“My friends and I came a long way to make a deal with your brother, darlin’,” he said with a sneer. “Now that you’ve taken that away, I think you owe us. Boys, let’s take her to the back of the pub and collect our payment before we go back to the boss. This way we’ll at least get something for our trouble.”
The other three men grinned their approval and raked her with their eyes, lingering on her breasts. She shuddered with revulsion, and her heart raced as the full implication of what she had gotten herself into hit her. She glanced at the bartender to see if he would help her, but he was purposely ignoring the situation. No help there. She scanned the pub to see if anyone else was paying attention and noticed that the blond military man was watching and appeared concerned. Would he help her? She had to try.
“No,” she said in a loud, clear voice. “I don’t want to go with you. Leave me alone, or I’ll call the police.”
Colin only chuckled. “No one here is going to help you, sweetheart. This pub is owned by the same people who pay my salary, and, as for the police, well, let’s just say I’m not too worried about them either. Come along quietly, now, and we’ll try to make this easy on you. If you fight us, you’ll only get hurt.” His gaze swept her body hungrily.
Regardless of the man’s assurances, Megan knew that if she surrendered to these men, she would suffer unbearably. Her only option was to resist. She refused to go quietly and allow these men to rape her without a fight. “Please just leave me alone,” she pleaded. When the man continued to drag her, she planted her feet, forcing Colin to stop. “Let me go!” she shouted. When the man didn’t respond, she lashed out with her open hand and slapped him. “I said, let me go!”
Megan was shocked at her own audacity and watched in horror as Colin drew his fist back to strike her. He could easily break her jaw.
Suddenly, a very strong and very large hand grabbed the man’s fist and held it. “You heard the woman. Let her go.” The resonant and commanding voice came from just behind Megan, and she turned around to see the man she had decided was a soldier standing right behind her, appearing big, strong, and determined. Megan noted with some relief that the man was over six feet tall, had a muscular, athletic build, and exuded strength and confidence.
Ian Stafford had been watching the scene unfold before him, and, seeing no one in the pub willing to help the woman who was clearly in danger, made the split-second decision to come to her defense.
“Mind your own business, laddie,” Colin replied. “This is none of your affair.” He loosened his fist, though, and Ian released his grip on the man’s wrist. Little did the thug know how close he had come to having his wrist broken.
“I’m making it my affair since the woman clearly doesn’t want to go with you. Do yourself and your friends a favor, and let her go.”
Colin snickered and glanced over at his friends, who were also laughing. He responded, “I don’t know how you’re going to stop us. You’re only one man against four.” He turned toward the back of the pub, dragging Megan with him. Megan realized there was nothing she could do to stop the inevitable, thankful that her rescuer had at least tried to help her. Then, before she realized what had happened, the thug was lying on his back on the pub floor with his nose broken and blood streaming down his face. The impact of the stranger’s fist to his face had caused him to let go of Megan, who moved out of harm’s way toward the pub entrance. Unfortunately, after she escaped his grasp, the man’s friends surrounded the stranger, who even Megan knew was no match for four trained mob enforcers.
Ian knew he was in trouble, but at least he had gotten the woman out of immediate danger. Now, he could deal with the four thugs who had tried to rape her. He’d broken the leader’s nose, but the brute wasn’t entirely out of commission, and Ian could tell that the other three were experienced brawlers. They wouldn’t be easy for one man, even one man with Special Forces training, to subdue.
To survive this fight, he would need his knife, tucked conveniently in his boot. It was the one habit he had brought home from Afghanistan that had been difficult to break. Since his last tour in country, he didn’t feel safe without a weapon of some kind on his person at all times. Ian reached down quickly and unsheathed the knife. With it, he was able to fend off the men for a time, but despite Ian’s best efforts, it wasn’t long before two of the thugs pinned his arms, and a third tried to wrest his knife out of his hand.
Ian knew from the nature of the men he was fighting that if he lost his knife, his life would be forfeited, so he dug deep and used all his remaining strength to wrest his right arm away from one of the thugs. The knife he still held went straight into the belly of the man directly in front of him. The man collapsed immediately, and Ian was shoved to the ground as two of the thugs carried their comrade away—presumably to a hospital.
Colin looked at the bartender and barked, “You, I know you work for my uncle, tie this man to a chair and call the police.”
At first, the man looked confused, but the leader spoke to him sharply. “Look, man, we know where you live, and we can reach your family easily. Do what you’re told, or they’ll pay the price.”
The man paled, and then rushed to comply. His hands trembled as he tied Ian to a chair.
The leader further instructed the bartender, “When the police come, you will tell them this man started the fight and attacked us without provocation. We acted in self-defense, but he stabbed our friend. Do you understand?”
The bartender nodded again, and, apparently satisfied with the response, the leader left the pub, presumably to join his friends at the hospital.
When the police arrived, the bartender did as he was told, and despite his protests, Ian was arrested for criminal assault with a deadly weapon. The woman he saved had disappeared.
