Fighting for Irish
by Gina L. Maxwell
Copyright © 2014 by Gina L. Maxwell. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
Aiden scanned the room of the rowdy backwoods bar and studied the various stages of inebriation of its patrons: drunk, really drunk, and totally shitfaced.
The crowd had hit its peak, but Kat MacGregor, who went by the ill-fitting alias Sydney Carter, kept pace between the bar and her tables without any problems.
Since finding her, Aiden had gotten himself hired as a cooler for the bar and allowed to put together a small team. It had only taken a couple days of observing the damage caused by nightly bar fights to sell Lou on the idea. Especially since they were getting paid just as shitty as the rest of the employees. The bar owner ended up making out in the deal, since he didn’t have to keep replacing beer glasses and tables.
Aiden had called his good friend and old teammate, Xander James, and soon after, Xan had loaded up his worldly possessions and Aiden’s other bike and driven down to become part of the team and “find his next adventure.”
Aiden had recruited Johnny Anders and a couple of Johnny’s buddies to round out the team. Now, on any given night, Lou’s had two coolers working the floor. Usually three or four on weekends, depending on when the full moon came around because the crazy seemed to flow like the beer on those days.
The hardest part had been teaching Johnny and the others the difference between a bouncer and a cooler. They kept thinking that their job was to step in once an issue became a problem, which was the job of a bouncer.
Coolers were proactive. They did their best to contain things before they became problems, ensuring the bar stayed busy, if a little on the rambunctious side.
Xan and Aiden had to shadow them the first couple weeks to show them what they were supposed to look for as coolers. Once they got the hang of it, though, there was a lot less broken shit to clean up at the end of the night. Not that a night at Lou’s Riverview was anything close to calm and uneventful, but it was a lot less volatile than before.
And if he could make Kat’s environment a little safer for now, then he was satisfied.
“Same shite, different night, eh mate?” The British-accented voice of Xander crackled through the comm-link in his ear. Aiden had ponied up the cash for those babies, which had been the deal clincher for Lou. So long as his backup could hear him if he needed them, he didn’t care.
Every Friday night was the same. When the people of Alabaster blew off steam from their workweek, the bar became a hotbed for trouble. Emotions ran high, fueled by pitchers of beer and rounds of shots. The entire scene was underscored by the classic rock and country music blaring through the sound system.
“Always is,” he said absently as Kat whooshed by holding a tray of bottlenecks.
Barely turning his head, he followed her with his eyes. The swing of her hips and curve of her ass damn near hypnotized him. Kat made waitressing look like an art form, simultaneously weaving her way through the crowd, delivering trays of drinks, and beating back the locals with her sharp wit and even sharper tongue.
As he moved through the land of the inebriated, he searched for signs of trouble and kept one eye on the spunky redhead. She knew how to handle herself and, unlike the other waitresses, never called on the coolers for help. But that never stopped him from intervening. There was always a bad apple in the bunch that didn’t use the sense God gave him.
If he noticed a potential threat, he’d move in and take care of it before it escalated. If his presence alone wasn’t enough, a well-worded threat against the family jewels usually did the trick. Around these parts, the “family” kind was all they had and they tended to prefer them intact.
The first time he’d run interference for Kat with a less-than-polite customer, she’d stared at him incredulously. He’d only managed to stare back, unable to find his words with those light blue eyes turned on him, before she spun on her heel and stormed off. That happened a few more times: him stepping in, an awkward staring contest, and a silent retreat.
Then, one night after he’d “escorted” a guy out in a chokehold for grabbing her ass, she stalked up to him outside with narrowed eyes and fists planted on slender hips. “I can take care of myself.”
Aiden crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t doubt that.”
“Then knock it off. The other coolers aren’t as meddling as you. Dealing with a certain amount of crap gets me decent tips. You scowling at every customer who looks at me wrong is cutting into my bottom line, buddy.”
Aiden hadn’t considered that the waitresses got tipped better if they let the men flirt or paw at them. He scowled. He didn’t want to hurt her financially, but there was no way he was backing off. “How much would you say you lose every time I interfere?”
She threw her hands in the air, clearly frustrated. “Five, ten, twenty bucks? How the hell should I know?”
