Page 26 of The Pucking Date (Defenders Diaries #3)

BLOOD IN THE RING

FINN

M arcus is talking, but I’m not hearing a damn word. Something about once-in-a-lifetime offers. Career peak. Legacy deals.

“…this is what we worked for, Finn,” he says, his tone low and insistent. “Seven years in the league, leading scorer, cleaned-up image. LA’s not just knocking, they’re offering you the kingdom. You don’t turn down that kind of money. Not when you’ve got a name to rewrite.”

My jaw ticks.

Yeah. The name.

O’Reilly, the name I’ve been scrubbing since the day my old man pissed it away and then vanished into a shell of himself.

He smiles now. Nods at the right moments.

But he’s not there, not really. And you can’t ask him why.

Can’t ask what the hell he thought he was doing to the name I’ve spent my whole life trying to fix.

Marcus thinks this is what I want—the money, the clean slate, the chance to be someone other than Patrick O’Reilly’s son. But staring at Jessica through that window, I know the truth. LA could offer me the world, and it wouldn’t matter if she’s not in it.

She’s sitting across from Chad Vanderbilt in a booth that’s too private, under lighting that’s too soft, with a bottle of wine that doesn’t belong in a business meeting.

My grip tightens around my glass until the condensation drips down my knuckles.

Marcus keeps going, oblivious. “Look, I get it. You’ve got ties to New York. But loyalty doesn’t cash out, Finn. LA’s offering endorsements on top of the contract. This is generational money. You’d be insane not to take it.”

I watch Jessica’s posture shift—arms crossing, chin lifting in that way I know too well. She’s pissed. Chad leans in, all aristocratic entitlement, like he’s already sealed whatever deal he thinks he’s making.

A muscle in my jaw twitches.

I set my glass down before I shatter it.

“Finn?” Marcus prompts, sensing my silence. “You hearing me?”

I drag my gaze away, long enough to give him a look. “Yeah. You’re saying sell my soul for sunshine and a bigger paycheck.”

Marcus sighs, leaning forward. “I’m saying, this clears your slate. Whatever stain your father left on the O’Reilly name, this buries it. LA doesn’t care about old scandals. They care about stars. And you’re at your peak. You don’t get to hesitate when the league hands you the golden ticket.”

I used to think this was it. Big contracts. Clean slates. LA sunshine to bleach out every bad headline with a better one.

But none of that shit matters if I lose the one person I want.

I’m not trying to outrun my father’s shadow anymore. I’m trying to build something he never had the guts to fight for. And that sure as hell isn’t in Los Angeles.

I barely register Marcus’s rant because inside, Jessica pushes back from the table, her expression a storm.

Chad’s still talking, still smiling that slick, condescending smile, but she’s done.

She grabs her bag, fires something at him I can’t hear, but I don’t need sound to read rage.

Then she storms out. Through the doors, into the night air—shoulders stiff, blazing with fury, like she’s seconds from combusting. And every instinct in me shifts from simmer to detonate.

Marcus starts to say something else, but I’m already on my feet, chair scraping back, blood pounding in my ears.

“Where are you?—?”

“Later,” I bite out, eyes locked on Jessica like she’s the only thing keeping me from marching back inside and putting Chad Vanderbilt through a wall.

I catch up to her in three strides.

“Red,” I snap, my hand catching her elbow—firm, not forceful. But enough to make her stop.

She jerks out of my grip, spinning to face me, fire in her gaze. “Back off, O’Reilly.”

My jaw clenches. “You tear out of that dinner like a goddamn storm, shaking with rage, and I’m supposed to just watch you disappear into the night?”

She folds her arms, every inch of her back in place. But I see through it now. I know what that facade’s hiding.

“It’s none of your business, O’Reilly,” she snaps, words sharp enough to cut.

“The hell it isn’t,” I snarl, moving closer. “You think after last night I’m going to stand by while he tries to work you? ”

“He offered to help me start my own firm,” she hisses. “With strings attached. I told him to go to hell.”

My chest tightens. “What kind of strings?”

Her laugh is bitter. “The kind that would make me his woman on the side.”

Something murderous must flicker across my face because I see it reflected in her eyes. Her expression shifts, hurt mixing with fear.

She jabs a finger into my chest. “I can handle myself, don’t you worry. Stay away from him. I’m trying to keep you here, Finn. With the Defenders. Because we need you. The team needs you. Don’t mess that up because of an entitled asshole.”

I blink. “The team needs me?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Jessica—”

“Don’t.” Her tone is strained. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“What? Be honest?” I push. “Because last night felt pretty fucking real to me.”

Her jaw clenches. “LA made you an offer. You didn’t tell me.”

