Chapter 2

I was relieved to find that my bar, The Golden Harp, was open late. The place was a downright after-hours dive, and I was more than happy to avail myself to the seemingly endless supply of gin. I occupied a stool at the far end of the bar, my hands resting on the gleaming mahogany, my chin resting on my hands.

“Want me to call you a cab, sweetheart?” Lindsay, the bartender, asked. She wiped down the bar on either side of my arms and reached forward to smooth the hair off of my forehead. I peered up at her, bleary-eyed but awake, and shook my head.

“No,” I muttered, “thanks. Just another gin martini, please.”

“You got it.” I watched her move with smooth celerity behind the bar, totally in tune with where every glass, bottle, and garnish were located. Lindsay was cute, slim, blond and perky, even at 3 in the morning, which was apparently how late I’d allowed it to become. She peered at me over the rim of her glasses as she slid my martini toward me. “You just let me know when you want to get home, and I’ll have a car here for you in no time.”

“You’re the loveliest,” I said.

“You’re the drunkest,” came her smiling reply.

I managed to lift my head and take a sip from my martini glass, the world tilt-shifting until it came into complete focus. For a few moments, I had managed to forget that my father had just died; for a few blissful, splendid moments, I had forgotten the look on my bereaved mother’s face. But then it all came flooding back, and it hit me hard, over and over, until the only thing I could think to do about it was drink more gin.

Lucas had helped my mother up the stairs and into bed. She had fallen asleep with ease, clearly exhausted from spending the last two nights at my father’s bedside, but I sat with her a while and watched her toss and turn and knew that she would not wake up feeling rested.

Then, we had both looked in on Jamie, who slept blissfully unaware of what was going on around him, and I thought it would be fine to leave him with my mother for a few hours, just a few, while I treated myself to a drink or four.

Lucas had driven me to the bar, deposited me in the seat I had occupied all night, and disappeared into the back room. He’d collected all of the lingering members of the Iron Banshees, which served to clear the bar out all but entirely. Which suited me just fine, because it meant that the bartender could pay full attention to me and make sure my glass was never empty. And she helped me forget for a few minutes at a time—we spent the evening chatting about innocuous things like who did her hair, and where she grew up, what she wanted to do besides tend bar, and with whom she was sleeping. I told her precious little about my current circumstances, mentioning only that Lucas Whalen, yes, was the father of my son, and that apparently was all the information she needed not to charge me a dime for the copious amounts of gin I helped myself to. I even told her my name was on the deed, but she said she’d never seen the deed, so it didn’t matter.

And this is why I had stayed away from Hollybrook, had disentangled myself from the goings-on of the Iron Banshees. Because to live here, to be a part of this life, meant spending an inordinate amount of time in some shitty bar off of some shitty highway, drinking well gin and grieving the latest tragedy. But this time it was too much; this time it hit far too close to home. My father was dead, and this town and its godforsaken MC had killed him.

“Hey there, Doc.”

I hadn’t noticed Oliver approach, hadn’t realized he was here at all, until he spoke. I turned slowly and tried to lock my gaze on his face, but he was slightly out of focus.

“Ah. Mister Flynn, is it?” I said and offered what I hoped to be a charming smile, and not some terrifying joker’s grin.

“Oliver. Mr. Flynn was my father.” He slid onto the stool next to mine and curled his thick fingers around the stem of my martini glass. “Gin?”

“Yep.”

“Fantastic.” And in a gesture of surprising intimacy, he drank down the contents of the glass in two huge gulps.

“Hey,” I began to protest, but Lindsay already had another glass in front of me. I sipped from it: water. Boo. But it tasted sweet and crisp, and I liked how it felt sliding down my throat. “Did you have your other fight tonight?” I asked, turning on the stool to face him.

“I did.”

“How’d you do?”

“How does it look like I did?” I leaned forward and examined his face, which was largely in the same shape it had been in earlier, when I’d patched a deep laceration over his eye. I was proud to see that the stitches had held. For his part, Oliver was looking no worse for the wear. I nodded.

“Looks like you did pretty well.”

“I pummeled the poor son of a bitch.”

“Bravo?”

He bounced his broad shoulders in a shrug. “I’m not exactly doing it by choice, am I?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said.

“I thought Lucas would’ve mentioned, maybe. You two seem…close.”

And I don’t know what it was that made me conceal the true nature of my relationship with Lucas. But for whatever reason, I looked up at Oliver and said, “We used to be. Not anymore.”

He nodded and glanced over at Lindsay, who was engrossed in a call on her cell phone. Noting her distraction, Oliver reached over the bar and snagged a couple of beers. He popped them open on the side of the bar and placed one in front of me. “Not as harsh as gin, not as boring as water.” He flashed a dimpled smile at me, and I found myself grinning back.

“Cheers,” I said, clinking the neck of my beer bottle against his.

“Cheers,” he echoed, taking a swig. “So, what on God’s green earth are you doing here so bloody late?”

