Page 7 of Risky Fight

“I’ll call Raymond and arrange it. I am officially retired from fighting.” The two men both look at me like I’m lying, as if I will change my mind. I’m done — heart and soul done with fighting. “I just need a few days to get a place for me and Nolan where we won’t be hounded too much. Security is important.” I’m a celebrity, a public figure. I am also a mobster, a member of a crime family and that public image will be shattered in a blink. Everything I have needs to be protected. Including my son, and the money I have put away.

“I agree, you need to settle your public life first. We will handle the Russians and you can deal with the O’Neill lads while you get your shit together.”

It’s settled, now all I have to do is face Lou. Not even I have big enough balls to face her without some fear of what might happen. She could shoot me. For all I know she has held a grudge this whole time.

Hell hath no fury — like Louise O’Neill, even when she isn’t scorned.

***

“What the fuck do you mean you are not coming back?” Raymond sounds livid on the phone, I sent a text first, afraid this might be how things would go. “You can’t just quit,” he seethes.

“Actually I can. I have no contract in place.” I throw him under the bus, that is his job and he failed at it. “I have signed nothing. Ray, they do not own me, I am done. Something happened, and I have decided to move home. I’m not willing to make this public yet, and frankly I do not trust you not to spin it into a story to make yourself some money. I am done. You can tell everyone that, and nothing else.”

“Roark, you honestly think UFC is just going to be happy with you walking?”

“They should have given me a contract if they were worried about that, so if they are not happy, they can only blame themselves. They gave me the gap and I am taking it.”

“What the fuck happened?” Ray asks. I want to yell at him, because my gut says he knew about Nolan and paid his mother off. That he hid my son from me, to keep me focused on the prize. “Roark, they are going to want a reason.”

“When I am ready to give them a reason I will call a press conference, for now I have left the USA. I have no intention of returning. Raymond, that’s all there is. You will not change my mind, so stop trying to think of ways to do so.”

“You are at the top of your game, the fucking best! How can you walk away?”

“Easily,” I say, looking at the little boy playing in the den with my stepsister. “So fucking easily, it is no longer worth the risk.” Nolan needs me, he’s got no one else.

“Roark, think about this. Once you quit they’ll never take you back.” I’m not stupid, and I never plan to comeback, so that doesn’t scare me. “You need a break, fine, but retiring? That’s crazy.” He’s afraid of how much he will lose. This isn’t about me. It never was. For Raymond I am an ATM, the money-making machine. Well, I’m done and he will have to find another.

“Raymond, my family are the mother-fucking-mob. Careful who you call crazy, we don’t like it. I am done, I have come home to work with my father and be near my family. Get a new cash cow.” I’m prickly because he’s not once in this conversation asked me if I am okay, to genuinely check on why I want to walk away. It’s surface level concern, and absolute panic over the revenue he will lose.

“Roarkie, it isn’t like that.” I’m already grinding my teeth when he calls me by that nickname. I want to punch a hole in the door. “I’m just looking out for you.”

“Well, you can stop now, you’re fired. I am no longer in need of representation.” I need to cut this cord, he’s been in control of me for too long. “The free ride is over. I am going in another direction and I am not going to be swayed.”

“You can’t just do this!” he yells now, angry. “You hear me, you can’t!”

“I can do anything I want to, and before you open your trap and add a threat a to that sentence, I suggest you remember who my family are. Who I am. And what the consequences for threatening us would be.” There is silence on the other end of the call. Dead silence — he finally understands I am serious. Dead serious.

Chapter5 - Lou

“Jesus!” I scream, as I nearly jump out my skin, “what the hell, Will?” He snuck up on me and gave me a fright. “I will kick your ass,” I growl at him. I have been hyper-vigilant since my brothers had their asses kicked two days ago. I can’t shake the feeling I am being watched but anytime I look around me I see nothing. I’m jumpy and starting to think I might just be a little bit crazy. It’s not normal peeping tom vibes, I honestly feel violated, like I am being watched in all my most vulnerable moments.

I have successfully creeped myself out. Snapping out of it hasn’t been easy, my heart is pounding and I am not in the mood for anything or anyone tonight.

“What’s your problem tonight?” he asks, genuinely confused at my outburst, he really didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just on edge.

“Nothing, never mind,” I say pulling away when he comes to kiss me. I look past him to where the door swings open. I’m still itching with the vibe I am being watched. My brothers need to cough up whatever they owe. I don’t like this feeling, and I wouldn’t put it past some thug to think he could get to them through me.

“Lou,” Will grabs my hand as I turn to move back into the crowed pub, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I need a drink. It’s been a long week.” I want to add that I had a job interview. But doubt I will get it, so best to shield his expectations and my own. “Can we just have a few drinks and unwind?”

He sighs and follows me to the bar, where I hold up two fingers. The barman nods and fills up two pints for us.

“Do you want to play darts?” he asks me.

It’s best to keep busy, so I say, “Yes, I would love to beat you at darts, my love.” With a soft laugh we move to the darkest corner of the pub where the dartboards all hang in a row on the back wall. I am no pro but I can throw a dart pretty well for a girl. My brothers taught me how to hustle men in pubs the moment I got boobs.

“I just let you win, so I can get lucky,” Will jokes with me and some of the tension I was feeling lifts. I sip my beer, and Will and I play darts inside the smokey, stuffy, warm pub. He orders us another round of drinks and some dinner after I beat him twice. It’s relaxed and I haven’t punched anyone — yet.

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