Page 2 of Resurrection

While he waits for his drink, a tall, curvy redhead slips past me and brushes his shoulder. Lorcan has wandered elsewhere, probably thinking he’s doing us a favor. I stand behind Finn and nurse my alcohol, and I restrain myself from latching onto the redhead’s hair and giving it a yank. That wouldn’t be fair. He can do what he likes. We aren’t together. Not really. Moments like these make me queasy. I can’t imagine being with anyone other than him, and yet I can’t picture us going beyond a casual affair. He’s not the guy a girl marries. He’s the one she fucks in the back alley. And while the sex might be amazing—might even be the best she’s ever had—there’s never any promise of a future.

The redhead pushes her chest onto the wooden ledge and leans her face toward him. Are they going to kiss with me standing here? She gives him a flirty glance and says something too low for me to hear. He shuffles away from her and checks over his shoulder, his gaze unreadable.

Half turning, he tosses money on the counter and tilts his beer at me while addressing the woman beside him. “You see her?”

She gives him pouty lips and then an uneasy smile, but she turns to follow the slant of his glass.

“She’s the only woman in this bar I’m interested in. No, I’m not buying you a drink, and you can keep your wandering hands off my dick.”

She flings her hair over her shoulder and storms away.

I hadn’t noticed the wandering hand, focused on her heaving breasts, her lips too close. The maneuver should have occurred to me because it’s one I’ve used.

Before I can say anything, an Irish-accented voice calls out, “Finn Donaghey.”

Finn’s expression morphs from amusement to annoyance. “I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight, Patty.”

He draws me closer so we’re side by side. His almost six-foot solid frame of muscle makes me feel tiny at just over five feet.

Lorcan, who had been chatting with his own friends, reappears at Finn’s side. There might be weird tension between the brothers, but they still stick together against anyone who threatens them or their family.

“Come on, Finnie. Agree ta one fight,” Patty says.

Finn rolls his shoulders and chugs his beer before setting his glass down. “I don’t do that shit anymore. I told you that.”

“Afraid of yer old man? He doesn’t need to be told.”

Tension thickens the air. Patty is surrounded by three burly men. Lorcan glances behind him, and other guys appear. The rest of the crowd is taking notice. Finn never backs down from a challenge, but his time in Boston fighting at The Cage angered his father more than usual. I never understood why.

“My father doesn’t call the shots.” Finn grits out the words, his fists clenching.

That dig is a thorn in his side, but there is another insult guaranteed to set him off. I’m torn between staying close andseeking shelter. When he lets fly, sometimes people get hurt in the crossfire.

“Come fight for us.” Patty removes his wallet from his front pocket and extracts a few bills. “I’ll give you a fair cut.”

“I don’t need your money. We’ve been over this. The Donagheys aren’t fucking broke.” Finn steps toward him.

Lorcan and the men with him follow.

“And I’d have to be very poor or very stupid to get mixed up in your Mickey Mouse, bush-league bullshit ring,” Finn says.

My heart knocks against my chest.

“I got your fighting name picked out, Finnie. Banners made. Endorsements set up.” Patty’s dark eyes are alight with amusement tinged with a touch of meanness.

I cringe and slide my drink beside Finn’s empty glass. What’s coming won’t be pretty. They must know about the name. The one thing Finn won’t tolerate is the stupid nickname. Well, that and anyone but him screwing over Lorcan.

“Don’t fucking go there.” His tone is almost feral, a clear warning.

“Who doesn’t love the friendly ghost?” Patty smirks at the men behind him. “Casp—”

Finn slams his fist into Patty’s face, and the bar comes alive with shouts as the two men exchange blows while Lorcan and the guys behind him weigh into the fray. I stay by the bar at first, watching them pummel each other. When Finn gets Patty on the ground, a bud of unease sprouts in my stomach. Finn pounds on him, and blood flies everywhere. Patty’s face is swelling. Is anyone going to stop him? If Finn kills him in the presence of these witnesses and I did nothing to stop him, I’ll never forgive myself. I’d never let him go to jail.

After circling the other fights and dodging fists, I yank on Finn’s shoulder to get his attention. He shrugs me off, but when I call his name over the chaos of yelling and furniture scraping,his shoulders relax. Without looking at me, he climbs off Patty. Then one of Patty’s men charges forward out of the fray, and Finn’s back is turned, defenseless. He doesn’t see him coming. I step in front, shielding him. At the last moment, the glint of the knife registers. A burning, aching pain rips through my chest, and I stumble, knocking into Finn, whose steady hands cradle me from behind.

“Carys, what the—” His ice-blue eyes meet mine in confusion, and then he looks down, understanding registering. “Oh, fuck.” His gaze darts around the room. “Lorcan! Lorcan! I need you to call 999.” Lowering me to the ground, he says, “Keep focused on me. Help’s coming.”

The burning has ceased, but numbness and disorientation seep in.

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