Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I wonder if she came here looking for me, or if fate’s just cruel enough to keep throwing us together.
I wonder if she’s running from me or running toward something she doesn’t understand yet.
I climb through the ropes, and someone hands me my shirt and a towel. I wipe blood from my face, can’t tell if it’s mine or Tommy’s, and shrug into my shirt, not bothering to button it.
“McCarthy.” O’Grady flags me down. “Yer winnings, son.”
I frown. I don’t need the damn money. Still, I take the thick envelope and nod my thanks.
I walk to the exit, staring at my purse.
I didn’t do this for money. I think about what to do with it, and finally decide to call Bronwyn. I can trust her.
“Hello?” she says, sleepy.
“Bronwyn,” I say when she answers, even though it’s two a.m.
She sounds instantly alert. “Cav? Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I need a favor. A private one.”
A pause. Then, “Go on.”
“I’m sending you money. I need you to give it to Erin. Tell her it’s from you. Tell her it’s… I don’t know, wedding gift money, or shopping money, or whatever.”
“How much money?” I glance at the envelope. “Eighteen thousand euros.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. What did you do, rob a bank?”
“I fought.”
Another pause, longer this time. “You went back to the ring.”
“Aye.”
“Does Seamus know?”
“No.” Not yet. Won’t take long. “This is from you, Bronwyn. Can you do that for me?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
I step out into the cold night air, and it hits my overheated skin. Steam rises from my body. My breath comes in clouds.
I lean against the car for a moment, letting my heart rate slow, letting the adrenaline drain away.
But before I go home, I need answers. I send Erin a text.
How the fuck did you get here? You were supposed to be going home
I hope she hears the implied raised eyebrow there.
Erin
Overheard your cousin say you’d be there, so I told the guard to bring me after we dropped Bridget off at home
I go to respond when another message pops up.
Erin
Also. You’re a monster.
And I grin at the words. Is that right, darlin’? Am I such a monster that you ran from me? Or did you have to come see for yourself?
But then three dots appear. She’s typing again.
Erin
But I’m…
beginning to see the appeal of the villain.
I close my eyes and lean my head back against the car.
Christ.
This girl is going to destroy me.
Or save me.
Maybe both.
Chapter Fifteen
Erin
I cannot get Cavin out of my mind. But it probably has something to do with the fact that the bastard texts like a thousand times a day.
Cavin
Is your location on?
Cavin
My mother would like to talk to you about favors for the party.
Cavin
My sisters want to know what color dress you’re wearing.
And on and on the list goes.
Cavin
What are your plans today?
Cavin
Where are you going?
Questions that would actually be quite welcome and even make a lot of sense if we had any type of relationship or ounce of care between us. If we were actually two people in love, planning a wedding.
I’m not someone to fall for fairy-tale stories, so I never even dreamed of marrying my Prince Charming. I always assumed that I would somehow get away with being single for the rest of my life, even being born into the Irish mob.
Now? Definitely not interested in marriage.
The day of shopping and going to the club was borrowed time. The next day, Bridget paid for it. She fell ill with a fever, and she’s been in the hospital ever since.
So while a part of me is kicking and screaming and resisting the idea of going all the way to the McCarthy house and becoming one of them, my conviction that this is the right thing to do is stronger than ever.
I guess most women who are engaged look forward to the engagement party. But me? It’s a looming date on my calendar, just like any formal event has always been and probably always will be.
I’m wearing “ruby red” because supposedly, that’s on my “color chart”
Cavin
What the fuck is a color chart?
Like something that’s supposed to guide me to the right colors?
Cavin
Ah. Rules and regulations and the like. That’s very you
For some reason, that makes me smile. It is very me—overthinking to the point of paralysis, while the world moves on without asking my permission.
The bell rings, and my mother calls for me. “Erin? Someone’s here to see you.”
No one ever comes here to see me. My heart beats faster. It can’t be… I pad downstairs in my yoga pants and oversized jumper, hair still damp from the shower. I’m not expecting anyone. The last forty-eight hours have been a blur of restless sleep and replaying that night at the club over and over. The way Cavin’s hand felt on my throat. The way his eyes looked when he—