by Vi Carter
RUTHLESS
WILD IRISH SERIES BOOK TWO
BY VI CARTER
Other Books by VI CARTER
A BROKEN HEART SERIES
SAVING GRACE
CLAIMING AMBER
TAKING LAURA
ALL OF ME SERIES
ALL OF ME
WILD IRISH SERIES
RECKLESS (PREQUEL)
VICIOUS #1
RUTHLESS #2
FEARLESS #3
CHAPTER ONE
CONNOR
Fear. I can taste it on my tongue. My heavy limbs move from side to side, shuffling. My body telling my brain that I need to stay warm against the harsh cold. My hammering heart wants me to leave. My feet glide back slightly, and a weakness has me blinking rapidly. A voice inside my head warns me away from this fight as my eyes take in the crowd that pulsates around me.
Men wearing woolly hats with hands shoved into pockets huddle in a large circle around me. Their heavy jackets and warm clothing are not enough to keep the sharp cold out.
I want to feel that pain which accompanies the bitter cold, but I don’t. I only feel fear. My opponent moves around the circle, arms outstretched as his fingers flex, enticing the crowd to feed off his energy. His bare back is covered in acne, the steroids pushing his body to places it shouldn’t be pushed.
A young boy maybe sixteen holds up his phone in my opponent’s face as he roars into the screen. Muscles straining, veins bulging. I remember that feeling myself, that sense of power, that sense of invisibility. Now I just do it to feel something.
We both wear only tracksuit bottoms. My feet continue to shuffle back and forth on their own accord. The field we stand in is already moist from last night’s downpour, and my small and consistent movements are making the ground under my feet slippery. I move with lead feet, my mind once again roaring for me to leave this circle of men.
Rick enters the circle, he glances at me and gives me a quick nod. His red tracksuit is stark in the sea of black clothing. The crowd seems quieter now. My heart pounds in my ears. I’m aware now of all the eyes on me, aware of cold air. It’s starting to bite my skin. I enjoy the moment of pain. Rick rubs his hands together, his eyes glowing with excitement. He enjoys the fights, but he loves the money more.
“Okay, lads, let’s get started.” My opponent and Rick move closer to me. I keep my eyes focused on the ground. I’m sure if I look up and into his eyes I won’t fight him.
“No biting, we aren’t animals.” A roar goes up as Rick lists out the rules. “No hanging on to each other. You want someone to hang onto, go to your mother’s tit.” I nod mechanically. Rick’s hand circles my closed fist; the contact of his warm skin on my freezing skin makes me glance up at him.
“The balls are off limits and an immediate disqualification.” I nod now to Rick, my eyes flicker to the pumped-up guy I’m fighting. He smashes his fists together and bounces on his feet. He’s on something. His pupils are dilated and that gives me some peace. The fear in me dilutes. Maybe he won’t feel what I’m about to unleash on him.
“Fight!” Rick shouts as he disappears into the roaring crowd. We are far enough away from the main road to go unheard. Nothing but cows in the near fields and a tire centre at our backs. Rick owns the tire centre and I work there for him.
My opponent charges me, and I move quickly to the left, and it’s that movement that has everything slamming back into me. The time, the noise, the feeling, my whole body feels like it’s on fire with the cold.
I turn as he charges me again and clothesline him. He’s on his back, and his whole body tenses as he tries to catch his breath. Rick moves to the front of the crowd ready to step in, but he knows I won’t attack a man when he’s down. I walk the circle instead as I wait. I keep my eyes trained on the ground and ignore the roars of the surrounding men. When I do look up, my father’s face is there in all the men who roar at me, demanding blood. Demanding that I attack. I blink rapidly as my eyes leave the men’s and return to the boy on the ground.