And it all came flooding back, in that instant, the crushing weight of my reality. I parted my lips to give some cursory explanation, but all at once, my face deflated into tears. I felt his warm, steady palm land on my shoulder and give it a companionable squeeze. And when I’d managed to get some semblance of a handle on my weeping, I looked up at him and he smiled, unfazed.

“Not to worry, Doc,” he murmured, “nobody brings anything small into a bar in this town.” I wiped at my cheeks with the back of my hand and leaned into the comfort of his touch.

“I’m not a doctor,” I muttered, plucking a cocktail napkin off the bar and blowing my nose into it.

“Hm?”

“I said, I’m not a doctor.” I wadded the napkin up and stuck it in the empty martini glass. “I’m a nurse. Well, technically I’m not even that, yet. I’m still in school.”

“Christ, I’m glad you didn’t tell me that before you sewed me up,” He said, grinning, “But you had me fooled. You’re a natural.”

“Really?” He bobbed his head in a nod, and I couldn’t help but mirror his broad, warm smile.

“One time, when I was a lad,” he said, leaning close to me, “I was visiting family in County Cork. I must’ve been, oh…six, seven, maybe. But I was a wild thing, and my cousins were no different, so we could find all manner of shenanigans to get up to, and this one afternoon, we were playing King of the Hill, right? Except instead of a hill, it was a fence, and an old one, at that. Long story short, I was king of the fence, until my cousin Robbie threw a rock at me and knocked me off.”

“Whoa, your cousin threw a rock at you?”

“Aye, hit me in the face, right here,” he pointed then to a small, jagged scar underneath his left eye. I would have noticed it before—but it was probably obscured by the blood of the new wound. “So I’m bleeding from the face, where the rock hit me, and bleeding from the back where I hit my head on a tree root when I hit the ground, and I’m all manner of groggy and aching. And my auntie takes me to the local physician, and this man, I swear, is stinking drunk as he stitches me up. This a board-certified doctor, apparently. You did a better job than he did, is all I’m sayin’.”

“I appreciate that.”

The back door opened with a bang, and a string of Iron Banshees traipsed through the bar, single file, all bearing similar expressions of grim determination. I watched them file through absently and could hear the purr and hum of motorcycle engines when after they’d exited out the front. Lucas was the last to move through the bar, and he paused by me and Oliver.

“I thought you would’ve taken a cab home by now,” he said, leaning in between me and Oliver.

“I’m not finished drinking.”

“Yes, you are.” He turned, then, and locked his eyes on my companion. “Make sure she gets home safe.”

“I can take care of myself,” I protested, but the look Lucas shot me shut me up right quick.

“No, you can’t.”

“Don’t worry,” Oliver said, placing a proprietary hand on my knee, “I’ll make sure she gets home safely.” Lucas saw him put his hand on me, and I saw something shift behind his eyes, something small, nuanced, but pronounced. He leaned in, perhaps he’d meant to plant a kiss on my mouth, but I turned my head, and he caught my cheek instead. He examined me a moment, but ultimately pulled away and exited the bar without another word. I could hear his bike as he peeled out onto the road—apparently, he was leaving his truck here—and felt myself relax when I was sure he’d gone. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that Oliver still had his hand on my knee.

“We should probably get going,” I said, allowing my eyes to rove over the scenery of his body. If I just focused on him, maybe I could keep everything else at bay. And, by God, he was a beautiful distraction.

“Sure,” he said, and rose to his feet. I fished a twenty-dollar bill out of my wallet and left it on the counter for Lindsay and snatched my purse from where it hung on a hook beneath the bar. “Where do you live?” He asked, as he followed me out of the dive and into the night.

“About ten minutes from here,” I said. “But I don’t want to go home.”

“I thought you said—”

“I want to go to your house.”

He looked at me appraisingly for a long stretch of silence, before he gave one sharp nod of his head and led me over to his car. I stumbled only once, catching the heel of my boot on a loose rock, but he caught me by the elbow and held onto me all the way to his 1967 Camaro. I peered curiously up at him as he opened the door for me and deposited me inside, and I admired how clean the old car’s interior was: everything was in pristine condition, from the vinyl seats to the dustless dash.

He climbed in beside me, the engine roared to life, and we were on our way. We drove in companionable silence, and the dips and turns lulled me into a sort of dream state where I wasn’t entirely asleep, and I wasn’t entirely awake. When he finally pulled the car to a stop and killed the engine, it was outside of a series of pretty little row houses with red brick faces and green shingles and shutters, friendly looking houses. He came around the car again and opened the door for me, gripping my hands and hoisting me to my feet.

“This way,” he said, not letting go of my hand, but tugging me gently along behind him. He paused and watched carefully to make sure I could scale the steps, before he opened his front door and let me inside.