He nodded. “Then I’ll give you twenty bucks every time I keep some asshole’s hands off you.”
Her brows drew together and the starch left her spine. “I don’t want your money, Irish.” He liked the way his name sounded on her lips. Or his nickname, anyway. Just like she used an alias, he’d stuck with his old nickname from his fighting days. Xander was the only one there who knew his real name—and his secrets—and he intended to keep it that way.
“Are you listening to me?” she asked. “I want you to back off.”
Like hell he would. “Can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?”
He couldn’t tell her that any more than he could back off like she wanted. Couldn’t tell her that his reason for leaving his home on the South side of Boston for Bumfuck Nowhere had started out as a favor owed to a friend and ended up as something else entirely. That from the moment he saw her, his promise to make sure she was okay for her sister’s peace of mind came second to his own inexplicable need to watch over her. To protect her.
Fighting the urge to pull her into his arms and chase away the ghosts he saw in her eyes, Aiden shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “As long as I’m around, no one touches you without an invitation.” Unable to help himself, he lowered his head and whispered in her ear. “No one.”
She jerked back with a barely audible hitch of breath. A flash of something he couldn’t identify crossed her face, and then she darted back inside. After that, she never spoke to him again other than a quick thank you with her eyes whenever he helped her. Nonverbal communication was fine with him, so he always responded with a look of his own, hoping it said, you’re welcome, and not, Goddamn you’re gorgeous, or, I’d give anything to bury myself in you for a night. Since she hadn’t hauled off and kicked him in the junk yet, he figured he’d done okay so far.
Every day, though, it was getting harder and harder to disguise the heat he suspected simmered in his eyes when he locked sights with her. He couldn’t help it. He liked to think he was a decent guy, but he was far from a damn saint. Her pixie-petite frame and subtle curves were highlighted by her short and tight uniform, and it was all he could do to not mentally undress her.
And then mentally fuck her.
“Irish,” Xan said through the comm-link. “You got sights on the shit brewing over by the billiards?”
“How many times have I told you we call it ‘pool’ on this side of the Pond? You sound like an ass.”
“Right, and you sound so bloody intelligent with your wicked smaht accent, ya feckin’ Southie.”
“Better than being a Yorkie, douchebag.”
Some friends drank beer and hugged. Some beat on punching bags and gave each other shit. Aiden and Xan didn’t hug.
He located the two already in a heated argument, but his phone vibrated on his hip before he even took a step in their direction. Shit. Very few people had his number. Fewer still whom he could blow off. Checking the screen, he swore under his breath at the text.
“Xan, I gotta make a call. Think you can handle this one solo?”
“Look who you’re talking to. Of course I can. I can handle anything.” Xander was known for many things. Modesty wasn’t one of them. “Go take your call, but hurry it up. I want to chat up this lovely bird who keeps shagging me with her eyes.”
“This might shock you,” Aiden replied as he made his way to the back office, “but your sex life isn’t my top priority.”
“Neither is yours. You need to stop fucking around and tell—”
“Shut it, Xan.” Closing the office door behind him muffled most of the noise from the bar. “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”
He turned off his comm-link and pulled it from his ear to dangle over his shoulder. Aiden hated these calls. They reminded him of things he tried to forget. Like the current double life he was leading.
After a couple of rings, a male voice answered. “Hey, O’Brien.”
“How’s it goin’, Jax?”
“It’s been better, man. Between stress from work and planning a wedding, V’s a little more high-strung-OCD than normal. Add in worrying about her little sister, and I’m strongly considering putting an ad in the classifieds for an old priest and a young priest, Exorcist style.”
Aiden grinned and leaned his hips back on the edge of the paper-covered desk. “So you’re hoping an update will help soothe the beast, is that it?”
“I’m willing to try anything at this point, but I figured I’d call you before the newspaper. So what’s going on in Alligator Alley? Tell me you two eloped and are making babies on a beach somewhere.”
“I thought you wanted good news.”
“Are you kidding? That’d be awesome news. Then we’d be brothers through marriage and we could build the first Irish-Hawaiian team in MMA. Just think how cool our banner would be. Our logo could be a pineapple with a shamrock cut out of it.”
