Page 16 of Finn

Usually, I spend this time mentally preparing myself for the ring in peace and quiet. Tonight, however, I don’t get that luxury.

“All I’m trying to say is maybe getting in the ring the night before your wedding isn’t the best idea.” Eoghan has been trying to talk me out of fighting tonight, but bets have already been placed, and this type of crowd wouldn’t take kindly to a last-minute cancelation.

“Cillian,” my brother says, looking over at my lieutenant. “Help me out here.”

Cillian looks to my brother, then me, and shakes his head. “You’re on your own with this one. If he wants to fight, let him fight. He may as well get used to it since he’s marrying Alessia.”

My brother waves a dismissive hand, and I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me.

“Mom is going to have a shit fit if you show up tomorrow with your pretty face busted up.”

I shrug because, yes, I’ve thought about that, but no, I don’t care. I need this.

“Honestly, Eoghan, out of everyone, I thought you’d understand my need to spill a little blood tonight.” I finish taping my knuckles and test it by punching one hand into my palm then the other.

“It’s not that I don’t understand. It’s that I don’t want to hear it tomorrow when we show up to the church and you have a busted nose.”

“Oh, come on. When was the last time anyone got a face shot on Finn?” Cillian asks.

“You two are impossible. And when did I become the voice of reason? Fuck you both for making me be the responsible one,” Eoghan says, pointing a threatening finger between Cillian and me.

“It’s really not a good look on you. You should probably stop trying,” I tell my red-faced little brother. “It’ll be fine.”

Well, it was fine until round five when the giant Russian cage fighter landed an elbow to my eyebrow. It was a lucky-as-hell shot that had blood pouring from the cut and blinding me momentarily. I’d been mostly taking body shots, successfully guarding my face, and returning his sloppy blows with precise ones of my own. The guy relied on his strength and brawn, but I had him beat in skill. My confidence cost me, though, and now I’m sitting in a metal folding chair as Cillian butterfly bandages my fucking eyebrow.

“Could have been worse,” Cillian says, wiping the excess blood from my brow.

“I should have seen it coming. He was going for the face in the first four rounds. He tired himself out so much, swinging hard and wide, I thought round five was going to be a cakewalk and I’d knock the guy out.”

“Why didn’t you go for the knockout earlier?”

I blow out a breath and chuckle at my stupidity. “I wanted to put on a good show.”

“You got cocky.”

“Sure as shit did.” And now I have to face my mother with a busted eyebrow on my wedding day. As if the thought of tomorrow isn’t stressful enough.

Cillian finishes and disposes of the bloody gauze he used to clean me up with. “Let’s get a drink at the bar.” He purposely slaps his hand on my bruised shoulder.

“Asshole,” I mutter in his direction, but he just laughs and heads out of the room and up the stairs to the bar before I follow him.

The good thing about having these fights in the basement of a bar is the limitless supply of alcohol available upstairs. Since the fights are over for the night, everyone up here is either excited about their winnings and buying round after round for people, or they’re drowning their sorrows over losing money and spending what they have left getting shit-faced. It’s a win-win for business.

We make our way through the crowded space that’s packed brick wall to brick wall with almost everyone who was downstairs watching the bloodshed take place. Thankfully, my brother always makes sure to reserve a corner table for us on fight nights. Not that it would matter when everyone here knows we own the place. I’ve made people give up their tables on busy nights like this for me on more than one occasion. Perks of being the boss.

Eoghan spends his time running the four bars we have in Boston and fight nights circulate between each of the four. It’s always interesting to me the variety of people who come out for these nights. Some are your typical working-class crowd who enjoy boxing and are here for a good time. Others are dressed to the nines and reek of money, while others stink of the desperation of trying to feed their gambling addictions.

Eoghan runs a crew responsible for loaning the money to the sorry saps who don’t know when to quit. That’s part of how our family got started in this life. We were loan sharks and bootleggers who did what we had to do to survive. Then, when prohibition ended, we went into protection. My father wanted more for us and started the underground casino. When I came on board, I realized there was money being left on the table and started a little gunrunning business the Black Roses MC were happy to assist with. It brings in a pretty penny, and it’ll be even more profitable when we gain control of the ports.

Cillian and I have a seat at the table, and Eoghan isn’t far behind with a round of whiskeys.

He looks at me and shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Mom’s going to be pissed, brother.”

I roll my eyes at the glee he takes in telling me that unnecessary observation.

“I tried to tell him,” Cillian states.

“You most certainly did not,” I say, looking at the man with a shit-eating grin sitting next to me. “You said if I want to fight, I should. And that I should get used to fighting, considering who I’m about to be married to.”

---