The apartment was small and took up the first floor of one of the row houses. It boasted a kitchenette, bathroom and a living space that doubled as a bedroom. His bed was partially obscured by an accordion partition made of bamboo, and I could see that his home was kept with the same neat care as his car. Spare, but cozy, the apartment looked like how a realtor might set it up if they were trying to sell it.

“So, can I…get you anything?” he asked, lingering in the doorway as I roamed around the expanse of his living quarters.

“No, thanks,” I said, and kicked off my boots. I’m not sure what it was, exactly, that made me so bold. Perhaps all the gin. “I think I just want to sleep.”

“Sure,” he said, and I unbuttoned my jeans and shimmied out of them, completely unselfconscious. “Ah,” he said, holding up a hand, “why don’t you take the bed?”

“Thanks,” I muttered, feeling a tug between being disappointed that I wouldn’t be sleeping with his warm, solid form next to mine, and the utter exhaustion that was overwhelming me as I climbed between his sheets. My head barely had a chance to hit the pillow before I’d fallen entirely asleep.

~ * ~

I woke up in the first light of morning with a groan of discomfort, just as the rising sun began to peek in through the venetian blinds, sending graceful shafts of broken light onto the hardwood floor. My head was throbbing, and I swung my feet over the side of the bed and stumbled toward the kitchen, whereupon I helped myself to two full glasses of water.

On my way back to bed, I was snagged by the sight of Oliver, asleep on his back on the plush microfiber sofa, one arm slung over his eyes. His well-defined chest rose up and down with the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his boxers were the only thing that separated him from total exposure to the cool night air.

I was drawn to him in a sort of inexplicable way, this near stranger who had invited me into his home to sleep, away from the stress of my crumbling family life, and I felt safe. I moved toward him and, placing one knee on either side of his hips, climbed on top of him and rested my cheek against his chest. He was warm and sturdy and he stirred slightly in his sleep as he shifted to make room for me. His arms came down to envelop me, and he hugged me close. We stayed that way for a long while before I turned my face and pressed a series of fluttering kisses to the smooth skin of his chest. I lingered over his nipple, flicking it gently with my tongue, a move that elicited a soft little moan from his partially parted lips. I could feel him rising to alertness between my legs, and I pressed my pelvis down against his developing hardness. In response he slid his hands down along the slop of my back and onto the curve of my ass where he gripped the flesh there, turning to kiss the top of my head.

“Harper,” he whispered, and I sat up on top of him and tugged my tee shirt off over my head.

“Shh,” was my only response.

He reached up to cup one of my exposed breasts and I began to rock my hips back and forth, grinding myself against him. I bent forward so that he could take my nipple in his mouth, and he sucked it gently even as he reached around to slide his fingers into my panties. Tugging them aside, he brushed the sensitive skin of my vulva until he pushed a finger inside of me.

We kissed, then, like two magnets coming together, our tongues meeting, darting hungrily back and forth. He drew his finger out of me so that he might free his rock-hard cock from the confines of his boxers, and I could feel head of it pressing against my opening.

“Is this ok?” He asked in a throaty growl.

“Yes,” I said, “Yes.”

He began to gently thrust into me, working his cock into my pussy one inch at a time until I sat up and took the full length of him. I placed my hands flat on his chest and began to rock my hips back and forth, riding him. I tossed my head back and lost myself to the sensation of the head of his cock rubbing my G-Spot, edging me closer and closer to climax. After a few moments, I leaned forward so my breasts pressed against him. “I can barely take it,” I said, breathlessly, and he wrapped his arms around me and sat up.

He rose, then, to his feet, his prick still inside of me, and my full weight in his arms. I wrapped my legs around him as he carried me over to the bed, like I weighed nothing at all, and laid me gently on the mattress. He reached down and slid his hands under my ass, elevating me slightly so that he could plunge himself as deeply as possible into my sex, and my legs hung limply over his arms as he fucked me. I groaned and arched my back, my erect nipples begging for attention. He shifted slightly, and obliged, bending forward to take one between his teeth. A tender little bite was enough to elicit a small shriek from me, and I opened my eyes to see him grin devilishly down at me. My lips parted, surprised by how much I enjoyed that little bit of pain. “Again,” I said, and he leaned forward to place his teeth on the other nipple.

His pace quickened, along with his breathing, and I reveled in the feeling of him sliding in and out of me, filling me then leaving me wanting. Finally, he pulled out and tugged me toward him, turning me around on the mattress so that he was standing over me. I watched him jerk off, his eyes looking me up and down. “Use one hand to rub your clit,” he said, “and the other to fuck your beautiful, wet pussy.”

I did as I was told, sliding one finger inside of me and using another to work my clit in small, quick circles. I squirmed on the mattress below him, my eyes fixated on his cock, and he worked it with one deft hand. I could feel my orgasm building as my breathing became erratic, but I exploded quite suddenly, climaxing with unexpected fierceness, when I felt his hot come hit my breasts and drip down along the plane of my stomach. He wavered on his feet for a moment, the last of his ejaculate dribbling down over his fist, before he climbed over me and relaxed on the mattress next to me. I turned toward him, still damp with our arousal, and he opened his arm to me. I fell asleep nestled against his body, my head on his chest, his arm around my shoulders.

