Page 1 of Forbidden Romeo

Prologue

Jack

Thump. Thump, thump. Thump. Thump, thump.

My fists pelt the training pads in perfect rhythm. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to lose myself to this particular beat. I’ve missed the simplicity of hitting a mark with deadly accuracy over and over.

Thump. Thump, thump. Thump. Thump, thump.

It’s soothing, almost as if every thought in my head is melting away. The only thing I need to focus on is the impact. Withdraw. Impact again. My muscles remember the pattern well and stretch and contract comfortably.

Thump. Thump, thump. Thump. Thump, thump.

The last hit has my trainer stagger back a step. Good, I can still catch him off guard. When you’ve been out in the field as long as I have, there’s always a worry that you’ll start to forget the basics of the ring.

Thump. Thump, thump—

“Jack!”

Graham’s voice snaps through my concentration like a knife, and I turn to look at my brother with no small amount of irritation.

The bastard has the nerve to smile right back. “Thought we were on the job?”

“Aye, if you bothered to show up on time,” I quip back before dismissing the trainer with a wave.

“You know me,” Graham replies, walking up the steps to lean casually against the ring post. “I’m a busy man.”

“Yeah? What’s her name this time?”

“Lorrel,” Graham pretends to think about it. “Or maybe Lorraine?”

I shake my head at him. We both know he’s about as good with women as he is in the ring. That is to say, not at all.

“Fancy a quick spar?” I challenge just to throw him off.

Graham merely indicates his pristine three-piece. “Not on your life, mate. Come on, put a shirt on; they want to open the doors.”

“Fine,” I say, already ducking under the rope and grabbing a towel.

Ideally, I’d be after a shower around about now. But, with Graham finally here, I get the feeling I’ll be skipping it.

We stride up the stairs to the VIP box, narrowly avoiding the streams of people coming in to watch the evening match. It must have gotten later than I thought it was. I don’t bother with a shirt until after we’ve escaped the rabble and taken a seat overlooking the entire arena.

“Padraic wants an update,” Graham says in a low voice. A force of habit more than anything else, I think—it’s not like any of our men stationed around the box would flinch at the name.

“Impatient as always,” I mutter back.

“I assume you have one? Or did you drag me all the way to Luckiesto remind me you can still take me in the ring?”

“Doesn’t it make you feel nostalgic?” I tease.

Graham grimaces. “No.”

The fighters enter the ring at that moment, and the crowds start cheering for the favorites. It’s just a preview, so there’s not as much ceremony as the bigger games, but the kids they showcase seem to get scrawnier every year.

“I hope Padraic has a decent lineup for the annuals,” I comment as the bell rings. “These two aren’t worth the walk to the bookies.”.

“Jack. Concentrate, please.”

---