Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74581 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74581 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“What the hell?” he says. “What happened?”
Chapter 11
Constantine
I drag Niall Maguire toward the doors, my arm wrapped around his neck in a headlock.
We’re intercepted by Petrov and four of his men.
If anything, Petrov is more furious than I am, his face congested with blood and his teeth bared as he snarls at Niall, “You dare try to kill a Bratva in my club? I told your father every fucking one of you is banned.”
Petrov is not defending me simply because we’re both Bratva. He has his own beef with the Maguires, from all the matches they’ve fixed with Irish fighters. These days, the only Irish he’ll allow through the door are the McCarthys.
Niall doesn’t answer Petrov. His eyes are fixed on me alone, bloodshot and mad with rage, as he twists his face upward to spit at me, “We’ll get you anywhere you go. You’ll never be safe. Even after you’re dead, Roxy will find you in the next world and tear your soul to pie—”
I cut him off with a tightening of my arm around his throat, turning his threats into strangled gurgling.
“I’ll deal with him,” I say to Petrov.
Petrov considers, jaw twitching with anger. On the one hand, this is his ring, and the Maguires transgressed, against his warning. On the other hand, possession is nine-tenths of the law, and he’ll have to pry Niall out of my hands if he wants to punish him himself.
Besides, the main fight is about to start. Petrov has bets to take, drinks to sell, and plenty of other potential conflicts to break up on the floor.
“You can use the basement,” he offers, reluctantly.
“Perfect.”
I haul Niall down the dimly lit cement steps, followed closely by Yury and Emmanuel. Emmanuel escorts Clare along with us. For the first time since I broke us out of prison, her eyes are darting around looking for the exits, as if she wants to run away.
The basement is a bleak, damp place. So filthy and dark that it almost makes Yama look luxurious by contrast. The windowless space is lit by only a single bare bulb, the light veering left and right as the bulb swings from its wire, making it feel as if the whole concrete box is rocking.
“Stand there,” I say to Clare, pointing to the far corner. “Don’t move and don’t speak.”
Pale and frightened, she walks obediently to the corner, Emmanuel right by her side.
I fling Niall down on a metal folding chair, the rusty legs almost collapsing beneath his weight.
“We’ll fucking get you,” Niall snarls, spit spraying from his lips. “I don’t care if you kill me. My father will come for you, and my uncles, and my cousins… there’s a hundred of us and we’re never gonna stop…”
“I’m well aware you Irish breed like rabbits,” I sneer, annoyed by the deep cut down my bicep courtesy of Niall’s knife.
On the other hand, I feel something almost approaching pity. It was fucking madness for him to attack me. Niall’s a decent fighter but he’s barely six feet tall, slightly built, and only twenty years old. He’s Roxy’s little brother, and we’re acquainted enough that he knows his chances in a fight against me are fucking nil.
Despite his bluster, I can tell Niall is terrified, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He absolutely fucking should be. These goddamn Irish have been like a pack of rats swarming me everywhere I go. I should wring his neck right now. But Roxy always defended her little brother, even when he acted like a total shithead. She wouldn’t want me to hurt him.
“Listen to me,” I say to Niall, my tone as serious as it’s ever been. “I didn’t kill Roxy.”
Niall makes a derisive scoffing noise.
Before I can say anything, Yury cracks him across the jaw with a punch that knocks the chair backward, the base of Niall’s skull connecting with the cement.
Clare shrieks, “Stop! He’s just a kid!”
She breaks away from Emmanuel, running at me, practically throwing herself on top of Niall to protect him from me.
“Get away from him,” I snarl.
“No!” Clare cries. “I’m not going to stand here and watch you torture him!”
I grab her arm and yank her up, spinning her around to face me. I point my finger right in her face, hissing, “You don’t fucking interfere with my business.”
Clare shrinks back, terrified by the look on my face. Emmanuel seizes her again, rougher than necessary, and drags her back to the corner. I don’t chastise him.
Clare needs to learn her place. Just because we talked about books, that gives her zero fucking leeway to defy me.
I likewise shoot Yury a look, silently telling him to dial it back. Not because of Clare, but because I have no intention of cracking Niall’s skull open. At least, not right now.
Chagrined, Yury hauls the chair upright again. Niall flops forward with a dazed expression, blood running out of the side of his mouth. His sandy hair hangs down over his face and his blue eyes are unfocused.