~ * ~

When I next awoke, sunlight was streaming fully into the small space, and I shot up on the mattress with a start.

“Fuck.”

Oliver stirred beside me and took back the arm I’d been sleeping on. “What?” He grumbled.

“What time is it?”

A grunt led me to believe that he neither knew nor cared. I scrambled off the bed and tugged on my underwear, noting with some embarrassment that the remnants of our activities were still smeared on my body. I located my purse and searched through it to find my phone: 10:07AM. And fourteen missed calls from Lucas and my mother.

“Shit,” I hissed, an ache building in my head. I darted to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind me.

“Where you goin’, Doc?” I heard him ask, but if he asked any further questions, I didn’t hear him over the din of the running bathwater.

I showered quickly and availed myself to his soaps, shampoo, lotion, and even deodorant, before I pulled on my clothes and my boots. I hesitated by the front door, looking at him asleep on the bed, and walked quietly on my toes across the floorboards to him. I pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he smiled a little in slumber. Moments later, I was out the door and calling a cab company to take me home.

From the cab, I called home first, to no answer. Then, with a cringe of hesitation and remorse, I called Lucas, who answered on the first ring.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He demanded. I could hear his blood boiling even over the phone.

“I’m so sorry, Lucas,” I stammered. “Where’s Jamie? Does Mom have him?”

“I have him, Harper,” he seethed. “He’s with me. At work.” Oh, great. That could mean any number of things.

“Which—”

“Where were you all night, Harper? Do you have any idea how fucking terrified your mother was this morning? How scared Jamie was when he woke up and you weren’t there?” At that, my heart cracked. I wasn’t a stupid teenager; I should have been home with my grieving mother and my frightened son. I slumped back in the seat in the back of the cab, prepared to take my knocks.

“Nowhere important,” I said. “Nowhere I should have been. Christ, Lucky. I’m sorry.” I heard him heave a sigh as he tried to rustle up his remaining patience for me.

“You’re not the only one going through something, Harper. You don’t get to act out like this. You have to be there.”

“I know. You’re right.”

“Yeah.” He sighed again. I pictured him pinching the bridge of his nose the way he did whenever I grated on his nerves. It was an odd sensation, to be thinking so fondly of your husband—ex-husband—when you could still feel an ache between your legs from being penetrated by another man. “I’m at the gym on Wolcott,” he said at last, “Handling some payroll for some of our fighters. Oliver was supposed to be here, but I can guess where he is.” He paused. “Are you still with him?”

“No, of course not,” I said.

“Anyway, just…come here, I’ve got Jamie.” He hung up on me before I had the chance to apologize again or to begin to offer some sort of explanation.

I redirected the cab and found myself at the gym in a matter of minutes. From the outside it looked like a giant, concrete box, but inside it was fully loaded, and sparklingly new. There was a cage ring in the center and dumbbells and machines around the periphery. I made my way through the gym and lingered by the ring, where two men were sparring. One bounced and circled the other, who was in the center of the ring with his fists raised.

I glanced around the gym until my gaze landed on Lucas, who was sitting behind a window in a small office at the back. I could see the little blond head of my son who was sitting in his lap. Weaving my way between the machines, I let myself into the office, and Jamie brightened when he saw me.

“Mommy!” He shrieked gleefully and raised his arms out for me. I scooped him up into my arms and hugged him tight. “Mommy, I got scared.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, because you were away.” If that wasn’t a kick to the stomach, I don’t know what is.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I said, and kissed his head. “Mommy just got busy, is all. Did you have fun with Daddy?”

“Yeah!” He shouted and started to squirm in my arms. I handed him back to Lucas, who set him on the floor, pressing two Hot Wheels into his tiny fists.

“I’m so sorry,” I said again. “I just got drunk.”

“And laid?”

“Christ, Lucky,” I hissed. “Don’t say that in front of him.” Lucas rose to his feet, carefully stepping around Jamie, who was playing with his cars on the floor.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” He asked, locking his bright green gaze on my face. I could feel a blush rising into my cheeks. Finally, I had to look away. He gave a slow shake of his head. “You are unbelievable.”

“What I do is none of your business,” I said, getting defensive. “It’s not like we’re still together.”

“You’re right, Harper,” He said quietly. “We’re not together. I just fucked you on the side of the road and begged you to come home. But none of that means anything.”

“You did not beg me to come home.”

“Just…Take our son home now. Please.” He tried to squeeze past me, but I caught his arm.

“Lucas, hang on a sec—” But he wrenched himself free from my touch.

“Take Jamie home.” And with that, he pushed through the office door and headed back into the gym. I rubbed at my eyes before reaching up to pull my black hair into a ponytail.

