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DECLAN

Five Years Later…

Song- Insanely Illegal Cage Fight

W ith fists clenched and my eyes locked on my brother, Conan, inside the cage, I can hear the frantic beating of my heart above the sounds of the arena.

He’s known for being unpredictable, both in and out of the fight. The youngest of the three of us.

Six feet six inches of pure muscle.

Lethal.

Hence why me and Finn are in this dingy hell hole in Birmingham. We’ve learned to always bring backup to his fights.

We might have a peace truce with the Bowen’s, but a single punch can change that.

This fight is different. It’s fixed. As long as Conan listens to my orders, he will be allowed back in the cage to compete. He’s been given one shot. By proving to the organizers he can listen to instructions and fall when he needs to.

Show them that he isn’t the same man that beat a guy to death after Mom’s death. It might be underground, but there is a limit. And Conan needs the cage like he needs air to breathe.

A sharp impact against my ribs announces Finn’s arrival, making me stagger slightly to my left.

“The fuck?” I turn to him and notice his long fingers wrapped around the scrawny neck of some guy.

“I told you once to get out of my space. Bump into me again, I’ll knock all your fucking teeth out,” Finn seethes.

I grip his shoulder to calm him down. I can’t have both brothers fighting tonight.

“Enough, Finn,” I say under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

He releases the wide-eyed man, who gasps for air, clutching at his throat.

“Sorry, man,” he says in a London accent. I roll my eyes in response.

Probably one of the many Bowen cousins.

We run our operations in Dublin, the Bowen’s rule London.

Right now, our father and theirs have an agreement that’s hanging on by a thread. The thread being this fight. They don’t want Con back in the cage, so they pushed the organizers to make this fixed. A test they thought Con would fail.

Finn flips him off and shoves one hand in the pocket of his black overcoat. The other runs through his hair, sweeping it back into place.

“He goes down next round, right?” Finn asks discreetly.

I fiddle with the knuckle dusters in my coat.

“Yeah. He better fucking do it, too.”

Finn shakes his head. “Perhaps you should have let me drug him a little. He might not get as angry in there.”

“Not. Happening. Finn. Father’s orders. What would he have said about us drugging our little brother before a fight?”

He winces, almost in pain, and I know I’ve struck a chord. We protect each other. Even from ourselves sometimes.

“Calm down, Dec. I was joking. He’d beat my ass if I tried anyway.”

I wince as James, Conan’s opponent, the youngest son of our lifelong enemies, knocks his fist into Conan’s nose. Of course it had to be a Bowen he’s fighting. The best they’ve got too.

Even though it’s fixed, they’ll be gloating James beat Conan fair and square.

Blood pours from his nostrils that he furiously wipes away, and a chilling switch flickers in his eyes.

“Declan,” Finn warns, knowing that deadly look Conan has as well as I do.

The cold metal of the cage bites into my skin as I reach the edge and grip the bars.

“Don’t you dare fuck this, Con,” I almost scream, trying to snap him out of it.

He looks over to me and his crimson stained teeth appear as he smiles.

“Lose your head. I’ll kill you myself,” I shout.

James hurls himself at Conan, his grip like a vise on Conan’s waist as the impact sends Conan’s back crashing into the cage with a sickening thud.

Conan lets out a ferocious roar, the raw power in his voice mirroring the brutal force of his fists pounding into James’s skull.

The blows echo through the basement.

The crowd erupts into a flurry of cheers. As I glance across the other side of the room, my eyes lock with Arthur.

The eldest brother of the Bowens. His face is serious as he slowly shakes his head at me.

A warning.

“Conan!” I bang my fists against the cage frantically.

He has one more round.

I let out a shaky breath as the bell’s clang, and James is roughly pulled from Conan’s grasp.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” James spits blood next to Conan’s feet.

Fuck. Those are the last words Conan needs to hear. He takes threats very seriously.

With a pounding heart, I run to the entrance with Finn hot on my heels, and together we storm towards Conan.