Aiden dragged a hand over his face. He’d almost forgotten how exhausting Jax could be. To outsiders, Jax seemed deceptively calm and laid back, but those lucky enough to call him friend knew the guy had boundless energy that he put into three things: fighting, surfing, and his relationship with Kat’s older sister, Vanessa. Beyond that, Jax was the kind of man you could count on when the shit hit the fan.
Which was why Aiden was in his current situation. He owed Jax. A lot.
He didn’t know the specifics of Kat’s situation except that she’d asked Vanessa for help with something major before disappearing from her last known place of residence. They’d hired a PI, who’d managed to locate her in Alabaster, but Vanessa wasn’t convinced she wasn’t still in trouble of some sort. That’s when he’d gotten the call from Jax, asking him to head down to Louisiana for a couple weeks to see what Kat was up to and if she was okay.
But a couple weeks was going on three months of watching out for Kat, whether she liked it or not. He periodically reported in to Jax or Vanessa to maintain the ruse that he’d stayed for them and not for reasons of his own he didn’t care to examine.
Aiden shoved his hand into his jeans pocket. “I wish I could help, but there’s nothin’ new to report here. Same old, same old, you know?”
“Well, I guess that’s better than the alternative of finding out she’s still in trouble,” Jax said. “Listen, I also wanted to tell you that I’m taking V on a cruise tomorrow. We’ll be gone two weeks. She needs to unplug and unwind before she has a total meltdown. I’m concerned for Kat, too, but my first priority is my fiancée and I’m confident you can handle everything out there until we get back.”
Aiden nodded. “She’s been out here for six months without any issues. Odds of anything happening are practically nil, so just worry about your girl. I got things over here.”
“Thanks, man.”
“So the big day’s coming up, isn’t it?”
Jax’s heavy sigh came through the tiny speaker loud and clear. “I’m not sure. She’s already canceled it and changed the date twice. This cruise was actually supposed to be our honeymoon. She keeps pushing the wedding back with excuses about work or not having things ready, but I know better than that.”
“I didn’t peg her for a cold feet kind of girl.”
“It’s not about that, brah. She keeps hoping Kat will answer her calls and agree to come to the ceremony.”
Aiden swore something stabbed him in the chest at hearing that. He was so close with his sisters. He couldn’t imagine not being at their weddings. Colleen was his Irish twin, which meant they had the same birth year. He’d been born in January and she in December. Growing up, she often played the role of “mom” to him and their baby sister, Mary Catherine, when their mother was at one of her two jobs. And outside the house, Aiden protected and looked after his sisters.
They’d forever been the Three Musketeers, them against the world. Or what was their world, anyway. It’d been hard distancing himself from them over the last several years, even though it was for their own good. But if he ever had to completely sever ties, it’d be devastating.
Aiden rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry to hear that, man. Hopefully a few more calls to Kat about wedding stuff will do the trick.”
“I have a better idea. Sweep her off her feet, whisk her to Hawaii, and we’ll have a double wedding. I hear they’re all the rage.”
“Yeah, right. So not happening, brah,” he said, adding a mocking tone to his friend’s Hawaiian term.
“Okay, fine,” Jax said. “Jokes aside, though, man. As far as V knows, Kat has a real bad history with men. I don’t know her, but I know you. You’re a good man, O’Brien. You’d treat her well, and she might even remind you you’re not the piece of shit you think you are. Who knows, you might even fall in love.”
Aiden pushed off the desk and clenched the phone hard enough to do some damage if he kept it up for long. “I can’t have that, Jax. You know that.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said meaningfully.
“Killing my best friend’s sister doesn’t exactly make me the lovable type.”
“Everyone deserves to be loved, O’Brien. Even you. You’re just too lost in the past to realize it.”
Unable to get past the tightness in his throat to say anything else, Aiden disconnected the call. He couldn’t deal with the shit in his head trying to get out right now. It was almost closing time. He needed to focus on getting through the rest of the night, and then he’d go home and work out till he passed out or at least became too tired to think. Total physical and mental exhaustion was his only option for self-medicating anymore.
As he entered the main area of the bar, he saw Kat arguing with a customer. Pushing his way through the crowd, Aiden approached the four men in the booth, placing himself between the mouthy one and Kat. The table quieted as he planted his feet and crossed his arms.
