Fighting for Irish (Fighting for Love, #3)

Kat’s eyes bugged out of her head. Was he effing seri—


A slow grin lifted one side of his mouth as he continued to work on his bike. He was teasing her again. Despite the fact that the subject matter was nothing to joke about, a small dose of giddy spread through her.

“Jerk,” she said as she punched him in the arm. Or what appeared to be an arm but actually felt like a two-by-four. He hadn’t even tightened up in defense, he was that solid. She’d never seen him have to throw punches at the bar like Xander sometimes did, but she couldn’t imagine taking a hit from him. He might not be Incredible Hulk bulky, but the guy was all defined muscle and controlled power.

“Sorry.” He gave her a smirk. “The look on your face was totally worth it, though.”

“Glad I could oblige,” she said wryly. “Seriously, Irish. What’s the plan?”

“Not much of a planner. Guess I’ll see what comes to me when I get there.”

“When we get there. I’m not letting you go there alone. They’re here because of me.”

“Exactly. Which is why you’re gonna stay here. There anything I should know before I meet these goons?”

“Like what?”

“Like anything you may have left out of the story? If I’m gonna be on a level playing field with them, I can’t have any surprises, Kat.”

She shook her head. “It’s just like I said. Lenny gambled Sicoli’s money away and now he wants it back.”

“Okay, then,” he said, grabbing a not-so-clean rag to wipe the grease from his hands. “By the end of the night, we should know where we stand.”

Kat swallowed hard and took a deep breath to try and settle her nerves. At the end of the night, if Irish was still standing at all, she’d consider it a success.

If he wasn’t, it would be her fault and she’d never forgive herself for endangering the only man to have ever shown her any compassion.

“Irish…” Her throat constricted, and the words wouldn’t come.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Don’t go worrying about me, okay? I got this.”

She nodded and prayed to God he was right.





Chapter Seven


Aiden rolled up in front of the tattoo shop below Kat’s apartment and killed the engine on the GSXR. He glanced around for signs of the guys who’d been tailing her the night before, but he didn’t find any.

He’d give it a few minutes and see if they wanted to approach him on the street. It’d be better for him if they did. It was only eleven, so the tattoo joint was still open for business, and with those gigantic windows and the street lamp directly above him, it’d be hard for anyone to miss a guy getting beat with bats.

Setting the kickstand, he got off the bike and wished like hell he wasn’t wearing his snug leather riding jacket and gloves. They were suffocating him in this weather, but if these guys were from the East Coast and knew anything about the fighting world, they could recognize his tattoos and make him.

The last thing he needed was his past colliding with Kat’s present. At least he didn’t need the jacket zipped, since his shirt covered up everything on his chest.

He pulled off his helmet and hung it on the throttle handle, then took out a cigarette from the half-crushed pack in his jacket pocket. Lighting his smoke, Aiden leaned back on the bike, ankles and arms crossed, looking for all the world like he wasn’t about to step into the lion’s den with steaks tied around his neck.

Kat had done her best to tag along, but there was no way in hell he’d hand her over on a silver platter to these assholes. As long as she was somewhere they couldn’t find her until he could figure a way out of this mess, she’d be safe. She’d taken consolation in telling him where she kept her gun and making him promise to use it for protection.

Aiden took a deep drag on the cigarette and searched the surrounding area again as he thought about that afternoon. Keeping his distance from Kat was proving damn near impossible. In the beginning, he at least had the boyfriend standing between them and that almost hadn’t stopped him from kissing her in the kitchen. But then she’d told him she had no attachments, and it took everything he had not to pick her up and haul her off to his room. He’d fantasized about her for weeks, so the news of her single status had flipped his moral traffic light from red to green in an instant.

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