As he wipes the damp sweat clinging to his skin, I grab his face, forcing his gaze to meet mine.

“I need you to listen to me, very fucking carefully, brother.”

His nostrils flare as Finn patches him up with petroleum jelly and ice on his eye.

“You go down on your ass in the next round, no fucking around. You don’t get a choice here, Conan. You want to keep fighting in the cage, listen to me for fucking once in your life.” I warn.

He grunts, spitting out his mouthguard.

Mom’s death hit him hard. He was her little boy. Even when he towered over her, she was the only person to tame him.

Now, no matter how much me, Finn, or our father try, it falls on deaf ears.

He’s a tank of anger waiting to erupt.

“I said I’ll do it, so I’ll do it.”

I slap his cheek in an attempt to bring him back.

“Don’t let me down, brother. We can’t afford a war.”

Not yet, anyway.

He nods, avoiding eye contact with me as I release him and step back.

Finn’s worried frown and the furrow in his brow are clear as we head down the creaky, old wooden stairs.

“How armed exactly are we, Declan?” Finn asks from beside me, retrieving his flat cap from his inside pocket.

We have men dotted around the venue, a getaway driver, and enough blades on us to have everyone in here bleeding out.

But you can never underestimate the London guys.

They fight dirty and they fucking hate our guts. The feeling is mutual.

As we resume our positions at the side of the ring, I slide the cool metal over my fingers. Better to be safe than sorry.

When the bell rings, my heart races.

Don’t fuck this up, Con.

The fight resumes. Two minutes is all he has to fall on his ass and tap out.

Conan clenches his bare fists and charges at James. Pulling back his arm, his fist connects to his nose again. Blood sprays out, making me grit my teeth.

“He’s just making it look believable, Dec.”

I shake my head. We’re fucked.

James reacts instantly, a left hook followed by a straight right to Conan’s gut, the impact audible even from across the ring.

He doubles over and takes a step back.

James’s stellar uppercut lands with a sickening thud on Conan’s jaw, making him wobble.

Go down. Go down. I’m almost praying.

“Your mom was a dirty, useless whore.”

Those will be the last words James ever utters. I rub my hand over my face and take a deep fucking breath.

Conan straightens his legs and smirks at James.

“Shit,” I hiss.

A quick yet powerful jab lands on James’s cheek. Followed by another, and another.

It’s almost too easy for my brother.

James stumbles back and I close my eyes.

I can’t even hear the crowd over the blood pounding in my ears.

“The asshole is going to get us killed,” Finn says, drawing me to watch.

Conan’s fists become a blur as he unleashes a flurry of punches on his opponent.

It’s a fucking bloodbath.

James collapses to the ground and Conan jumps on top of him, easily shrugging the ref off.

Sliding my flip knife from my pocket, I hold it in my right, while my left is covered with a pair of brass knuckles.

There’s a strict no gun rule down here.

Fury engulfs me as I set sights on my asshole brother. Racing into the ring, I stop when I see James’ mangled face, the ref nursing his own after an elbow to the cheek. Conan sits back and I grab him by the neck.

“Your ass should have been on the canvas before this point, you cunt,” I hiss. “Get up.”

I square up to him, asserting my place. He might be a couple of inches taller than me, but I am above him in authority.

Even if he challenges that every day.

I’ll continue to remind him who the hell he is in the pecking order.

“I’m sorry?—“

I hold up my hand.

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” I dismiss him.

No matter how angry I am, this can wait until we’re all safe.

I scan the room. Arthur is no longer in his original position. He’s our major concern.

I toss the flip knife to Con. The room is in utter chaos.

Fists flying, men cheering, chairs beating against the cage.

“Defend yourself only. This is not our territory. Follow me.”

Grabbing another blade from my pocket, I quickly jog down the stairs. As a fist hurtles toward my face, I snatch the guy’s forearm, twisting it and sending a hard blow into his face. The impact sounds like a dull thud.

