I stared. What the fuck had she told him? I needed to know. If she’d said I was hers, she was keeping up that claim. I didn’t give a fuck if it was just to save my life.
Tyler spoke instead. “Riordan is Arran’s new recruit.”
“How new?”
“A month,” I answered for myself.
Incredulity flashed over his vision, then Struan jacked his thumb at the double doors that led to their great hall. “In there.”
Tyler strolled over and joined me, throwing an arm across my shoulders to guide me where I’d been sent.
Behind, Cassie asked her brother where he’d been.
His answer was a low rumble. “Theadora’s working on a case. I took Selene to stay with Scar and Burn, otherwise I would’ve been here sooner. Wulf’s at camp with his cousins.”
Who the hell were Scar and Burn? I guessed the other names were his wife and kids.
Inside the hall, Cassie bounced to the bar and took a high stool, turning it to face the room before she climbed on. “Did you see Max outside? He’s been part of my guard, but I heard the helicopter go then return, so I wasn’t sure if he’s still here.”
“He isn’t. We spoke on the phone. He and Maddock took a shift then two more crew members relieved them.”
Though he was providing answers, Cassie’s brother was still focused on me. He lifted his chin. “So, ye want to be a gangster. Can ye fight?”
I held in a sigh. “I’m a construction worker turned club security. I can fight if I have to.” Shit, I’d left the gun Arran sent me on the kitchen table. Couldn’t admit that now.
Struan didn’t appear convinced. “Yet you’re the one locked away with my sister. What the fuck was Arran thinking not training ye?”
He unzipped his black jacket and tossed it to the floor. Then he toed off his boots.
In front of him, there was a soft play area for kids. Foam blocks, a ball pit, and various scattered toys. Struan dragged the ball pit away and booted the rest to the sides, clearing the space to reveal a padded floor surface about the size of a boxing ring.
My pulse skipped. I stood taller, recognising what he was doing and anticipating pain. For fuck’s sake. I was going to cop a pounding. I was younger than the man preparing to fight me, but I lacked technique. Experience.
This was going to hurt.
It wouldn’t help me to complain about how I’d been brought here, nor did I want to. I’d changed my perspective on it and had chosen to remain.
There was no way I’d allow him to make me look weak in front of Cassie.
As he worked, Struan spoke. “Riordan Jones, twenty-five, six-three, drives a Ducati Diavel, fucking nice bike. Stolen, I imagine, but your 2006 Range Rover’s a piece of shit held together with Sellotape and prayers. No criminal record, which tells me you’re a sneaky fucker or adept at dodging, considering you’re linked to two gangs.”
“You have me dead to rights. Almost. The bike I rebuilt from a wreck, and I’ve no links to the Four Milers.”
“Ye took a job for them.”
“Which I never carried out and only for a good reason.”
“Which was?”
“None of your business, stranger.” I was an idiot, provoking him.
Even Cassie wasn’t interrupting his show and tell.
Done with his task, Struan stood on the far side of the area. He rolled his shoulders then beckoned to Tyler, though his attention was still on me. “As welcomes to the family go, I’m naw sure you’re going to enjoy this, but it’s essential for me to knowCassie’s protected. Be warned, I willnae go easy on ye when it’s your turn in the ring. Tyler, come at me. Jones, watch and learn.”
The intercept guy stripped his shoes, socks, and jacket, and took a position opposite Struan.
Both men dropped into a fighter’s pose. This wasn’t a beatdown. It was an education. Something I needed. That Arran had suggested but we’d never got around to.