explanation.
This night couldn’t get much worse. If he thought Griffin would never look at him the same now, it was going to be even worse if Miss Finley got herself killed.
No one had told Finley that this was an ongoing night of continuous fighting, weeding out the opponents until you were the last one left. The first time one of the fighters injured another so badly the results surely had to be fatal, she almost heaved the contents of her stomach all over the roughhewn floor.
Emily was with her, watching the violence from the sidelines, dressed in a white shirt, vest and striped green trousers with high thick-soled boots. Her ropes of hair were pinned up on the top of her head, and she sported a silver hoop through the right side of her nose. It didn’t really pierce her skin, but clamped on in order to appear as though it did. The hoop and the trousers were gang related. Apparently there was some kind of Irish gang in the city who wore the same jewelry and trousers. They were known as fighters—either being tough themselves or handling fighters who were tougher.
It was a good disguise. Emily wasn’t as tall and muscular as Finley, so the kit provided some protection. No one would mess with a member of the
“Right,” Finley said when another man was carried— groaning in agony—from the ring. “I’m going to knock ’em out as soon as I can, Em. Do as little and take as little damage as I can.”
“A sound notion,” her friend replied in a strained voice. “Just be careful, Finley. I’m not certain this was such a grand idea after all.”
Finley’s smile pulled tight. “It’s not, but it’s the best I have, unless you think me throwing myself at Dalton would be better?”
“He is lovely to look upon, but I reckon that’s not the way to win his trust and respect. Plenty o’ women have been practically swooning over him all evening.”
Emily was right. The criminal was possessed of an uncommonly fine face. They’d spotted him shortly after their arrival, because he had Jasper with him. Dalton was almost too handsome with his silky brown hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones. It bothered her to look at him for too long.
Griffin, on the other hand, was a bit more rugged-looking, not quite so perfectly put together. He wasn’t as overtly chiseled, but she could look at him for days and not get bored.
She glanced at Jasper. From where they stood, they could see him fairly clearly, though she doubted he could see them, shrouded in shadows as they were. Jasper did not look like the carefree, smooth-talking cowboy she’d met in London. He looked weary, guarded and strangely dangerous—as though he was a man on the verge of violence.
“Jasper doesn’t look as though he’s enjoying himself,” she remarked, not taking her attention off of him as Emily wrapped her hands.
“No,” Emily agreed. “I think he must be with Dalton against his will. Who do you suppose the girl is?”
Ah, Finley had wondered when that would come up. “No idea. They appear to know each other quite well.”
“Quite.” There could be no mistaking the jealous tone of Emily’s voice.
“I thought you’d set your cap at Sam.” She turned her head to look at her friend. “Has that changed?”
Crimson splotches bloomed on pale cheeks. “No. Although, I’m not sure what it says about me that, even though I prefer Sam’s attentions to Jasper’s, I still do not like Jasper turning that attention elsewhere.”
Finley chuckled at her honesty. “I don’t know a girl who would.” She paused. “You saw that Sam is here?” She hadn’t been surprised to see the big lad at the fight, but she had been surprised to see he was a contender. She should have known Griffin would come up with a similar plan, blast it all.
“Yes,” Emily replied, expression grim. “Don’t you hurt him.”
The warning in her friend’s tone startled her, but she heeded it all the same. Emily’s bad side was not a place she wanted to be. “I won’t.”
“Up next,” boomed the announcer’s voice, “Harpy O’Malley versus Finley Bennet.”
Her stomach felt as though it had dropped between her ankles. She’d given them an alias she had used before, in case anyone started asking questions—no way to link her name to Griffin’s. “I’m nervous,” she admitted.
“Harpy’s not intimidating,” Emily informed her, giving her a gentle shove. “Bird woman. You can defeat a bird woman. Off with ye now, before we attract even more attention. And be careful.”
There was no turning back. One look at Jasper, and Finley knew she couldn’t walk away. Besides, she wasn’t a coward. She simply wasn’t used to walking into a fight without aggression already driving her. She wasn’t going up against an enemy, just another person.
Another person willing to kill her to win. That realization drove the importance of the evening home. Calm settled over her. Calm determination. She had not come here to lose.
She stepped out of the shadows and walked the short distance to the raised platform where the ring sat. Slipping between the ropes, she forced herself to think of one thing and one thing only: survival.
“Harpy” turned out to be a strapping woman of Irish descent. She had long ginger hair, which she wore in thick braids on either side of her head, and arms the size of Finley’s legs. Some might have called her heavy or sturdy but there wasn’t an inch that wasn’t muscle. She wouldn’t go down easy, but when she did, she’d stay there.
Finley smiled and flexed her wrapped hands. She almost regretted the fact that she wouldn’t be able to cut her knuckles on Harpy’s teeth. Oh, yes. Her fighting side had shown up in full force. The runes Griff had tattooed on her back tingled so slightly it might have been her imagination.
The Irishwoman came at her fast and furious, swinging her meat-hook-like hands with such force they created a breeze. Finley avoided one swipe but took another on the chin. It felt as though her teeth had been driven up into her brain, it hurt so bad. But as she’d learned in the past, pain was often a trigger for her particular “talents,” and this was no different. She managed to avoid another couple of swings by dodging out of the way. Once her head cleared, she could concentrate on the anger that being hit brought out in her—and the single-minded determination to not feel that pain again.
Harpy was already panting, having exhausted herself with all that constant exertion. Her movements had slowed, and that was all the enticement Finley needed. She whirled around in a move Jasper had shown her, pivoted her body down toward her left leg and brought her right up, connecting with her opponent’s head with a solid kick. She was right—Harpy went down hard.
As the woman’s unconscious body was lugged out of the ring, Finley caught Dalton’s appreciative gaze. She’d grabbed his interest; now to see if she could keep it. She waggled her fingers at him in a way she hoped made her appear flirtatious, rather than deranged, and was rewarded with a lopsided grin.
“Get out of the ring” came a stern male voice from behind her. “We got another fight comin’.”
Finley did as she was told. Her victory guaranteed that she’d be back in the ring later, so she could continue to work on Dalton then.
As she approached the shadows where Emily stood waiting for her, grinning like an idiot, Finley glanced out into the audience. Her gaze locked with another—one the color of a stormy sky and every bit as volatile.
It was Griffin. And he wasn’t nearly as impressed with her as Emily was.
Finley’s last fight was against Sam.
It was ironic that her former nemesis be her final fight. She wasn’t surprised that it had come down to the two of them. If she had to fight all comers till the end of the world, it would still end up just her and Sam, squared off.
“What are you doing here?” he growled as they stood face-to-face.
“Same thing you are—trying to fight my way into Dalton’s gang.”
“You’re mad.”
“And you’ve been seen with the Duke of Greythorne.” That drew him up straight. “Sam, Dalton’s already noticed me. He likes girls that fight. Stay with Griffin and Emily. Protect them. Let me have Dalton.”
“What are you waitin’ for?” A voice from the crowd shouted. “Fight!”
A roar rose up in the crowded room, reverberating off the walls, trembling through the floorboards.
Sam raised his fists. “Let’s do this.”
Finley adopted a fighting stance. “Are you going to take a fall?”