He gets up swiftly. He roars again, pumping up the crowd, he’s bouncing on his feet like a real boxer, and craning his neck from side to side before he rushes me. I clench my fists and wait until he’s there. There’s a satisfaction when the skin on my knuckles splits with the impact of the first punch I land to his jaw. My aching hands want me to stop, but if I stop now, it will make the second and third punch more painful on me, so I keep hitting him in succession until he topples to the ground again.
As I wait, I push the image of my father out of my mind and instead focus on my brother, Shane. He hates bare knuckle fighting, said we should leave it to the travellers and low-lives. “We are the low-lives,” I would tell him, and his laugh would be filled with hate and a want to hurt me. But in a fight, I would win. Shane always thought of other ways to hurt me. Having money didn’t make someone a better person. Shane thought it did. He acted like he was above everyone else. Even the law.
The boy gets up, his face a bloody mess. He bounces again on his feet, but the energy that he had shown earlier is nearly gone. He doesn’t roar into the crowd either. He’s a little smarter now when he waits for me to come to him, and one thing about me is I won’t keep him waiting. Yet I’m not ready to end this fight. So I move too closely, my foot looks like it falters causing me to push my hands out and away from my face. It’s the opening I offer him. Our eyes meet, and he knows. But he’s smart, so he takes it. Pain races down the side of my face. I push it away and don’t focus on it, not allowing him to get two in. I turn, and my fist rises faster than his connecting with his chin. My skin tears further from the impact as he stumbles away from me. I don’t want to stop, so I quickly move to him. His outstretched hands and the way his body twists away from me, like it’s trying to protect itself, stops me from hitting him further.
“I’m done,” he says along with a dribble of red spit. Rick is there, his red tracksuit filling my vision. He’s dyed his hair again, this time a dark black. I want to tell him it looks so false. He takes my wounded fist in his. The bite of pain has me closing my eyes as he declares me the winner. I don’t look at the men who start to disperse. The cold and the lack of entertainment will drive them all home.
I take the few steps away from everyone as I grab my bag. Taking out a t-shirt and hoodie, I pull them over my damp skin.
“You free next Saturday night?” I glance at Rick. He’s bouncing now, my eyes drawn to his white runners, before shooting up to his eyes.
“Not if you’re going to keep giving me jumped up kids,” I say, slugging the bag across my back. I take the money that Rick holds out to me and stash it in my pocket.
“He was in his thirties,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The air puffs around our words now. The noise of engines starting up has me glancing at the patch of grass the boy had sat down on after the fight. The same spot is now empty.
“Cocaine and steroids aren’t a good mix, Rick.”
“What do you want, Connor? You want me to test everyone who wants to fight you? You got your money, so what’s the problem?” Rick narrows his eyes now while running a hand through his hair.
I want to tell him it’s not about the money, that it’s about the thrill. But I don’t. “Just try to have someone who isn’t off their face next time.” I pull my bag tighter against my back and Rick nods.
“Fine, I’ll try but it’s getting harder to find people who will fight you.”
I snort as I walk away. “Someone always wants to fight me, Rick.”
“See you next Saturday,” he roars as I make my way onto the main road. I take a left at Cassidy’s cross. I’m
staying only a few miles away from our fight spot, in a restaurant that has some outbuildings for B&B’s. It’s clean, and no one knows me. Just the way I like it. I’ve been staying at the Cross Guns. It’s the longest I’ve ever dared to stay in one spot.
I remember watching a wildlife documentary and the phrase “moving is life” stuck with me, and it’s like a code I try to live by. But recently, I’ve tired of running. I’ve gotten a job at the tire centre, helping out with fixing cars. Money is shit, but the money I get from fighting keeps me afloat. That’s how I met Rick. He is a decent enough guy, if you minus the second-hand parts we charge full price for.
Lights move past me, and I move in towards the ditch until darkness consumes the road again. I walk with aching and bleeding hands stuffed in my pockets. The fight has released some tension that was bubbling up inside me. Seeing Una, my step-sister, walking into the Cross Guns a few weeks ago had terrified me, but once I discovered she was alone, I relaxed with her.