Chapter 2
Megan gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white as she sped away from the pub. She frequently glanced up to the rearview mirror to make sure there wasn’t anyone following her. Great job, Megs, she silently berated herself, you really took care of that situation masterfully. You’re lucky that soldier was there to save you, or you’d probably be dead—or wish you were. So much for finding an easy way to refuse to cooperate with the O’Reilly gang. If these guys were any indication, once you find yourself in their cross hairs, they don’t let go—not without a fight.
Megan shuddered when she replayed the scene in the pub, realizing how close she had come to disaster. She also realized that the man who had stepped in and saved her was in trouble and needed help. She pulled over to the side of the road, took out her cell phone, and searched for and found the number for the Surrey police. She dialed the number. The call was answered on the second ring.
“Surry Police Station. This is Constable Madden. How may I help you?”
Megan took a deep breath to steady her nerves and then answered, “Constable Madden, my name is Megan Brady, and I want to report a fight at the Rusty Nail Pub.”
“A fight, eh? Do you know who’s doing the fighting?”
Megan fought back a growl of frustration. “No, I don’t know the men who are fighting, but it all started when four men began harassing me at the bar. Another man came to my rescue, but the four didn’t take kindly to his interference and started beating him. I escaped, but my savior needs help. He’s alone against four large, angry men, and I fear for his life. Please come quickly.”
“I’ll send some men out there as soon as possible, Ms. Brady. Thank you for reporting this to us.”
“Please tell your men to hurry, Constable. Someone’s life may be at stake.” She hung up and decided to go back to the pub and park a safe distance away to make sure the police arrived to help the brave man who had unselfishly come to her rescue.
Constable Eric Madden smirked as he hung up the telephone. It didn’t surprise him in the least that there was a fight
at the Rusty Nail. When Seamus O’Reilly’s men were in town, the pub was frequently rowdy, and any reasonably attractive, and even some not so attractive, women who happened to be in the pub were propositioned and harassed routinely. What surprised him was that someone was actually brave enough to stand up to the blighters and protect one of the unfortunate women who ended up in their cross hairs.
Madden gathered two other men and hastened out to the pub. It wouldn’t do for anyone to get killed there. Murders tended to attract the wrong kind of attention to their activities.
Megan parked around the corner from the pub where she couldn’t be seen from inside the pub but where she had a good view of the front door.
The police arrived about ten minutes later, and three of them entered the pub, billy clubs in hand. There, she thought with relief, now my rescuer will be OK.
A few minutes later, Megan drove toward the Epsom Downs Race Course. Her father and brother, Stephen, were preparing their three-year-old stallion, Seabiscuit II, to run in the Epsom Derby. Biscuit, as he was affectionately known, had won, with a commanding lead, the 2000 Guineas Stakes, the first leg of the British Triple Crown at Newmarket Racecourse just two weeks ago. He was the odds-on favorite to win the Derby as well. The British press was hyping Biscuit as the first horse capable of winning the Triple Crown since the great horse, Nijinsky, won in 1970.
Megan smiled as she recalled the headlines. The press seemed to have conveniently forgotten that three horses in recent history had won the first two legs of the Triple Crown only to falter at the final race, the St. Leger Stakes. Megan knew as well as anyone that anything can happen in a horse race, and nothing is a sure thing—even when you have a horse as good as Biscuit.
Finally, the entry to Epsom loomed ahead, and Megan braced herself for an unpleasant meeting with her father. She had no doubt that by now Stephen had experienced an extreme case of guilt and had confessed Megan’s plans to Daniel. She could only imagine her father’s reaction when he found out his only daughter had tried to single-handedly take on the O’Reilly mob. She didn’t know how she was going to save herself from Daniel’s wrath and hoped desperately that Stephen hadn’t told him the whole unvarnished truth.
Her hopes were dashed when she approached the stable area to find her father pacing angrily near the parking lot. Stephen was trailing him, gesturing wildly with his hands as if he were trying desperately to explain something to Dad that he appeared to be too angry and distraught to pay any attention to. It was Stephen who saw the car first and tried to gesture Megan to drive around the back, but it was too late. Dad saw Stephen signaling to her, saw the car, and strode angrily in her direction.
Megan parked, took a deep breath, and got out of the car.
As her father approached, Megan was suddenly struck by how much his appearance had changed since his wife’s passing. The Daniel Brady that Megan had grown up with was light hearted and was constantly smiling. She missed his mischievous Irish grin and wished there was something she could do to bring it back. A masculine version of his daughter, her father was now in his late forties, and his face showed signs of a life that hadn’t always been easy. Along with the character lines around his eyes and mouth, a few streaks of gray appeared at his temples.
As Megan watched her father approach, she could see him struggle to contain his anger, knowing what she had done. He scanned her from head to toe to make sure she wasn’t hurt, and then, when he was assured she was well, he exploded.
“What in the hell do you think you were doing, Megan?” he shouted in his unmistakably Irish accent. “It’s a miracle you’re still in one piece if what Stephen tells me is true. Did you really think you could bargain with a crime syndicate that’s worth millions, if not billions, of pounds?”