Pinning the drunk with nothing more than a hard stare, he directed his question to Kat. “What’s the problem?”
“He’s just arguing over his tab,” she said. “It doesn’t require your services, Irish.”
Aiden nearly smirked. She was so proud, this one. He liked that about her, though, and she was right. She could take care of a squabble over a bill. Giving her a quick nod of acknowledgment, he moved out of her way but stayed within earshot.
“Speaking of servicesss,” the man slurred, “what do you charge for your serviccces?”
Kat shook her head and made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Come on now, Karl. Didn’t your mama raise you to never ask a lady about her business unless she offers first?”
“My mama run off when I was little, but my daddy taught me plenty on what to do with da ladies.” The group of men erupted in laughter and elbowed one another in the ribs.
“I’ll just bet,” she said. “Look, why don’t you pay for the seven rounds you and I both know you ordered, and I’ll get you one last round on the house.”
Karl narrowed his eyes, a sneer twisting his lips, and leaned in. “I tell you whut. I’ll pay for the sixrounds I know I ordered, and instead of a free round, you can show us your titties.”
Aiden’s body shot bowstring tight. In one stride, he reached the booth, yanked the bastard out by the front of his shirt, and held him so his toes barely scraped the floor.
The man literally trembled. His eyes were so wide he looked prepped for eye surgery and his head was drawn back so far on his neck it looked cartoonish. Aiden had at least twenty pounds of muscle and almost half a foot on the guy. Not to mention the ability to break him in dozens of different ways if the notion happened to strike.
“Say that again, asshole,” Aiden growled. “I fucking dare you.”
“I was just jokin’, man, I swear!”
“Irish, I can—”
“I got this, Syd. Go back to work,” he said as evenly as possible. The rage bubbled dangerously close to the surface. The last thing he wanted to do was deflect any of that onto her, but thanks to dipshit Karl, he was hanging onto his control by a thread.
With a disgusted sigh, she whipped the towel down from her shoulder and strode toward the bar. He waited to make sure she wasn’t obeying her stubborn Scottish streak that no doubt wanted her to come back and stand her ground. Then he took the folded cash he saw in the guy’s front shirt pocket. Aiden set the man down, glanced at the amount scrawled on the paper tab, and thumbed through the bills—mostly crumpled singles with a few fives.
“You’re still seven dollars short,” Aiden said. “Any of your friends want to pony up the rest and the lady’s tip?”
The three other men voiced a chorus of, “Karl said he was payin’,” and, “I ain’t got nothin’ on me.” Aiden kept the money and the tab. Jabbing a hard finger into Karl’s chest, Aiden loomed over him to get his point across.
“You’re done for the night, Karl. The next time you come here you’re gonna remember two things: one, you bring enough money to cover your bill and leave a generous tip for whichever waitress busts her ass to bring you your beer, and two, you will treat the waitresses with the respect they deserve. Got it?”
Karl nodded with so much enthusiasm he looked like a bobblehead on speed.
“Good,” Aiden said. “Now go home.”
The man and his small posse didn’t waste any time following orders, and that was one more problem solved for the night.
Aiden put in the last bit missing so it wouldn’t come out of Kat’s wages, then gave the money and the bill to the bartender for settling. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kat walk down the hall toward the back office and the employee bathroom. He grabbed another bill from his wallet and followed her.
“Sydney.”
She turned her head just before entering the bathroom. Aiden walked over and stood next to her, unable to say anything. It was always like this for him. Whenever he helped her out on the floor, he had no problems speaking. He might be a man of few words, but that didn’t mean he didn’t say everything he needed to get his point across.
But when he was alone with Kat, he couldn’t get a damn thing out. He was afraid his “Hey, how was your weekend?” would end up as something entirely different. That opening his mouth to say anything would let out all the things he couldn’t let himself say.
You’re all I fucking think about. I wanna feel your body against mine and wrap your legs around my waist. Feel what it’s like to have your pussy squeeze my cock as you come and breathe you in until you’re the only thing inside me.
So instead of taking the risk, Aiden simply held out the twenty dollar bill between them until she accepted it. Reluctantly, as always.