“Ok, buddy,” I said to Jamie. “Time to get going.” As I bent to hoist him up into my arms, I saw a flier on the desk at which Lucas had been sitting. I held Jamie on my hip, who was happy enough to bang his Hot Wheels together, and read the flier. It depicted a picture of two men with fists raised, staring at each other with grim intent. I saw Oliver’s name on it, and the date of the fight was today. Tonight. It didn’t list the name of his opponent, but I had the feeling that Lucas would pit him against the biggest, meanest guy he could possibly find.

~ * ~

Mom was giving me the cold shoulder when I finally crossed the threshold of her house, and who could blame her? She plucked Jamie from my arms and clung to him, breathing in the sweet scent of his freshly soaped head and rocking him gently back and forth.

“Mom,” I began, not knowing exactly what to say for being such a shit.

“I know you weren’t that close with your father,” she said quietly.

“I loved him, too, Mama.”

“I know you did. I’m saying, you weren’t that close. You didn’t approve of his choices—and in a lot of ways, I didn’t either. I always respected your choice to leave Hollybrook, supported you and Jamie when you were getting set up. I understood your need to distance yourself from the club, from your father, your brother, and even from me. But he was still your father,” her voice began to shake a little as she turned toward the staircase with Jamie in her arms, “and I need you to support me, now. Because right now, sweetheart, you’re all I’ve got.”

“I know, Mama,” I said sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. You get this one screw up. Just…maybe, help us find Brian, would you?” My brother, missing in action since before the shooting. I would happily track him down.

“Sure, yeah. Of course.”

She began to climb the stairs with my squirming son in her arms. “Otherwise, I will make all the arrangements. Your father had rather a comprehensive living will, and the club is covering what wasn’t already paid for. So there isn’t much to do. Except just be here.”

“I’m here, Mama.”

She disappeared up the stairs, my son’s sweet face peering down at me from over her shoulder. He waved to me just as they disappeared around the corner.

To assuage my feelings of overwhelming guilt, I decided the best thing to do would be to drag Brian Arthur Harrington home by the balls if I had to. There was no way I should have to bear the brunt of Mama’s grief all on my own. So I would find him if it was the last thing I did.

~ * ~

“But have you seen him in the last few days?” I asked Lindsay who, miraculously, looked as beautiful and perky now as she had the night before, and she couldn’t have gotten that much sleep. She was drying out glass with a rag, her cropped tee shirt bearing her midriff. She fell into an easy lean against the bar and set the glass aside, plucking my cell phone from my hand and peering at the photo of Brian that I had pulled up on Facebook.

He looked a lot like me: a few years older, and with an impressive 5 o’clock shadow, he had my thick, black hair and blue eyes. His eyebrows were thick as well, giving him a brooding look that I’d lost with years of waxing and shaping. He had a dimpled smile like our mother’s and was only a few inches taller than I was.

“Mm,” she mused, examining the picture, “maybe not in the last few days, but definitely in the last couple of weeks. Those eyes, am I right?”

“Yeah,” I said, and she handed the phone back to me.

“I could never forget ‘em. Yum.” I smiled and tucked my cell phone back into my pocket. “He’s a Banshee, right?” I nodded in the affirmative. “Yeah, I know I saw him when they last held council in the back room here, and that was last week. Where he’s been since then, I honestly have no idea.”

“Well,” I said, “Thanks anyway.”

“Sure thing. Drink?”

I barked a laugh and pushed away from the bar. “No, thank you. I’m in enough trouble as it is.” She smiled and turned on her heel to head to the opposite end of the bar where a few early regulars were demanding her attention.

I tried to call my brother’s cell phone—again—and it went straight to voicemail—again. I heaved a sigh, beginning to cross over from slightly irritated into downright concerned. Chagrined, I dialed the only other number I could think of to call in this situation. Lucas picked up on the second ring.

“Yeah.”

“Lucky, do you know where Brian is?” I asked outright, skipping all pleasantries. “My mom is starting to get really worried and, frankly, so am I.”

“No, but I may very well beat his ass when he turns up again,” he said. “He has…an obligation to the club, so if he doesn’t show up tonight, we might have to vote to strip him of his patch.”

“Shit, he’s been that much of a flake lately?” I furrowed my brow. Sure, Brian was prone to going his own way, doing things at his own pace, but I had never heard of him letting the club down before.

“It’s more than just being a flake, Harper,” Lucas said, his tone low and stoic.

“What is it, then?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

There was a long stretch of silence where I could hear him trying to determine whether or not to fill me in on the sordid details. “I’m giving him to the end of the day. He doesn’t show; I think you should file a missing person’s report. And the club will also begin a legit search.”

“Should I be worried, Lucky? Honestly, should I?”

He paused. I could hear the click-scratch of his zippo lighting, could hear in take in a deep drag from a cigarette. “Not yet,” he said.