We always got on and she hadn’t seen the family in months, and promised she wouldn’t tell. But I knew I would have to move on soon. Secrets never stay buried for long with our family. Eventually they will find out where I was.
It takes me thirty minutes before the lights of the Cross Guns come into view. I jog out back and go straight to my room. My single bed faces the door, freshly made. The room looks bare; I don’t have anything, only clothes that are stacked neatly in the wardrobe.
Switching on the TV, I mute it but let the light flicker across the room as I enter the adjoining bathroom. I don’t linger in the shower but let the hot water warm me up before I patch up my fists. I tape them up mechanically as I watch the news reporter deliver some news about war in a foreign country. Buildings stand partially erect, rubble and crying people roam around the news reporter. After switching the TV off, I get dressed.
Stuffing some fifty euro notes into my jeans pocket, I put on a clean shirt before looking at myself in the mirror for the first time. I’ve a small red mark on my jaw, it’s nothing much. I normally would never allow someone to get a hit on me, but I needed something to release the energy that was bouncing around inside me.
Leaving the room, I make my way across the gravelled carpark. I enter the small cozy pub which holds a few patrons. They all turn as I enter but dismiss me. We are all here every night. On the first night, they tried to strike up a conversation, and I kept it to a yes-no answer. Since then, they’ve left me alone. I sit at the end of the bar.
“A beer,” I tell Simon, the barman. He wears a black t-shirt with a Guns N’ Roses symbol on the front. His wrinkled and over-tanned skin hangs slightly. Long hair that should be shaved is thinning; his glory days fading away quicker than he can grasp them.
Simon places the beer in front of me with a nod, and I slide him a fifty. Long manicured fingers stop Simon from taking my fifty.
“Allow me.”
I know Simon is waiting for me to agree, so I look up stiffly and nod as my brother sits down beside me.
CHAPTER TWO
CONNOR
“I’ll have a Jameson.” Shane speaks clearly, and I can hear the smile in his voice. It’s a polished smile, one that’s forced and controlled.
I sip my pint, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat as my mind races through different scenarios. How was this going to work? He was here either to take me home or worse.
“How did you find me?” I ask after Simon places the drink in front of Shane. He shifts, and I look at him. My brother looks the exact same as he did two years ago. Only now, maybe there is a harder edge to his brown eyes. His face is clean-shaven, and the black shirt and slacks makes him look ready to enter a business meeting. He wears the same silver band on his thumb that our mother bought him.
“Nice to see you too, brother,” he says taking a slow sip of his drink. His eyes never leave mine. He’s angry, which doesn’t surprise me, but the pretend smile that he keeps on his face does. He isn’t one for hiding his emotions from me.
His eyes flicker to my knuckles, and the urge to hide them has me sitting still. “How did I find you? The notorious Connor O’ Reagan fighting again. You made it too easy. I could have tracked you down months ago.” Yeah, even as he said it, I knew that fighting would draw them out. Maybe subconsciously I wanted this. That idea had me gripping my pint. I didn’t want them. I didn’t want this life. I never did.
“What do you want?”
Shane’s smile slips and he moves his stool closer to me.
“I want my brother to come home.”
I’m shaking my head at his manipulative words.
“Did he send you?” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice, and Shane leans away from me, picking up his glass. He empties it before sitting it back down on the bar. “No, Finn misses you.”
Hearing my brother’s name has my stomach twisting. Guilt has me staring at Shane again. “You didn’t come here for Finn. You’re a selfish bastard.” I empty my pint as he laughs before standing. He follows me from the pub as I knew he would. Once the door is closed to my room, I turn to Shane.
“Look, just this once, can’t you say you didn’t find me?”
He isn’t listening to me; his eyes are roaming my room. “You live here?” The horror in his voice gives me satisfaction, and when I don’t answer him, he looks at me.
“Orders are to bring you home, brother, and I always complete my jobs.”