Holding up the bill, she said, “I told you to stop this.”
“I know.”
Forcing himself to turn around, he retraced his steps toward the bar.
“Irish.” He stopped just before entering the main room and looked back over his shoulder. Her face softened, the lines around her blue-green eyes gone. “Thank you,” she said. “For what you did in there.”
Aiden nodded and continued out to the bar area. Winding his way through the crowd, he couldn’t help but hear Jax’s parting words echoing in his head.
Everyone deserves to be loved. Even you.
Jax was wrong, though. As far as Aiden was concerned, he’d lost that right on the rainy streets of Boston five long years ago. The night he’d ended Janey’s life.
Chapter Two
Kat’s shitty night just got worse.
They’d found her.
Two states, six months, and a fake name since her previous encounter with them, and they’d still managed to find her. How didn’t matter. It was why that clawed her insides all to hell.
The paper placemat sporting beer stains and a hastily scrawled note shook in her trembling hands. Chancing a quick glance around the barely lit employee parking lot behind Lou’s Riverview, she stared at the words again, praying she’d read them wrong.
Time to pay up!
We got eyes on you & ears with the pigs.
You got 48 hrs.
Nope. She’d read them right the first time. Roughly translated, it said Antony Sicoli wanted his money in the next two days, or she could look forward to another up-close-and-personal tour of the local ER. Or the morgue.
It also told her she was being watched, and Sicoli had already managed to compromise at least one of Alabaster, Louisiana’s finest.
In other words, Kat MacGregor was totally, and utterly, screwed.
Fighting to keep the acid in her stomach where it belonged, she cursed herself six ways to Sunday. She should have known better. She should have dyed her strawberry hair an inky black, maybe hacked off a good twelve inches so it fell to her chin. Should have covered her freckles with caked-on makeup like the other lost souls working at Lou’s for shitty tips and lewd comments.
Waitressing at that rundown joint in the cane breaks of Alabaster was the exact opposite of a “dream job.” But Lou paid under the table and didn’t ask any questions, so for someone on the lam like herself, it qualified as the “perfect job.”
Digging through her purse, she desperately searched for the keys to her shit-brown 1984 Chevy Celebrity, needing to feel the modicum of safety its rusting frame would offer. It might be a piece of crap, but it was the only thing constant in her life from when she left home at the age of seventeen.
Well, that and Lenny.
Fucking Lenny. She’d known he wasn’t going to amount to anything when they were dating her junior year in high school, but it hadn’t mattered. He had the Celebrity and was willing to take her far away from her house and the shit that went on inside those four walls. So what if his idea of a job was gambling while she worked random waitressing gigs to make sure they had enough to scrape by? Frustrating, but certainly not the worst scenario she could imagine.
However, the situation they’d barely escaped in Nashville half a year ago had gone from merely frustrating to life-threatening. Lenny screwed up bad when he got himself twenty grand into debt to the biggest crime boss in Tennessee. Hell, Sicoli was probably the only crime boss in Tennessee, and Lenny had still managed to get mixed up with him, of all people.
They’d gotten the hell out of Nashville after Sicoli’s guys gave Lenny a reality check message—’cause nothing says “pay up or else” like putting a guy’s girl in the hospital with a few cracked ribs, a concussion, and a swollen face to rival the final scene in a Rocky movie—and ended up in the Podunk town of Alabaster.
Kat scoffed as she shook the contents of her purse, hoping her keys would rise to the top. What a total misnomer. The person who named this town had either been hopeful for its future or completely blind. There wasn’t anything white or translucent about the place, but rather a palette of greens and browns in the muddy water swamplands of the Mississippi.
But even as shitty as it was, Alabaster had proved to be decent as far as a place to lay low. That was until last month when Lenny got arrested for “possession with intent to sell” a fairly large stash of crystal meth. Crystal meth! When she’d finally gotten him to agree to stop gambling, she never thought in a million years he’d get into selling drugs. Not that she’d expected him to get an upstanding job this side of the law—after all, that’s why he kept her around—but drugs?
Either way, it didn’t matter. By getting arrested, Lenny had indirectly done her a favor. Living on her own for the first time made her realize she could stand on her own two feet. Her entire life she’d depended on someone else to take care of things. But not anymore.