~ * ~

I spent the afternoon with Jamie and my mother, entertaining a string of my mother’s friends who came over with trays of covered casserole dishes, lingered for a few moments of awkward small talk, made their excuses, and departed again. It wasn’t all bad, because during the quiet moments in between visitors, we watched Jamie move about the formal living room with quiet, curiosity, wanting to touch everything. As he got bigger and bigger, he more and more resembled Lucas: he’d be a real heartbreaker when he was full grown.

I was proud of my mother for how she managed to get through the day, indulging in moments of joy with her grandson, while still remaining true to her feelings of grief over the loss of her husband and long-time companion. It was a remarkable balancing act, and I aspired to be like her as I grew nearer her age.

By nine o’clock, the house was quiet, with both mother and son tucked snug in their beds. I was glad to see that neither of them was tossing or turning, but when I tried to join them in slumber, I found it impossible, despite the late hour I’d kept the evening previous. So, I dressed, tugging on a purple and white sundress and a jean jacket, and slipping my feet into comfortable grey knit boots. Not exactly club wear, but the dress was clean and unwrinkled, and showed off my curves.

I drove my trusty old pickup truck to the gym and was surprised to see how full the parking lot around it was when I got there. I parked a considerable distance away and filed into the cold, concrete building with several dozen other people. The interior had undergone an all but complete transformation from when I’d seen it earlier in the day. The machines had been cleared away to make room for benches and folding chairs. Tables around the periphery boasted coolers full of beer. The motivational posters had been obscured by light fixtures or removed altogether, though the eye was drawn immediately to the center ring, an octagon caged in with chain link, brightly lit by an array of multicolored lights. This was quite an operation the Banshees had going; I was impressed.

I spied Lucas across the swarming room but turned away before her could notice me; I didn’t necessarily want him to know I was here, though that meant also staying out of sight of the other members of the Iron Banshees. Fortunately, they all seemed to be largely huddled together around one of the coolers, talking conspiratorially amongst themselves, and passing a bottle of Jameson’s between them. I stayed out of sight, sidling along one of the far walls and slipping through a door that led to both the men’s and women’s locker rooms. It was considerably quieter in that hallway, away from the din of the raucous crowd who was there to see a fight. I steeled myself and pushed my way into the men’s locker room: I wanted to wish Oliver luck.

Thankfully, he was alone, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. He looked up when he heard the door and proffered a crooked little grin when his eyes fixed on me.

“Hey, Doc,” He said good-naturedly, “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“You told me you thought I should see you fight,” I said. “And anyway, I couldn’t sleep, so….”

“I have to admit, I’m glad you’re here.” He moved toward me, and I watched his muscles ripple beneath his skin. He was wearing form-fitting trunks that hugged the thick muscles of his thighs, and the curve of an ass that had a little bit of meat on it, I was pleased to see. He also wore a pair of black and red fingerless gloves that offered a bit of padding to the knuckles.

“Oh?” I fell into a lean in the doorway, aware of the fact that I was a girl in the boy’s room.

“Yeah, you snuck out so fast this morning, I didn’t have time to tell you…”

“Tell me what, exactly?” He approached cautiously, like I might dart off if he came at me too fast. It was a pleasure to watch him move.

“I liked—I mean…I had a nice time. With you.” I think the man might have actually been blushing. I smiled, big and bright.

“I had a good time, too,” I said. “I’m sorry, though, about…how I left things. How I just sort of ran off.” I paused, canting my head gently to one side, peering up at him from behind my eyelashes. “I didn’t really know what I was doing, when I went to your house. I was just…very drunk and very sad, and I’m afraid I took advantage of you.”

He laughed, and closed the distance between us, tugging at the hem of my denim jacket to pull me toward him. “You can take advantage of me any time.”

I wanted him. He was the thing that lifted the cloud that had descended on me ever since my mom called me to come here in the first place. He was new, and beautiful, and he made me forget everything that frightened me or upset me. Whatever the psychology was, the fact remained: I wanted him. And by the way he was snaking an arm around my waist, I could tell the feeling was mutual.

He kissed me slowly, luxuriously, pressing my body to his. But I leapt into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist and kissed him back in a frenzy. He supported me with one arm under my butt and the other hand on my back and I clung to him with my arms around my neck as we kissed. He carried me deeper into the locker room and pressed me up against a row of lockers. I broke away from his lips and gasped through my teeth: my tailbone had hit a lock. He chuckled slightly—“Sorry, Doc!”—and kissed me again.

Setting me down on a wide bench between two rows of lockers, I laid down and lifted my skirt, sliding a hand into my panties so that I could rub the swollen kernel of my clitoris. He watched me, a hungry look in his eyes, before tugging his performance shorts down just enough to wrest his cock free of the jock strap that contained it.