My stomach drops.

“I was going to.”

“When?” she fires back. “Before or after you fucked me?”

I step in, heat rising under my skin. “You think that would’ve changed things between us?”

She scoffs, turning away like she can’t stand the sight of me.

“Save it. Congrats on the big payday, O’Reilly.”

I catch her wrist this time—not hard, but enough to stop her from walking out of my life again.

“I never said I was taking it. ”

She yanks free, her gaze burning with betrayal.

“You didn’t have to tell me about LA. I already know where your priorities are.” She pauses, as if weighing whether she should continue. “I saw a video of you from last July, Finn. Some gorgeous girl stumbling out of a bar with you. I realized I’m no more than another stop on your tour.”

My pulse stutters. “Jesus, Jess?—”

“Don’t,” she cuts in. “I don’t need the details. Doesn’t matter. I was in Shanghai convincing myself what we had was one night only. Turns out I was right.”

“You think I’d touch another woman after having you? No one else exists for me except for you.” She laughs, quiet, bitter, shaking her head. “What do you think we were doing last night? I was clear this isn’t a one and done deal, Jessica.”

Her name leaves my mouth like a prayer I’m not sure she wants to hear. Like the most important word I’ll ever say, and she’s already decided not to listen.

For a second, she flinches. Her shoulders go still and her eyes won’t meet mine.

Her voice comes softer this time, but it slices just the same. “I think whatever we were doing…is over.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Not only because she’s walking away, but because she believes I’d let her.

She presses her lips together, jaw tight. “It was fun. It got messy. But now we’re done.”

“Jessica—”

“No.” Her voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its edge. “It’s all good. No strings. So let’s not pretend it was anything else.”

She turns and walks into the hotel without looking back. I stand there for a long moment, watching her disappear, before my attention shifts to the restaurant window. To Chad. Still seated, looking perfectly composed .

Thinking he’s won.

My jaw cracks as I roll my shoulders back, every instinct sharpening into focus. She’s not ready to hear what I need to say—that LA means nothing compared to her, that I’ve been half dead since she left me in Montreal.

Chad, on the other hand, is about to get a very clear explanation of where things stand.

I return to the restaurant, calm on the surface, every muscle coiled beneath the suit like a loaded weapon. He’s still at his table, swirling the last of his wine. He doesn’t see me until I’m standing right beside him.

“Vanderbilt.”

He looks up, that signature smirk in place, ready to play whatever game comes his way.

“O’Reilly,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Congrats on the offer. LA’s a hell of a market.”

I don’t smile. Don’t sit. When I finally speak, my voice is low and even. Dangerous in the way a ticking clock is dangerous when you can’t see where the bomb’s hidden.

“You like playing games, Vanderbilt?”

Chad’s grin twitches, but he holds it. “It’s business, Finn. You of all people should understand, gladiators don’t get to pick the terms. They fight. We watch.”

My eyes lock on his. Then I step in, close enough that he can smell the adrenaline bleeding off me.

“You’d better pray you never end up in the ring with one.” His jaw tightens. “What did you say to her?” I drop my voice, cold and lethal. “Because I happened to watch Jessica Novak storm out of here like she wanted to set the world on fire. And I know exactly whose matchbook she was holding.”

He leans back like he’s unbothered, but his fingers twitch against the glass. “I don’t discuss private negotiations,” he says smoothly, but there’s a crack in the polish now.

I smile, a slow, dangerous thing. “See, that’s where we’re different. I don’t negotiate when it comes to her.” I drop my hands to the back of his chair, my shadow swallowing him whole. His shoulders stiffen, the first crack in that polished veneer.

“Careful,” he says, voice tight despite himself. “Wouldn’t want anyone to misunderstand your...enthusiasm.”

I laugh, low and dangerous. “See, Chad, you’ve got your contracts and your daddy’s money. But I’ve got something you’ll never have.”

He raises a brow. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Her.”

I let that land, watch his grip tighten on the stem of his glass.

“So let me make this simple. You keep your deals, your sponsors, and your pathetic power plays away from my girl. Because the next time I see her walk out of a room looking like that…” I let the promise hang, my grip tightening enough for him to feel it. “We won’t be having a conversation.”

Chad huffs a demeaning laugh. “ Your girl?” He leans in, voice dripping with disdain. “Please. She was mine first. You’re just getting my leftovers.”

I go still.

“Let me remind you,” I murmur, my smile a loaded weapon. “Gladiators don’t walk away until there’s blood on the floor.”

His throat works, but he doesn’t speak.

Smart.

“Find another board, Vanderbilt. Because this one’s mine. And if you come near her again, you’ll discover just how bloody that floor can get.”