Since he’d started his stint at Elayn Hunt Correctional Center, Kat decided to save every penny she could and leave town—and Lenny—before he got out of prison.
And she’d foolishly thought things were going well. For the first time in ten years, she’d enjoyed her freedom, the chance to live without worrying about what sort of crap Lenny was up to. But now, ironically, the EHCC might as well be a safe house for him while she was stuck out here in the real world with guys who wanted something she couldn’t deliver.
Fucking beautiful.
Finally, she felt her keys and pulled them out, only to fumble them in her shaking hands and drop them in the dirt and shadows at her feet. Cursing, she bent down to retrieve them when she heard a loud shuffling sound several yards behind her. Her heart raced and the air whooshed out of her lungs at the thought of actually facing Sicoli’s thugs, until she heard the drunken rendition of an Alan Jackson song that accompanied the footsteps. Kat was fairly sure no self-respecting mob muscle would approach a target so carelessly. Or so out of tune.
Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her keys, stood up, and turned to face Rick, one of the triple-regulars at Lou’s. Meaning he was regularly there, regularly drunk, and regularly an asshole.
“Hey dere, Syd the Sexy. You been waitin’ on me?” he asked, bracing himself with one arm on the Celebrity.
Having to answer to an alias was bad enough. Rick turning it into a ridiculous nickname was even worse. Considering she’d just worked a double, she was tired, her feet ached, and the muscles in her upper back burned from strain. And that was all before she’d found the cheerful note on her windshield. So dealing with his shit now was almost more than she could handle.
“Fuck off, Mullineaux, I’m not in the mood. Go sober up in your truck. Which is in the front parking lot, by the way.” Then, hoping he’d take the hint, she turned away from him to unlock her door.
“Dere’s no need to be so damn rude, missy,” he spat out, his bayou accent thick and slurred. “You tink yer so much bedda dan de rest uh dem sluts dat work fer Lou, but you ain’t.”
His words crawled over her skin like a thousand spiders. She slipped her keys between her fingers and made a fist, creating the self-defense move she’d named after one of her favorite Marvel characters: the Wolverine. Not for the first time—not even for the hundredth—she wished she had actual superpowers. Then she wouldn’t have any problems dealing with scum like Rick Mullineaux.
Forcing herself to face the threat, she braced herself and said, “Go home, Rick. I’m not looking for trouble with you or anyone else. I just want to work my shifts and be left alone.”
“Dat’s just too damn bad, isn’t it? I don’ particularly want to leave you alone.”
He stepped in, crowding her back against the door. Before he could lay a hand on her, she reacted, slashing the keys down his cheek, leaving bloody scratches in their wake.
“You bitch!”
Shoving him as hard as she could, Kat spun around and grabbed for her door handle.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t thought her escape through. She’d pushed him with enough force to send him backward…where he bounced back from the truck parked next to her and pinned her between his beer gut and the Celebrity, his hands brutally gripping her hips.
Instantly, the nightmares she’d kept locked away for years flooded her memory and her old defense system took over. She could feel herself checking out, slipping into that dark void in her mind where nothing existed. Nothing bad and nothing good.
Just…nothing.
He’d be able to do whatever he wanted now. Her attempts at protecting herself ended the moment he touched her.
So while her sanity waited in the void, her body would play possum. All that was left was to hope that when the bigger animal was done toying with her, there’d still be enough left of her to drag home afterward.
…
Aiden pushed through the heavy steel door in the back of Lou’s as he lit the cigarette already pinched between his lips. The stifling August heat smacked him right in the face and the humidity was so thick his lungs felt like they took on fluid with every breath. He actually preferred the carcinogenic smoke circulating in his lungs to the swamp water–filled air.
He’d lived in Boston all thirty-two years of his life and hated winter every time it came around. But he was starting to appreciate the idea of a snowstorm over Louisiana’s suffocating summer. Though, he supposed when combined with not having to look his past in the face every damn day, even a hellhole like Alabaster was a step up.
He took a long drag of the cigarette and watched the cherry burn brighter in the dark as it ate its way through the tobacco and paper. It was times like this when he wished he could unwind from the long night with a cold beer. But not a drop of alcohol had passed his lips in five long years, and that’s the way it would stay.
