echoes in the hushed silence. Seconds pass like hours before he lowers the gun.
“Smart lad,” I say.
The gun hits concrete and skitters away, spinning to the corner of the ring. I move toward him, ready to haul him into the ring, but he's already stepping forward, composed and confident.
He strips off his jacket, revealing a white undershirt, lean muscle, and old scars. Like he came here expecting this, wanting this.
“You wanted old rules, McCarthy?” He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. “Trial by combat? Witnessed and binding?” He pulls off the undershirt, revealing a torso built for violence. “Let's see if you're worth the myth.”
I can see it now in the way he moves, the coldness in his eyes.
He's a killer… like me.
The only difference is, I've got something to fight for.
I roll my shoulders, crack my neck, and bounce on the balls of my feet.
Crowning spits on the canvas. “You think you're some kind of fucking hero? You kidnapped her, kept her locked up like a fucking prisoner—”
“Right, and you were gonna marry her, rape her, then kill her like you did the others. Let's see who's the bigger monster now.”
His face doesn't change, but his eyes flash with pure rage. It’s not shame—it’s fury at being exposed. “I'm going to fucking destroy you.”