Page 145 of King of the Cage

It was fight night, and like always, I was here to see my husband pound some guy into the floor… and then it was my turn.

As soon asthe fights were over, Bran walking out of the ring undefeated, as per usual, Sol turned to me.

“So, you wanna get out of here and head to another bar?”

“Where?”

“This cool place uptown. Quinnie, you can come with us, and bring your sexy bodyguard along for eye candy.”

Quinn glanced up at Declan and then quickly away.

“I’m tired, I think I’ll head home.”

“I’m in,” Marco announced.

I looked at the empty ring.

“Bran expects you to wait on him after the fight,” Declan reminded me, unnecessarily.

I stood up and grabbed Sol’s hand.

“If he really does, then he still hasn’t learned a damn thing,” I grinned at Declan.

I hugged Quinn and Elio goodbye and headed out with Sol and Marco.

“Tell your boss I’ll be waiting, if he can find me.”

I linked my arm through Sol’s, and just like that, we were gone.

Sol wantedto go to a private karaoke place. We locked ourselves in a room and sang our little hearts out. Thank God the place was soundproofed. Singing was not my strong suit, but it was fun as hell.

When we left, there was a tall, broad figure waiting for me outside. Sitting astride his motorcycle, my husband waited as I said goodbye to my friends and came over.

“So, you found me? You missed you chance to sing a solo for a captive audience,” I teased him.

His visor was down, and he twisted, pulling my helmet onto my head.

His voice came through the helmet low and full of heat.

“There’s only one captive I want, and that’s you, selkie. Hold on.”

I swung my leg over the back of the bike and wrapped my arms around his middle. His words had me all hot and bothered. It was scary how well he controlled my desire.

He pulled out and drove us through the city toward Hell’s Kitchen.

He drove through our neighborhood and deep into the riverside area of the district. I wasn’t very familiar with the dark and dangerous areas where the O’Connors conducted their less savory family business. I still worked for Renato, after all, though I did help out with O’Connor business as well, if my skills could be useful.

Still, I could never forget that I’d married a very dangerous man. He was a killer, an ex-con, a mob son… a gangster born and bred.

He pulled up at a huge, imposing brownstone on 48th Street.

Silence surged in when the rumble of the motorcycle engine died.

“You’ve brought me here to kill me,” I muttered doubtfully as I looked around. The river was only a block over, but the traffic from over on 12th Avenue was distant and muted.

It was quiet in the street. Trees lined the avenue, and the cozy row of brownstones looked like the New York of the old movies I’d watched as a kid, across the sea, lonely and scared, wishing to find a home to call my own. With a man who loved me, all the parts: too loud, ugly, dramatic, inconvenient, and everything in between.

“No, not to kill you, but to keep you… all to myself,” Bran said cryptically and helped me off the bike, then followed. He pulled me close to him and settled our helmets on the motorcycle.

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