Fridays were always the hardest. Aiden and the other coolers definitely earned their paychecks those nights. He’d had to prevent four fights tonight and that wasn’t including whatever Xander’s count had been.
But, he reminded himself, any night he didn’t have to use his fists was a win in his book. Along with Aiden’s “no drinking” policy had come his equally strict “no fighting” policy. No easy feat for an Irish Southie with a temper, who used to earn his living as a professional MMA fighter.
As he exhaled a stream of white smoke, he heard the mumbling sounds of a conversation coming from the back of the dirt lot. The dim floodlight over the back of the door barely illuminated the scene. He couldn’t make out much more than shadow figures, but one was definitely a female, and judging from the sloppy movements of the slouching silhouette, the other a drunken patron.
Aiden knew some of the waitresses did more than just get some of the customers their drinks. Though he wasn’t fond of the idea, he stayed out of their business, just like they stayed out of his. It was the unspoken law of Lou’s Riverview.
Having no desire to witness anything he might need bleach to wash his eyes out with later, Aiden dropped his cigarette and turned to head back into the bar. Just as his hand grasped the handle, he heard the man shout in anger, followed by the sound of a scuffle, stopping him cold.
He ran toward the couple, counting his strides along the way to remind himself to keep his temper in check. When he got close enough to be sure of what was happening, he clenched his fists so hard his knuckles cracked. Then, when he realized it was happening to Kat, Aiden damn near exploded with rage. His instincts fired commands to his muscles to Superman-punch the asshole into next week, but his brain managed to rein him in just before he lost control.
Instead, he grabbed the guy by his neck, yanked him back, and roared as he sent him flying a good six feet to land in a misshapen heap with a loud thud.
“Goddamn Mullineaux,” he ground out through his teeth. Aiden crossed to crouch by the unmoving hillbilly and felt for a pulse. He was almost disappointed when it came through nice and strong. After moving the guy to the edge of the parking lot to sleep it off, he left to go check on Kat.
She was still pressed up against the side of her car. She hadn’t even turned her head to see what had gone down or where her attacker had disappeared. He looked her up and down, trying to see if the bastard had hurt her in any way. Her standard-issue short black skirt was still in place, but the fitted white T-shirt had been pulled from her waistband.
His gut churned at the thought of anyone, especially Mullineaux, pawing at her like a piece of meat. Physically, she had the look of young innocence and natural beauty, which put her at odds with her surroundings. But her eyes told a much different story. They clearly showed she was haunted by her past, and in that respect, she fit right in with the rest of life’s misfits who found themselves at Lou’s.
“Sydney?” He hated using her fake name, but as far as she was concerned, he was just another work acquaintance who barely knew her, and that’s how it needed to stay. “He’s gone now. It’s okay.”
Nothing.
Shit.
She was shaking. She reminded him of the time he and Mary Catherine had found a tiny kitten hiding in a corner behind their school. It had curled itself into a quaking little fur ball, hiding its face like if it couldn’t see the threat, it wouldn’t be real. He remembered how Mary Catherine had crouched in that corner, petting and whispering to the tiny thing until it finally felt safe enough to come out.
Aiden had never been the logical and reassuring type. He’d been more of a barely contained powder keg. It had served him well in his professional fights, but outside the cage he’d always punched first and asked questions later. Eventually, it ruined his life and the lives of those he loved.
Since then, he’d been trying his best to be the exact opposite. He’d managed to keep his temper locked down, and now he hoped he didn’t totally fuck up the calm and gentle thing.
Channeling Mary Catherine with the kitten, Aiden eased up behind her, hoping to coax her out of her metaphorical corner. Hesitantly, he reached out to stroke the length of her back. As soon as his palm flattened between her shoulder blades, she gasped as though breaking through the surface of the Boston harbor in February.
She spun around and hissed. “Don’t touch me.”
Seeing her now, with her back plastered against the car and her eyes wide with fear, Aiden wanted to crush Mullineaux’s windpipe with his bare hands something fierce. It had been years since he felt the urge to pull a woman into his arms for reasons other than satisfying the basest of sexual needs, but in the past several months, he found himself wanting to just hold Kat and offer her comfort for whatever she might need.
