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Chapter 1
Valentina
Ipush open the door of Bloody Strike expecting a quaint little Irish pub, and instead find six shirtless, sweaty men staring at me, while two more try to pummel each other to death in a boxing ring.
The only sounds are the patter of feet on the hard mat and the grunts of the fighters. There’s a long bar on my left which is where all the guys are posted up, and half of them are looking right at me like I don’t belong.
And they’re right, I definitely don’t.
The boxing ring is set up in the middle of the wide-open space with seats and tables scattered all around, almost like it’s the main entertainment. But everyone inside this place looks like they belong to some kind of fight club meets gym situation, and I feel incredibly out of my element.
But I’m here for a reason, and if I weren’t so absolutely, pathetically desperate, I’d turn around and get the hell out.
Instead, I march to the bar and take a seat at the corner stool, and it’s like the guys decide to forget about my existence.
Low, murmured conversations restart, adding a nice soundtrack over the pained snorts of two beefy Irishmen trying to turn each other into meat paste with their fists.
The bartender brings me a glass of wine after I flag him down and leaves me alone after that. I drink it in a few gulps, just to give myself a little extra courage, which doesn’t really help.
This is a new low, even for me, a girl very used to lows.
But I’m in a bad spot and I really, really need to make this work.
I spent the last week coming up with this plan, mostly because I ran out of milk.
No big deal, I could buy some more, except my bank account is near zero and I don’t have a job. Since I grew up a spoiled mafia princess, only for my father to get murdered, I now realize I don’t exactly have a whole lot of employment prospects. I was working for my former best friend Marco for a while, except he’s a traitor and a piece of trash, so that’s over with.
Now here I am, no milk, no cereal, nothing in my pantry to speak of, unable to afford coffee or shampoo, and just about on my landlord’s last nerve. Which means if this doesn’t pan out, I’m going to be homeless.
I hear it’s not easy to get a job while living on the streets. Something about a permanent address? I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.
One of the shirtless guys pulls himself from the group and sidles over to me. He’s tall, white skin, tattoos on his chest and arms, mostly tribal stuff alongside the ubiquitous Celtic cross motif over his heart. He’s got a square jaw and tousled black hair. Ripped, athletic, and not too bad looking, all things considered.He leans against the bar next to me, tossing a very confident smile in my direction.
“The boys and I took bets. Half of them think you’re lost, and the other half think you’re here to find a date.” His eyebrows raise and his smile gets bigger. “I said you’re too pretty to be a hooker and much too smart to be lost. So, what are you doing here?”
I stare at the guy, not really happy about being compared to a prostitute, but he’s got me at a disadvantage considering he’s six-foot-two and I’m basically a foot shorter than him.
“I’m looking for Ronan,” I tell him, practically spitting the words from between my teeth, because this is obscenely distasteful.
His smile falters. “What do you need with my cousin?”
“Cousin?” I lean a little closer and run my finger down my glass. “Which one are you?”
“Niall.” His smile’s totally missing now. “What do you need with Ronan?”
“Tell him Valentina Santoro’s here.”
Niall stares at me. His eyes drift from my dark hair to my tan skin and linger on my mouth, which he seems to like,gross, before finally turning toward the boxing ring.
“Tell him yourself. He’s almost done.”
That’s when I follow his gaze and get a good look at the fighters.
One’s ripped like he lives in the gym. Muscles sprout from muscles. It’s almost absurd, except he’s got a square jaw and a shaved head, and his punches look like they’d break concrete.
And the other one’s Ronan.
He’s big too. I’ll give him that. He moves quick enough to evade the worst of his opponent’s blows, and he strikes back hard and viciously. There’s no ref and the two fighters seem hell-bent on murdering each other. I’m pretty sure one of them would be dead if they weren’t wearing mouthguards and gloves. Both their noses are bloodied and Ronan’s got a swollen cheek, but despite his massive opponent, he keeps pushing aggressively and going on the offensive.
