Page 40 of Killaney Blood

I check my watch again. Damn. She's probably there by now. Ringside. I can picture the way she crosses her arms when she's bored, the tightness in her mouth when she's pretending not to watch me.

Something shifts inside me at the thought of her.

Fuck it.

"Change of plans," I say, raising the gun again.

Three more shots. One into each of their heads. The screaming stops as they bow their heads, blood starting to pour from the gunshot wounds.

I holster my weapon, watching the concrete turn red. I wanted to draw it out a bit more, but I have somewhere more important to be.

"Clean this up," I tell Shane, already heading for the door. "Make sure everyone knows what failure looks like."

Shane nods, pulling out his phone to call the cleanup crew. "You heading home?"

"No," I say. "Frank's."

"Frank's? It's a smaller night. Only a few fights. You don't usually show for those."

I shrug and turn to walk out. "New talent. Gotta see who's worth my time."

I lie because the truth is simpler, and more complicated at the same time. Lyra will be there.

I drive over to the gym and park. Once I get inside, I scan the room and find her immediately. She's at the edge of the ring, bag beside her, watching the fight with the detached focus of someone assessing potential injuries rather than enjoying the violence.

Her dark hair is pulled back, a few strands escaping and resting gently on her cheek. She's wearing a plain black shirt and jeans.

She looks at me. Just for a second and stiffens up. Then she turns back to the fight like she doesn't care. The dismissal sends a spike of irritation through me.

I settle in to watch, not the fight, but her. The way she winces slightly when someone lands a nasty hook. The way her fingers twitch toward her kit when blood sprays on the ground.

The tournament ends in a little over an hour. I barely see it.

One of my younger fighters took a bad cut across the cheek, and we're in the back by the lockers to have it checked.

Lyra's crouched in front of him now, patching him up. He says something I can't hear. She laughs.

Then he winks at her as his thumb brushes against her skin.

My vision tunnels, and something hot and sharp twists in my gut.

Before I even realize I'm moving, I'm across the floor. I slam him against the locker wall so hard the metal bends.

"You think she's here for you?" I snarl.

He tries to speak, but I punch him. Once. Twice. A third time.

He drops to the ground, blood leaking from his lip.

I grab him, hauling him back up, my hand around his throat. Squeezing.

"You disrespect her again, I will rip your tongue out and feed it to the fucking dogs."

I let him drop.

"Declan!"

I ignore her.