Page 95 of Forbidden Romeo

“Ifhe does well,” Kate reiterates.

I don’t want to think about the alternative.

I look over to Padraic again, still rubbing elbows with the people around him. He seems entirely unconcerned about the wellbeing of his son.

Because heisentirely unconcerned about the wellbeing of his son, I realize with a start. This whole thing, me being here, not telling anyone about his fighter, was to get revenge on Jack. To show him how disposable he is to theDead Eyes, to make him pay for not telling him about our engagement. Padraic is practically glowing in his triumph.

That he finally got to show the world that he could put Jack Duffy in his place.

The crowd suddenly roars again, and I watch in dismay as Jack’s opponent walks into the ring.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, YOUR FIRST FIGHTER TONIGHT… KENNEDY BROWN!”

The man who lifts his tightly wrapped hands to rally the audience is huge. Even from up here, I can see the veins popping out of his arm muscles. The mouthguard he wears is jet black, giving him a sinister, gapless look. He must have a good foot on Jack, and his thick neck looks as if it could withstand a punch to the face without flinching.

Kate silently grabs hold of my hand.

“AND IN THE OTHER CORNER, WE HAVE NONE OTHER THAN THE PRINCE OF THE DUFFY EMPIRE HIMSELF, JACK DUFFY!”

In my peripheral vision, I see Padraic tense a little at the announcement. If I wasn’t so concerned about the shirtless man who steps into the ring, I might have saved a little for the commentator, who will undoubtedly feel Padraic’s wrath for introducing Jack like that.

But as Jack walks to his corner, still wrapping his hands, I can’t take my eyes off him. Although not as broad or as tall as his opponent, every inch of his bare back is defined with pure muscle. I watch as he stretches them out, remembering how they feel to the touch. The firmness of it as my nails dug into his skin, desperate for him to get closer…

He better fucking win.

Next to me, Kate cheers along with the crowds. “Come on, Jack!”

We watch together as the opponents begin circling each other, sizing the other up. Jack’s calmness in the face of Kennedy’s provocative sneers has me edging closer in my seat.

Finally, the referee raises a hand.

With the screech of his whistle, Kennedy lunges forward and immediately swings a powerful right hook. Jack manages to dart out of the way by a fraction of an inch.

For the first time, I see his brow furrow in concentration. Clearly, he didn’t expect Kennedy to make a move straight after the starting whistle. He gives Kennedy a wide berth as he dances around him, moving so quickly that it almost makes me dizzy just watching him.

Kennedy’s patience wears out quickly, and he swings another powerful punch at his opponent. Jack stops his dance to duck gracefully under Kennedy’s swing and lands two quick hits to the bigger man’s stomach.

But Kennedy barely registers he’s been hit. The giant of a man swings again, and Jack is forced to leap away, causing the crowd to protest.

“Jesus Christ,” Kate mutters beside me.

The sting of her nails biting into my hand is the only thing keeping me grounded as Jack narrowly avoids another hit. Unphased, he resumes his dance around Kennedy, eyes analyzing his opponent’s every move.

“Come on,” I find myself whispering.

As if hearing my encouragement, Jack suddenly jerks in a different direction, catching Kennedy entirely off-guard. Jack’s punches are swift and accurate. A flurry of his hits land, causing Kennedy to stagger back a step.

Jack takes the opening to punch him square in the face.

When Kennedy falls backward to the floor, there’s a beat of silence before the uproar begins.

Jack knocked him out in less than thirty seconds.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Aimee

Kate and I are running down the steps to the locker room before the commentator can even announce the winner.

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