Page 33 of Dublin Brute

“Why do you think bikers would be at a fancy charity event?” I ask Kate as we walk towards the entrance.

A smirk plays on her lips. “Because it’s a charity cage fight event! Bikers love fights.”

Cage fight?That’s a new one.

“Good evening, ladies. May I have your invitation?” Kate hands the guy at the door a black invitation with gold and green embossing. He takes it, and with a nod of approval, we step beyond the velvet rope.

Inside, it’s like I’ve been transported into an entirely different world.

This is no ordinary brick warehouse. Everything around me screams luxury—chandeliers glinting overhead casting soft light on beautifully dressed people mingling around tables adorned with green and black linens and glittering gold centerpieces.

I am so out of my league.I brush a nervous hand down the front of the corseted bodice and focus on breathing. “Someone is going to realize we don’t belong here and kick us out.”

Kate throws her head back and laughs. “Then let’s get a few complimentary libations into us before they do.”

“Brilliant plan.” Although, I don’t know if drinking will soothe my nerves or fuel them further. I guess we’ll find out.

We make our way over to the bar and step into line. There are servers walking through the crowd with flutes of champagne, but I’ve never acquired the taste for it. I prefer a Cosmo, an old-fashioned, or a pitcher of sangria.

Although, this doesn’t seem like a sangria event.

While we wait in the queue, I glance around, marveling at how everyone looks so effortlessly glamorous while I feel like a total fraud. My father has allowed me to splurge on a few nice things over the years—a cashmere coat, a few Gucci scarves, and Channel rubber boots—but nothing like this.

“What’s your poison, ladies? Cami and Shay are master mixologists.”

I turn to the man speaking to us from behind the bar. He’s decked out in a black-on-black tux, with tousled dark hair and an easy smile that could charm anyone right off their feet. His emerald green gaze locks onto mine for a moment too long and I realize he asked us a question.

“Do you have any specialty cocktails tonight?” Kate asks.

He points to a gold frame propped up on the serving counter and the list of the night’s cocktails. “We’ve got a Knockout Punch, the Southpaw Sipper, and the Jab and Hook.

I read the ingredients of the Knockout Punch: dark and light rum, pineapple, and orange juice, grenadine, and garnished with an orange slice. Yum. “I’ll have a Knockout Punch, please.”

“I’m going Southpaw Sipper,” Kate adds.

While the two bartenders make our drinks, I sneak a few extra glances at the guy behind the bar. He’s young—a couple of years younger than me—but with those eyes and the teasing smirk, he reminds me so much of Brendan, it’s crazy.

“You’re all set, ladies.” The charmer behind the bar slides our drinks across the polished surface and winks. “Enjoy your evening!”

“Cheers!” Kate raises her glass toward me with an eager sparkle in her eyes. “To our new jobs and making Tanya proud.”

I clink my glass against hers and take my first sip. Flavors burst against my tongue—refreshing yet tart—and I smile, channeling a little of Tanya’s zest for fun. “To fulfilling our dreams.”

I miss Tanya and still can’t wrap my head around what happened, but I honestly feel like she’s with us, guiding us toward the happiness she always believed we deserved.

That means a lot.

Kate and I take another drink and then she shakes off the melancholy of us losing our friend. “Come on. This is a celebration. Let’s go find our seats.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Brendan

This fucking tux is choking the life out of me. Sure, it’s a tailor-made Tom Ford, but it’s still a fucking penguin suit. I glance at my Rolex and wonder how much longer I’m on the hook for the schmoozing part of the evening.

If I have to listen to one more pompous twat go on about their stacked bundles or how they always thought they might be a boxer or an amateur fighter, I’m going to grab them by their fucking throat and toss them into the cage to test their resolve.

But I can’t.

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