Megan cringed at the onslaught of her father’s anger, knowing she deserved every bit of his ire after what she had naively intended to do. He had every right to be upset, and Megan vowed then and there never to repeat this kind of action again. The price was just too high.
“Dad, I know I messed up.” Megan bowed her head and looked at Daniel. “I’m so sorry I acted without telling you. I was wrong, and it won’t happen again.”
Her father was clearly surprised at her immediate contrition, and his anger quickly dissipated. Megan was clearly shaken and had gotten a major dose of reality when coming face to face with members of a major organized crime family.
“Tell me what happened,” Daniel urged, now much calmer since his anger had evaporated.
Megan related back the events at the pub, downplaying the fact that she had almost been raped at the hands of the four O’Reilly thugs, but she made certain to mention that without the intervention of a man she assumed to be in the military, she would not have emerged unscathed from the encounter.
“The man has my sincerest gratitude,” Daniel said. “You say you don’t know his name?”
“We didn’t exactly have time for introductions,” Megan said wryly. “I’d know him again if I saw him, though.” She could clearly picture the man in her mind—tall and blond, striking blue eyes, athletic, in his mid-to-late-twenties, and the unmistakable presence of command about him. She also remembered how her body heated with desire when she first laid eyes on him in the pub. Megan blushed at the thought.
“So, it appears we still have a problem,” Daniel said. “How do we go about running Biscuit in the Derby without risking his or our lives? It goes without saying that I refuse to take a bribe to lose. It’s illegal, and Biscuit deserves to have the opportunity to win this race and possibly the Triple Crown.”
They would have to come up with a solution. Megan realized now that it wouldn’t be easy. Apparently, once the Irish mob had you in its cross hairs, they would not let go.
Chapter 3
Ian laid on his back on the thinly padded cot in his cramped jail cell, feeling as if he had been hit by a truck. Every part of his body hurt, and he couldn’t move without sharp stabs of pain knifing through him. He took a quick inventory and was certain at least one or two ribs were broken, his knuckles were bruised and bloodied, and his face sported several cuts and bruises. A particularly deep cut over his eye would certainly need stitches.
He smiled to himself. Ironic that I survived several missions in Afghanistan without so much as a scratch, but within six months of returning home, I’ve gotten myself beaten within an inch of my life. I hope Michael gives me a chance to explain what really happened.
Ian grimaced as he imagined what his mates in the SAS would say if they could see him now. Nothing good, he was sure. He had allowed himself to get embroiled in a situation with higher than manageable odds and that he couldn’t control. Even though he knew what he did was reckless and ill-advised, he also knew deep down he wouldn’t have done anything differently. If he had walked away, that woman would have been raped at the very least, and at worst raped and then killed. He had done the right thing, even though he would now be paying the consequences. He vaguely remembered being hauled before a Magistrate, pleading not guilty, and then being locked into a cell. He had lost consciousness for a while after that. He was certain he wouldn’t be here long, though. He hadn’t done anything wrong.
Ian closed his eyes and visualized the woman he had saved. His observations of her beauty from a distance at the pub had been quickly confirmed when he stood next to her. She was rather tall for a woman, probably five foot eight or nine, with shoulder-length, auburn hair, and brilliant green eyes. They’d shone bright with fear at the men holding her when he first approached, but the fear quickly changed to relief when he intervened on her behalf. He remembered she sounded British, but something about her accent was unusual—he thought he had detected an American twang to her accent.
She had porcelain white skin with a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose and possibly a hint of sunburn. She most likely spent a great deal of
time in the sun. She had a cute, upturned nose, and soft, full lips, he thought he might like to kiss . . . Wait a minute man, where did that come from? Ian reined in his reckless thoughts and returned to reality. All he could care about at this moment was whether she made it out OK, and that somehow he could find her and have her explain to the authorities that he wasn’t a murderer.
Ian’s thoughts returned to the present. He dreaded his brother Michael’s reaction when he found out how much trouble Ian was in. Would Michael believe that Ian hadn’t instigated the fight and was just trying to save an innocent young woman from possible rape?
Ian’s behavior since returning home from the Army hadn’t all been good. Before seeking professional counseling, he had tried to use alcohol to deaden the pain of Neil’s death and the resulting trauma, which usually presented itself in the form of vivid, terrifying nightmares of the moment Neil had been shot. He also found that since his return from Afghanistan his temper was much shorter, another symptom of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
While the alcohol had temporarily deadened the pain and allowed him to sleep through the night, it had also gotten him into more trouble, especially because it made him more susceptible to losing his already short temper. Ian had developed a reputation for starting fights in pubs just like this one. At one time, Ian had even contemplated suicide—seriously enough that his parents had taken his Sig Sauer P226 handgun away from him. When they simply couldn’t handle his acting out any longer, his parents suggested he move in with his older brother, Michael, and help him with his dressage training yard. They hoped working with horses would calm him. To Ian and Michael’s surprise, it had.
Racing Toward Love (Horses Heal Hearts Book 2) Page 2
