Chapter1
Moira
My grandad glares at me from the other side of the prison glass, and I know if he had any other options right now, he’d be taking them. Too bad for him I’m his last living relative in America. The fact that I don’t have a dick between my legs is really what’s pissing him off, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face when I think about it.
“Just sign the fuckin’ papers,” he growls through the black phone we’ve been using to speak to one another. “And try not to ruin my club.”
I sign the papers the lawyer next to me hands over, and when it’s finished, I look at my grandad, giving him a smug grin. “Don’t you meanmyclub.”
“You always were a little too high and mighty, Moira. I’m surprised your dad didn’t beat that out of you.”
His eyes narrow at me, and even though he’s been in prison for less than a year, the months have not been kind to him. His skin is sallow and his wrinkles deeper, and I’m guessing he’ll never even come close to serving the sentence he was given. He’ll be dead long before then.
“You may have the club now, but it was my blood, sweat, and tears that made it what it is.”
“Well, if you wanted to keep it, then maybe you shouldn’t have hired Liam to beat Jimmy to death.”
He looks at me like he wants to come through the glass and smack the smile right off my face. I know that look well. My dad used to give it to me all the time. I try to act like it doesn’t affect me, but it does. A cold shiver runs up my spine, and I have to fight hard to push away the old memories that threaten to overtake me. I’ve been fighting my whole life, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to quit now and give this old fucker the satisfaction of being the one to break me. I sit up straighter and deaden my eyes, closing off everything I don’t want him to see.
“Don’t kid yourself, Moira,” he says with a harsh laugh. “You may have been raised around boxers, but you’ll never really be one, and everyone knows it. No one is going to come to a boxing club owned by a woman. Do us all a favor and marry Sean. He can at least salvage the place, and he’ll be able to keep your ass in line, too.”
Sean’s name has me wanting to dry heave. Just the thought of spending the rest of my life with that man and letting him put his hands on me is enough to have every cell in my body rebelling against the idea.
“That’s never going to happen,” I say, gathering the paperwork, more than ready to get the hell out of this claustrophobic prison.
“Your dad would’ve wanted it, and you know it.”
“I don’t give a shit what my dad would’ve wanted.”
“No respect,” Grandad mutters as if my entire shitty childhood and all the beatings I took were simply because of my lack of respect. There was a time when his words would’ve stung, when I would’ve told myself that he was right and had I only been a better daughter, then everything would’ve been perfect and my dad and I would’ve had a good, loving relationship. I know better now, though. There was nothing I could’ve done. My dad was a mean drunk who liked to smack me around. End of story.
I ignore him and look over at Mr. Andrews, the lawyer I’d hired just for this purpose, who has been silent throughout the entire exchange. He’s not being paid to get involved, so he wisely doesn’t. He scans the papers, making sure everything is in order before adding his own signature at the bottom and notarizing it before giving me a nod and letting me know it’s all in order.
“It looks like we’re done here, Grandad. I’d like to say I’ll come back and visit, but we both know that’s not going to happen.”
He waves my words away as if they mean nothing to him, and as much as I hate the man, he is my only living blood relative on this side of the Atlantic. I have some distant cousins in Ireland that I’ve never met and probably never will, so he’s kind of it for me. I tell myself I’m better off without him. Staying in touch with a jackass just because he’s family is not a smart idea, and deep down I know this.
My grandad’s parting words to me aren’t of love or regret. It’s just a simple warning, given in his thick, Irish brogue: “Stay away from the fuckin’ Russians.” And then he’s standing and turning his back on me, leaving with the guard without a backward glance.
Mr. Andrews gives me a sympathetic smile that makes his round face look even rounder. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I paste on a fake smile and take my copy of the paperwork, showing that I’m now the legal owner of the Irish boxing club my grandad started back when he was young and in much better shape. He was a hell of a fighter in his day, and he’d taught my dad everything he knew. Boxing runs deep in our family. Unfortunately, so do quick tempers and a love of whiskey.
We stand, and I follow Mr. Andrews’ portly backside out of the stifling prison with my grandad’s warning echoing in my ears. My family has been bitching about the Russians ever since they opened their club and started doing better. I’ve always just tuned it out, but now I’m going to be moving into their city and trying to bring the competition back to life. Well, I’ll play nice if they do. And if not, I’ve spent my life dealing with angry jackasses. What’s a few more added to the mix?
When we’re back outside the prison, I take in a lungful of fresh air, grateful to be out of the gloomy building and back in the bright sunshine. I shake Mr. Andrews’ pudgy hand and thank him for all his help. He walks off to his car, and I head to my black Jeep. It’s stuffed with my belongings since the sale on my dad’s house went through last week, and I’m now officially homeless. I eye the boxes and bags that are crammed into the back and passenger seat. Twenty-one years of living and this is all I have to show for it. I hadn’t even needed to rent a trailer to haul stuff behind me.
Most of the furniture hadn’t been worth keeping, and maybe I’d been a bit too chop happy when I’d been slightly drunk and sorting through all the old things. None of it had seemed worth keeping. In the end, my childhood home had contained very little that I wanted to hang on to. I’m more than ready for a new start. I get in and hook my phone up so GPS can lead me to my new destination.
It’s a few hours’ drive to get there from the prison, and by the time I pull into the gym’s parking lot, it’s dark, and I’m exhausted. I’d scarfed down a fast food meal on the way, and all I want now is to sleep and not think about all the work ahead of me. The place looks completely rundown. It took so long to get everything sorted out after Grandad was sentenced, which meant the club has been sitting vacant for far too long and the passage of time has not been kind to this old club.
I grab just what I need for the night and unlock the main entrance, grateful that I at least had the foresight to get the electricity and water turned back on. The harsh lighting makes the state of the place even more shocking and obvious, and I quickly want to shut the lights back off and ignore everything. God, even the heavy punching bags hanging from the ceiling are in shit condition and going to need replacing. I let out a groan, seeing the long hours and sore muscles that are in my future.
“Fuck this,” I tell the empty room and shut off the main lights, putting the monstrosity back in shadow as I make my way to the main office. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here, and even then it was only for short trips here and there. Dad and Grandad didn’t get along all that well and mainly stuck to their respective cities. I do remember the club looking a whole hell of a lot better than this, though.
I turn on the lights in the office and let out a heavy sigh. I’d been hoping that this room would miraculously be clean, but no such luck. Setting down my bags, I grab a broom that’s leaning up against the wall in the corner and get to work. After I’ve shoved the desk and filing cabinet up against the back wall and swept the place clean, there’s enough room for me to roll out my airbed and plug in the small motor to blow it up.
While that’s inflating, I set up my small reading lamp and grab the bag with all my bedding. Once it’s as full as it’s going to get, I put the sheets on and spread out the grey-and-pink plaid blanket, hoping it’ll cheer the place up a bit. It does not. It just looks like a sad, makeshift bedroom in an old, unused office. Knowing it’s the best I can do for now, I grab my bag of toiletries and head into the locker room. I at least have working showers, and once this place is really up and going, I plan on adding a few hot tubs as well.