I watched him stroke himself for a few moments before he dropped to his knees in front of me, tugging me toward him and burying his face between my thighs. He licked me with aplomb and relish, tonguing between the lips of my entrance and moving upward. I shivered, gyrating my hips as he flicked his tongue over me. Then, he moved away, leaving me panting where I lay for the length of a few heartbeats, before he hovered over me and plunged his hardness deep into me with one easy thrust. I was wet and ready for him, so he began to move effortlessly back and forth inside of me.

I clung to him as he drove himself into me, one strong arm curling around me to hug me close while the other braced him on the bench. My pleasure was a crescendo that was building to a fever pitch, and I climaxed faster than I had ever expected to, the feeling of my pulsating sex eliciting a deep groan from Oliver. He slowed his pace as all the tension relaxed from my body as my vaginal walls continued to pulse and contract around his prick. I was just a pool of satiation, in calm repose.

“That was…” My eyes were closed, and I allowed my arms to drop down beside me on the bench. He pulled out of me slowly, his member still turgid with his own unfulfilled desires. “Wait, don’t you want to finish?” He smiled down at me and stood up, tucking his glistening cock back into his shorts.

“Not before a fight, Doc,” he said, and moved to one of the sinks, splashing cold water on his face. “But thanks to you,” he continued, toweling himself dry, “I know I’ll really destroy my opponent.”

He returned to my side and held out a hand, which I took, so he could help me to my feet. I shifted, and adjusted my panties, and I was about to brush past him when he tangled his fingers with mine and pulled me close.

“Don’t disappear, all right?” He said, his fingertips brushing over the slope of my cheek. “After the fight, I mean. I want to see you after the fight.”

I smiled and stood on tip toe to catch his mouth in a kiss. “I won’t go anywhere,” I promised.

~ * ~

I rejoined the crowd then, flushed but largely in order, and snagged a beer from the nearest cooler. I popped open the can and took a seat on one of the benches toward the back, even as everyone else started to gravitate towards their chairs. I allowed my gaze to rove over the expanse of the room, trying to spot familiar faces. I saw Fitz, and next to him, Lucas, who had his eyes locked on me. But I couldn’t read his expression. I thought perhaps he knew what I’d been up to and was angry with me, but no, that wasn’t it. There was something else playing behind his eyes, something almost like remorse, something almost like regret. I nearly rose to my feet, but just then the lights in the gym dimmed, save for the spots that lit up the cage.

A referee stepped into the ring: he was a large man with a shaved head, clad in all black. The crowd cheered him jubilantly and he held up his hands to quiet them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests,” he began, his voice raised over the continuous din of the crowd. “Welcome to Fight Night with the Banshees!”

Three concise “Ooh, Ooh, Ooh”’s echoed throughout the room, a chant of respect to the proprietors of the gym and the coordinators of the event, my ex-husband, the new President of the Iron Banshees.

“Tonight, the fight is held in the honor of our dear, departed brother, Old Pete Harrington, President of the Iron Banshees. In his name we cheer on his son and heir—please give a warm welcome to Brian “The Breaker” Harrington!”

My heart dropped into my stomach as I saw Brian appear in the ring, bouncing along its periphery, running his fingers over the chain link and generally riling up the already rowdy gathering. Everyone loved him, everyone was cheering him on, but I wondered how many people here had bet against their golden boy.

But there he was, my brother, who had been gratingly absent over the last few days, sporting a pair of red boxing trunks and dancing around the ring like he was happy to be there. And perhaps he was. But I couldn’t imagine that happiness would last when he saw his opponent.

Oliver.

Oliver stepped into the ring without the same applause that Brian had received; he was clearly this fight’s underdog, regardless of having done so well in his previous matches. But I glanced from Brian to Oliver and back again and I had to wonder: who did they honestly think was going to win this match? Oliver was several inches taller and a solid twenty pounds heavier, with more muscle definition. Hopefully what Brian lacked in muscle mass, he made up for in speed. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could exhaust Oliver.

But did I want him to? Glancing between them, with what I can only imagine to be a stricken look on my face, I realized two things: first, that my brother’s participation in the evening’s fight had been the source of Lucas’ previously indecipherable look; and second, that I had no idea who I wanted to win.

They knocked knuckles at center ring, then backed away from one another, circling each other on the balls of their feet. Brian was the first to advance, a quick jab that landed and knocked Oliver’s head back. But it snapped to, and he shrugged it off like it was nothing, like it hadn’t hurt at all. A few more jabs, and a left hook from Brian, but Oliver dodged them all: he was quicker than he looked, which led me to believe that Brian was in a bit of trouble.