I don’t have to ask who sent the orders. I don’t have to ask what will happen if I don’t come.
Bastards.
I’m stuffing clothes into a bag when Shane stops me.
“I’ll be outside.” His pampered ass leaves my room. I don’t linger. I don’t tidy over before I follow my brother out into his blacked out Jeep with my only bag of possessions.
Shane grins as I opt to sit in the back seat. The tinted windows dim the interior.
“I see that you’re letting your guard down while fighting.” Shane still wears the grin as he watches me in the rear-view mirror.
“Is that how you found me?”
He glances at the road as he takes a right. But there is a tension in his shoulders at my question.
“Yeah,” he finally lies, and I glare out the window, watching a dark version of the world go by. It doesn’t take long for us to reach the house. Shane slows down at the front door, and I jump out slugging my bag across my back. My eyes travel upwards, the sheer size of the large white house something I could never get used to. Entering the house, I get the smell of beeswax and polish, and my stomach twists.
I kick the door closed behind me and head for the kitchen. Mary might be there, and she’s worth seeing. The closer I get to the kitchen, the more I relax. I can smell pancakes. It’s familiar. I inch the door open and both my brows rise.
“Una.”
She screams and drops the spoon she was licking; it’s covered in what looks like syrup.
“Connor.” Picking up the spoon from the floor, she throws it on the counter, grinning, and she closes the space between us. I hug her back as the back door opens. Shane’s face stiffens. He wasn’t expecting Una to be here. He never really liked her. She turns in my arms and smiles at him. It’s not the grin she just gave me. She walks to him, and he’s taking every inch of her in. My shock expands when she stands on her tippy toes and plants a kiss on his lips.
“You told them where I was,” I say, and she faces me, heat scorching her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Connor, but we all missed you.”
I nod at her. That’s the story they were selling her. I flicker a quick glance towards Shane who’s watching me.
“It’s okay,” I tell Una. She’s sweet. She was always nice to me. What she is doing with Shane is beyond me.
Una untangles herself from Shane and bounces towards me, but she stops a foot away and leans against the counter. “So are you staying for long?” She’s smiling, and I place my bag on the counter.
“I’m not sure,” I tell her, and h
er smile widens.
“I was the same when I came here, and now they can’t get rid of me.” She says the last part while looking at Shane who still hasn’t stepped away from the back door. He’s observing us, like he doesn’t know what to make of this conversation. Because he’s so uncomfortable, I decide to put on the kettle.
“Maybe you won’t be able to get rid of me either,” I tell her, and Una narrows her eyes slightly at me, but the smile is still visible. “Maybe we could watch all the movies we never got to,” I tell her, and her gaze flickers to Shane who’s clenching his fists.
“I’d like that. I did actually watch Rambo and Taken recently.” Two of my favorites.
“Without me?” I ask.
“You’ve been gone for a while,” Shane speaks up, and I snort a laugh at him.
“Shane,” Una pleads, but I can’t stop the smirk that grows slowly on my face.
“I can leave again,” I tell him pointing at the kitchen door, and he takes a few steps until he is close to Una.
“Unfortunately, that’s not an option,” he tells me, and Una’s eyes widen.
“Shane, please.”
It’s funny to watch him squirm. His eyes shift around the kitchen as he plays with the band on his thumb.
“I need to have a word with Connor alone,” he tells Una, his tone softer. I make myself a cup of tea as Una defends me, and Shane gets wound up. It’s funny to watch, and I enjoy it until he promises her it’s just a chat and we’ll be back shortly.
I raise both eyebrows while taking a sip of the tea, as I walk past Una.
“We’ll catch up later,” she tells me.
Shane takes us to the room where jobs were always delved out in. The bar is polished, and I sit at it with my cup of tea. When Shane joins me, I want to move, but I don’t.
“So you and Una?” I question before taking another noisy drink of my tea. It always pissed Shane off, and I want to maximize on that.
