After a quick shower, I brush my teeth and climb into my sad, little bed, too tired to do anything except shut off the light. My grandad’s words threaten to come back and haunt me, but I stubbornly push it all away, along with the sadness that threatens to overtake me when I realize that I don’t have a single person I need to call or text to let them know I got here safely. I’m completely and utterly alone. With that cheery thought in my head, I give in to the exhaustion and let the darkness overtake me.
When I finally blink my eyes open, I have a moment of pure panic when I look around at the unfamiliar room. Yesterday comes crashing back over me in an unwelcome memory that is impossible to ignore. I roll off my airbed and try to stretch the stiffness out of my muscles. I regret not taking my bed. I’d been too eager to get away and thinking more emotionally than rationally, and my back is certainly going to pay for it.
The morning sun that greets me when I step out of the office has me groaning. It reveals all the work I have ahead of me, and I immediately want to crawl back under the covers. One step at a time, I remind myself. Digging around, I find the bag of bagels I picked up the other day and start to nibble on one. The cinnamon and raisin deliciousness barely registers. I’m too busy planning my mental to-do list. By the time I finish chewing, I’m ready to start.
The first few days fly by in a blur of inspecting the place and making lists of everything I need to replace or fix. The list is as daunting as it is long. After yet another grueling morning and afternoon, my stomach reminds me it’s way past lunchtime. I decide to take a drive to pick up some more supplies and food. After I’ve shopped and loaded the Jeep up with things to make my new gym home more bearable while also getting the things I need to continue destroying and rebuilding it, I scroll through the map on my phone, looking for the Russian club. I find it and realize that I’m only a few minutes away. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, knowing this probably isn’t a great idea but that I’m most likely going to do it anyway.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I drive towards the club. There’s no denying that this part of the city is nicer, and when I see the large exterior of the Red Wolf up ahead, I can’t help but let out a sigh and feel a twinge of jealousy. This place is so much more impressive than my dingy club. It looks like there’s a large nightclub next door, and the small parking lot next to the Red Wolf holds two black Porsches and one red one. Good God, they’ve got more money than I thought.
When one drive by isn’t good enough, I pull into a gas station down the road so I can turn around and go back. The traffic isn’t heavy, so I slow down and eye the place like a guilty Peeping Tom. Right as I pass the main doors, I see two men step out. They’re both in expensive looking suits, and I immediately recognize the lean, muscled bodies of boxers. There’s just something about the way a boxer holds himself that I can spot from a mile away. It always reminds me of the nature documentaries about panthers in the wild—so damn sleek and sexy and powerful. A killing machine wrapped in a beautiful, mesmerizing package.
One of the men is holding a baby. Both are drop-dead gorgeous. The man without a baby has on dark sunglasses, and I almost get myself in a wreck as I ogle his broad shoulders and chiseled jaw. Luckily, I still have enough working brain cells left to avoid running off the road in what would have been the world’s most embarrassing car accident.Yeah, sorry, Officer. I was distracted because I was eye-fucking that sexy guy standing over there.God, how humiliating. That doesn’t stop me from taking one last quick peek at the tall man with the sunglasses before putting my eyes firmly back on the road.
They weren’t dressed for a workout, and the cute baby definitely makes it seem like they were at the club for other reasons. Is it possible they’re the owners? Did I just catch my first glimpse of the infamous Russians? I had always envisioned them as faceless annoyances that my grandad liked to bitch about. I’d certainly never pictured them as sex god material. Maybe moving to this town wasn’t such a bad idea after all. I immediately shove the thought aside. The Russian club hates the Irish club. Those bastards may not have a grudge against me, but they damn well don’t want to see me succeed. They hate my family, and there’s no reason to think they’re going to be nice to me. I’ve been around boxing clubs long enough to know how this works. I’m competition, and I’m a woman. That’s two big strikes against me in their eyes. I need to remember that and not get all side-tracked with muscles and a chiseled jawline. I need to stay tough and on alert or this place is going to eat me alive.
I’ve just managed to talk reason back into myself when I pull into the Irish club’s parking lot and feel my entire body deflate when I remember all the hard work waiting for me inside. I’d much rather sit out here and keep pep-talking myself up, but I know there’s no getting around what needs to be done, so I unload my Jeep yet again. When I have everything how I want it, I grab the hamburger I picked up while I was out and lean against the boxing ring while I eat, eyeing the annoying wall that’s splitting through half the room and making the place feel cramped. I toss the empty wrapper in the trash, barely having tasted the damn thing, and start making plans for tearing down that wall and opening this place up a bit.
I’ve just grabbed the sledgehammer when my phone gives a buzz. Curiosity has me digging in my pocket more than anything else. I assume it might be the lawyer or maybe even someone from the electric or water company calling to make sure everything is up and running. The last thing I expect is to see Sean’s name pop up.
Heard you signed the papers. You’re really going through with this, Moira?
I think about ignoring it, but I know he’ll just keep texting if I do, so I hurry up and type out a quick reply of,Yes, hoping he’ll just go away. He does not.
I’m renting an apartment on Watson. Why don’t you come stay with me? We can sort everything out together.
I’m seething by the time I finish his message. His idea of come stay with me is me in his bed, which is never going to happen, and sorting things out together just means that he wants to weasel his way in and get the club for himself. That’s always been his dream, and I’m the easiest way to make it happen. We’d briefly dated when I was way too young and stupid to know better. I’d been an insecure sixteen-year-old, and he’d been an asshole and way too old for me. I hadn’t been ready for sex, he hadn’t wanted to wait, so one night he pushed it too far, and I gave him a black eye for his trouble. That had been the end of that, at least for me, but he’s never really given up. Our families go way back, and apparently joining the bloodlines was like some ridiculous hope of his. It never had anything to do with me, though. I could’ve been anyone as long as I was Paddy’s granddaughter. That’s all that really mattered to him.
I don’t think so, Sean. I’m really busy, and I need to go. This place is a real mess.
I wait while he types a reply, wishing this was over and done with.
I’d help if I could, but I need to stay away for a while longer. Those fucking Russians are still out for me.
I roll my eyes at his cowardice and at the idea of a bunch of Russians on scouting missions just to try and grab Sean. They’ve probably forgotten all about him by now. He’s not as big of a fish as he seems to think he is.
Gotta go, I finally type out, wanting to put an end to this.
We’ll talk soon, Moira. You know where to find me in the meantime.
I don’t even bother with a response. Instead, I tuck my phone away and pick up the sledgehammer again, eyeing the wall I’m about to demolish. I may not have a heavy bag I can hit and take my aggression out on, but I do have a big, beautiful wall I can beat the hell out of. With a grin, I start swinging.
Chapter2
Nikolai
Ilook down at the chubby baby in my arms who gives me a big, gummy smile, showing off the beginnings of his first tooth and then look up at Dima.
“That’s not fair. You know I can’t be mad when I’m holding Seryozha.”
“That’s the point.”
Dima gives me a cocky grin and makes a funny face at his son that has Sergei giggling and drooling all over me. At six months, the little guy is curious as hell, equally adorable, and I swear he understands the Russian we’re speaking. His big blue eyes follow his dad around the office, and when I sit down, he immediately grunts at me to flip him around so he can see everything that’s going on.
He plays with my fingers while I look over at Dima’s smug-ass grin. “I’m still not happy about it. They should’ve let that damn club stay closed. I mean who the hell does she think she is?”
“She’s Paddy’s granddaughter, so she has every right to open the club. He signed it over to her when he was sentenced to prison.” Dima lifts a dark brow at me. “And if my son’s first word is a cussword, Gina will kick your ass.”
“You’re one to talk.”