Brian took his eyes off Oliver for a split second, long enough for Oliver to make contact with Brian’s torso via a side kick. The top of Oliver’s foot caught Brian’s ribs, and Brian stumbled, hitting the mat. This was Oliver’s opening, and he took it, throwing the full weight of himself behind a double hummer punch, both of his fists making contact with Brian’s skull. They were on the mat then, and Brian threw up his guard so that he had both legs wrapped around Oliver’s waist. He gripped the back of Oliver’s neck and held him pretty firmly in place for a few seconds. But Oliver’s brute strength lifted both of them up off the mat until he was sitting upright with Oliver clinging to him. Eventually, Oliver’s hand slipped, and he hit his back on the mat, his legs still wrapped around Oliver, who then deftly landed two quick knocks to the side of his head. Brian released him and rolled quickly out of the way, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. He was circling Oliver again before Oliver had even gotten back up on his feet.

They were sweating profusely now, their mouth guards pushing their upper lips out in a way that made them look like savage apes. They glistened under the heavy lights, intent in their unfaltering focus, both out for blood.

And I didn’t even see it when it happened. I look away for a moment, scanning the crowd for Lucas, wanting some sort of explanation from him. And when I looked back, I saw Brian’s head jolt to the side as Oliver’s fist made perfect contact. He spun halfway around and dropped like a stone to the mat. He was out cold.

The ref came to the center of the ring, bending down beside Brian before Oliver could jump on him to pummel him some more. He made a gesture with his hand, slicing the air with it, and Oliver pumped his fists in the air to a comparably lackluster response. All that went down in a matter of minutes, and the crowd was obviously disappointed. Had they actually put money down on Brian? I glanced over at the pack of Iron Banshees, who were clapping their hands and cheering, and I realized that they had likely convinced all these people to bet on Brian, Old Pete’s son in Old Pete’s name, while the Banshees systematically bet against him. I gave a slow shake of my head and rose to my feet, darting over to the ring to make sure my unconscious brother would be all right.

Lucas was lingering by the steps up to the cage and caught my arm.

“Harper—”

“Don’t, Lucas,” I said, jerking away. It was my turn to be angry. He’d known where Brian was, and he hadn’t called me. Instead, he put Brian in the ring with someone he knew he couldn’t beat, and he’d bet against him.

I climbed up into the ring and knelt beside Brian, who was groggy, but coming to. “Bri?” I asked, brushing his sweat-matted hair away from his forehead. “Brian, can you hear me?”

“Hey hey, Harper Grace,” he said, and spit out his mouth guard. “Did you see the fight?”

“Yeah, Bri,” I said, smiling. “I saw it.”

“How’d I do?”

“Oh, real good.” Satisfied that there was no permanent damage done, I rose to my feet, catching sight of Oliver who was staring at me with a furrowed brow. “That’s my brother,” I said, pointing down to the roiling heap of flesh at my feet. Oliver said nothing, but his expression was clear enough: Oh, shit.

“Come on, Bri,” I send, bending down to hook my hands under his arms and help get him onto his feet. “I’m gonna take you home.”

“I can walk, Harper Grace,” he said, trying to shake me off, but he was unsteady, so I clung fiercely to him.

“Here, let me—” Oliver said, stepping forward, trying to help, wanting to help.

“Thanks, but I think you’ve done enough,” I shot back, perhaps unfairly. I’d like to think I would’ve behaved the same way on Oliver’s behalf if he’d been the loser I had to scrape off the mat, but I am honestly not sure.

Lucas darted up the stairs to help me, and Brian slung one arm over his shoulders and one arm over mine. Together, the three of us descended the stairs and managed to drag him into the locker room. Where had Brian been earlier, I wondered, when I’d been in this very room with Oliver? Was it possible that I could have stopped the entire match from happening if I had gone to find Lucas before the fight instead of wrapping my legs around Oliver instead?

We deposited Brian down onto the bench and I handed him a water bottle, instructing him to drink the entire thing. Then, I whirled around on Lucas.

“What in God’s name are you doing, pinning him against someone Oliver’s size?” I demanded, furious.

“Calm your shit, Harper,” he said, patting down the pockets of his vest and jeans, in search of a cigarette. “No permanent damage done. And anyway, we made serious bank tonight on our boy here.”

“You mean betting against our boy,” I said.

“It’s ok, Harper Grace,” Brian insisted, spitting blood out onto the floor. “I knew what had to go down. I knew I wasn’t gonna win.”

“You did?”

“Sure—did you see that guy?”

“Oh, she’s seen him all right,” Lucas hissed, and I rolled my eyes.

“You two are really something, you know that?”

“Gee, thank you, Harper Grace,” Brian said cheerfully, though I hadn’t any idea what any of us had to be cheerful about.

“I’m going home,” I said, and turned at the door to point a finger at Brian. “And you better come straight home, too. Mom is freaking the fuck out. You do know that our father is dead, right?”

Brian’s expression changed, and he gave a slow nod of his head. “Yeah, Harper Grace. I know. I swear, I’ll come right home.”

I pushed out into the hallway without a second glance back at either of them, my body trembling with the spent fear and anxiety. I didn’t want to risk seeing Oliver, or any of the other Banshees, so I darted out a back entrance, grateful for the shield of the night.