Now was no exception. But he couldn’t give in to the urge for multiple reasons, not the least of which was his refusal to get too close to her.
So instead, he held his hands up with palms facing out and prayed the talking part of Mary Catherine’s method worked better than the petting had.
…
“I’m not gonna hurt you, I swear.”
The deep voice slid into Kat’s ears and brought the world around her into focus once more.
Ahm naht gonna huhrt you, I swea-uh.
The Bostonian accent registered in her brain as belonging to only one man. A man who, despite his reserved personality, always seemed to be at her side whenever a customer got grabby or even too bitchy—whether she wanted him to be there or not.
A man whose blue eyes could make her feel naked and protected all at the same time from a single glance across a crowded bar.
“Irish?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Relief started in her toes and worked its way up her body, reawakening her nerves and chasing away the subconscious paralysis she hated more than anything. She started feeling somewhat normal…until she noticed Rick sprawled on the ground behind Irish, and her pulse spiked again.
“Hey, don’t worry about him.” Irish stepped to the side, his palms still held out in a nonthreatening gesture, and blocked her view. He pointed two fingers at his own eyes and said, “Stay right here with me, kitten.”
Stay with him? What did he mean by that? Before she could do something stupid like swoon over what was most likely a meaningless phrase, the last part registered in her brain.
“Kitten?” Oh, no. Had he discovered her real name? Was this his way of letting her know? Then a thought crossed her mind that made her blood run cold. Maybe he’s one of Sicoli’s men. “Why would you call me that?”
The right corner of his mouth curled up. “What, are you kidding? One minute you’re cowering in the corner, the next, hissing and scratching.” He shrugged one heavily muscled shoulder. “Sorry, it just slipped out. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Kat relaxed a few degrees again and offered a weak smile. “That’s okay. It’s better than Sydney anyway,” she muttered.
He slowly dropped his hands to his sides and took a small step forward. “You don’t like your name?”
Dropping her chin to her chest, she said honestly, “I hate that name.” Not that it wasn’t a nice name, but since she was forced to answer to it instead of her own, it put a bad taste in her mouth.
Because she was looking at the ground, she saw his hand coming and didn’t startle when she felt a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. Less than a foot separated them, and at this proximity she was reminded of just how massive he was. Broad shoulders and a thick chest tapered to a narrow waist somewhere way below her line of sight. He towered over her five-foot-seven-inches frame and the bad lighting off to their side made his features all harsh lines and hollowed shadows.
“You got a last name, then?”
She arched a single brow. “Do you, Irish?”
Of course, she knew he did. Everyone had a last name. It was more a question of whether or not they chose to use it, and around here, a lot of people went the way of Madonna and Cher.
A slight twist up at the corner of his lips. “Guess I’ll stick with ‘kitten,’ then.”
Kat tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. The idea of any man using an affectionate name with her—especially the man whose deep, raspy voice gave her goose bumps every time he spoke—was so foreign that a short, nervous laugh burst out before she could bite it back.
He canted his head slightly and raised a curious eyebrow at her reaction. Clearing her throat, she tried to sound aloof. “Whatever trips your trigger.”
“You wanna come in for a drink and let your nerves settle for a bit?”
Suddenly, she remembered about the eyes and ears and thugs and money. All she wanted to do was get to her shitty apartment, down a few glasses of Jack Daniel’s from Lenny’s abundant supply, and sink into an inebriated oblivion where reality ceased to exist.
Her eyes darted around the back lot, searching the corners cloaked in pitch for any signs of lurking figures with watchful eyes.
“Uh, n-no, I gotta get home,” she stammered as she finally opened the car door and sat behind the wheel.
He gripped the doorframe, preventing her from pulling it closed behind her. “You sure you’re okay?”
Using a lifetime of feigning things she didn’t feel, she pulled up the corners of her lips and showed her teeth. “Absolutely.”
“Wait, I think you dropped something.” She looked over just in time to see him squat down and retrieve the crumpled placemat from the ground. “This yours?”
Her stomach sank as he opened it up. “Nope, not mine. Thanks again, Irish.”
She didn’t wait for his response, just slammed the door, started her car, and got the hell out of there.
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