We’re going to have to beat our way out of this hellhole. I spot Finn nearer the exit with the twins, Rowan and Reggie. With adrenaline fueling my every move, I barge my way through the fighting crowd.

“Oi. Irish cunt.” I hear from my left in a Cockney accent. Clenching my fist with the duster, a brawny man, smelling of sweat and stale beer, barrels into me, the impact jarring my teeth. I grab him as I’m propelled backward, my muscles screaming in protest. I unleash a flurry of punches into the back of his head until his grip loosens. As he charges again, I instinctively step back and then grab him by the face, digging my thumbs into his eyes.

His screams rip through me, only fueling my fire further.

He digs his fingers into my arms as I spin us around and push him headfirst into the brick wall.

He’s down for now.

Straightening my jacket, I reenter the brawl. Keeping my wits about me, but monitoring Conan and Finn as best I can, I make my way to the exit.

I punch my way through to Con, who is using his sheer power to pummel through the crowd.

“Fuck you!” He grabs the guy by the shoulders and smashes his forehead into his, then drops him to the ground.

“Good job, you’ve got no fucking brain cells.” I grin at him.

Before Con can reply, he winces in pain. I cringe seeing the knife shoved in his side.

Blind rage consumes me. Moving swiftly, I grab the slender blond man by his hair and forcefully push my blade beneath his chin. As I slide out my weapon, I drop him to the floor, looking back at Con.

“Let’s fucking go! This way!” Finn shouts.

“Shit, this stings.” Conan moans. He breaks into a jog and I follow towards the side exit.

The freezing air hits my face, stinging my cheeks, and I suck in a sharp breath. Finn and Con jump into the truck, their laughter echoing in the frosty air.

As I take a step forward, I’m stopped by someone clearing their throat to my left.

“Mr. Declan Quinn.”

Arthur-fucking-Bowen.

Clutching my blade tightly, I turn to face him. He’s leaning against the brick wall, slowly dragging on his cigarette.

“Quite the performance. I knew that beast didn’t have the brains to listen.” He pushes himself up and steps in front of me. His dark eyes are full of pain.

“The truce is over.”

“I gathered,” I respond, deadpan.

“I hope you’re ready for war, Declan. I’ve been waiting a long fucking time for you to screw this up. We’re coming for your empire.”

He pauses, taking another drag.

“And we will burn it to the ground and bury you all alongside your whore mother.”

My jaw ticks.

I know better than to react. Their words don’t hurt me.

I know we won’t be defeated, nor will they take shit from us.

Our operations are bigger. We have more men. These assholes are a thorn in our side.

“I look forward to it, Arthur. Just be very careful. You may believe you are larger than life, and you may well be.” I square up to him, flicking the cigarette out of his hand.

“In a single city. But no one outside knows who you are. You are meaningless. You have no allies. Our empire is more secure than yours. Remember that before making threats.”

I brush off the stray ash from my coat and step back.

“Anyway, it’s up to our fathers to decide.”

He grunts in annoyance. I know his game. It wouldn’t surprise me if this sick fucker wanted his own brother dead for power.

“You owe us. We lost a lot of cash from your brother's failure.”

I roll my eyes.

“Give me the number. I’ll wire it across personally once we’re home.”

Everyone has a price.

“You think money can fix this?” he scoffs.

A casual shrug is my only response.

“That’s all you lot are after, ain’t it? More money so you can sniff it up your nose and forget all your posh boy problems, ay?”

He lets out a deep chuckle, pulling out his packet of cigarettes.

“You better hope James pulls through,” he tells me, the threat evident in his tone.

I keep my facial expression neutral. It does not look promising.

I’d guess brain damage. I’m sure our doc, Finn, can give us a better idea. But he’s right. Their father, Charles, will declare a war for this.

I told my father this was a stupid idea, that Conan wasn’t mentally ready to be let loose in the ring yet.

He didn’t listen, and look where that got us.