Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“It was the right call.” Ashland's voice is flat, defensive.
“Aye, but you can't protect her here forever, lad.” Seamus leans forward, elbows on his knees.
Ashland stiffens. “I'll do what I have to.”
“And you can't stay up every night for the rest of your life,” I say, the words escaping before I can stop them.
His head whips toward me. “Bianca—”
“It's true.” I touch his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. “You barely sleep, Ashland. You're exhausted, a damn zombie. You can't keep living like this.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're not.”
The silence falls, charged with the weight of truth that neither of us wants to acknowledge.
“They’ve been begging you to return to the ring,” Seamus says quietly. “We could make a show of it. Ashland McCarthy’s big return. Not afraid of anyone or anything.”
Ashland nods and sits up straighter. “I’d fucking love to go back to the ring.”
“Then go to the ring,” Seamus says into the quiet. “We'll go with you. We'll spread the word, won't we? Post on socials. The girls keep family accounts now.” He smirks. “Let Crowning see that you're coming. Draw him out of fucking hiding.”
“You can use me as bait—” I start.
“We talked about that. No,” Ashland insists.
“I want to end this,” Seamus says, meeting my eyes. “But Ashland's right—you don't come near it.” He turns back to his cousin. “You can put yourself on the hook, lad. You know I'm right. We bring the fight to him on our terms. We fucking finish this. Then you can have your peace. You can actually live with her instead of just surviving.”
“I don’t want him hurt by Crowning, Seamus,” Nolan adds.
“I won’t,” Ashland insists. “I’ll wipe the fucking ground—”
“Won’t lose another son, Ash.” The room is quiet for a beat before Seamus speaks up.
“Aye. We won’t let that happen.”
Ashland is silent for a long moment, his mind clearly racing through scenarios and contingencies. “Fine,” he says finally. Then he looks at me, dominance flashing in his eyes, making my breath catch. “But you—you are not coming.”
“Ashland—”
“No. Absolute. Final. This is not up for discussion, Bianca.”
Heat flashes through me. “I should have a say—”
“You don't.” He grabs my jaw, firm but not painful. “Not in this. Never in this.”
“You can't just decide—”
“I can. I am.” His eyes bore into mine. “I will go, but you'll stay here, where you're safe. And you will obey me in this.”
The word obey sends liquid heat pooling in my belly, even as my mind rebels against the command. “That's not fair.”
“I don't care about fair.” He leans in closer, his voice dropping. “I care about keeping you alive. And if that means you hate me for it, I'll live with it.”
“I don't hate you—” It comes out breathier than intended. “But I don't think it's fair.”
I shiver, torn between wanting to argue and wanting to submit to the absolute certainty in his voice. Part of me wants to stay safe. I don't want to see him hurt in the ring. I don't want to be where Crowning can reach me.
“Lass has spirit,” Seamus says, approval clear in his voice. “But Ash is right, Bianca. This is too dangerous.”
“We'll keep her safe,” Nolan says, his tone brooking no argument. “You have my word.”
Seamus nods. “It's settled, then. Two days. Ashland fights. We draw Crowning out. We fucking end this.”
“Two days,” Ashland says, but he's looking at me, not Seamus. “Two days, and this is over.”
His eyes narrow, studying me. “Bianca.”
“What?” I ask innocently.
“Whatever you're thinking, you’re not coming.”
“If you think I’m going to sit at home, doomscrolling on my phone while you’re facing Marcus in the ring, you’re a fool, Ashland McCarthy.”
“I said you’re not coming, and that’s final.”
I blow out a breath. “Fine.”
His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my hair with possessive gentleness. “Don't lie to me.”
“I'm not.”
He studies me for a long moment, and I refuse to look away, even as my pulse quickens under his scrutiny.
“We'll discuss this later,” he finally says, the promise in his voice making my stomach flutter.
“I'll be looking forward to it,” I say sweetly.
His da laughs outright. “She's got your number, lad.”
“Aye,” Ashland says, never looking away from me. “That she does.”
His parents leave shortly after, and the moment the door closes behind them, Ashland's hands are on me.
“Upstairs.” My heartbeat thunders.
Ashland doesn't say a word as he leads me upstairs, his hand firm around my wrist. Not painful, but unyielding. My heart hammers against my ribs—part anticipation, part trepidation.
The bedroom door closes with a soft click that sounds thunderous in the silence.
“Ashland—”
“No.” His voice is low and controlled, dangerous in its calm. “You don't get to talk right now, lass. You get to listen.”
“Is that right?” I cross my arms on my chest. This may be a side of Ashland I haven’t seen before, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. I’m a bundle of nerves.