Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Moments later the other man was waving him off and smiling with a mouth full of bloody teeth. Bellamy shook his hand and pulled him in to pat him on the back.
As bets were paid out, Seamus was pushed by unknown hands into the circle, and Bellamy reached for their shirts and his flask as he stepped back into the crowd without a word.
A shirtless stranger with tattoos on his forearms and two missing front teeth grinned at Seamus, lifting his fists.
Suddenly it didn’t matter that it wasn’t Bellamy. It didn’t matter which one of them the men were betting on. Hard-won skill took over and his focus pulled in tight around him. The sounds of the crowd dulled to a wordless white noise as Seamus circled his dancing partner with a calm he didn’t feel.
Toothless was a hard brawler, his first two combinations forceful and bone jarring. Seamus blocked him, protecting his ribs before paying him back in kind.
You want Gillian.
Where’s the fire?
Bellamy. Bellamy is the damn fire.
He parried another jab that slid past his chin. Then another, and another, until something in him snapped. As though he were disembodied, he saw his fists fly out with two quick pops to his opponent’s cheek and a surging uppercut to the man’s jaw. His blood was pumping so loudly in his ears he didn’t hear the shouts of surprise that turned abruptly to stunned silence as Bellamy and someone he didn’t know held him back.
“Fight’s over already,” Bellamy said, smacking Seamus on both cheeks. “He’s done, Seamus.”
He looked down in horror at his opponent. Still smiling, with a face covered in blood and a bruise already blooming on his cheekbone, Toothless let his friends help him up and he held out his hand for a friendly, forgiving shake.
Seamus hadn’t wanted to hit him that hard. He hadn’t meant to...
Fuck. He shook off the arms holding him, his hand barely grazing the other man’s before he pushed through the crowd and out of the room without looking back.
The bartender called out to him as he strode through the front of the bar. “Your friends went back to the hotel. The big guy with the beard was holding up the blond, who, if you don’t mind me saying, was a few more sheets than three to the wind. Said they’d see you at breakfast tomorrow.”
Seamus, still reeling, felt the words like another punch in his side. He’d been acting like a brainless street thug while his brother was so shitfaced he’d had to be carried out? “Damn.”
The older man laughed and waved away his concern, but he was eyeing Seamus warily. “He’ll be fine in the morning. My wife always says Americans spend five days in Ireland, but only remember two. Lightweights, every one.”
“Thanks.” Seamus walked out the front door without another word, determined to find a taxi and get back to the hotel.
What had he been thinking? He didn’t fight when he wasn’t in control, but tonight he’d gone berserk on some stranger who’d done nothing to deserve it. He didn’t do that. He never did that.
You threatened to break a reporter’s arm once, his guilty conscience reminded him. And you would have hurt that blogger if your sister hadn’t punched him first.
Toothless hadn’t threatened his family. He wasn’t hurting anyone. He’d only wanted to go out to the bar with his friends and have a friendly sparring match.
Proud of yourself, Finn? Feel like a man now?
“Hey, gorgeous,” Bellamy called. “You want your shirt back?”
Shit, he needed to get his head on straight. “I forgot you were holding it.”
He put it on and started walking away, but Bellamy—still shirtless—followed close behind him. “If you can wait, I’ll call my driver. He’s right around the corner and he can take you back to our hotel.”
Our hotel. Seamus shook his head. “You don’t have to do that.”
Being alone with him was not the best idea. Not now.
“Are you okay?” Bellamy asked after he made the call.
No. I hit that man. I want to kiss you. I’m not okay at all. “Worried about my brother.”
“Are you sure? You look a little pale. Does your lip hurt?”
Seamus reached up to touch it, surprised to feel the blood and the slight split. “I’m fine. But Owen can usually hold his liquor. I should know. He might really be sick.”
There was a hand on his back, rubbing small soothing circles over his too-tight muscles. He didn’t step away from it. He wasn’t sure why.
“I’m sure he can, on a normal night,” Bellamy assured him. “But if a man drinks Irish whiskey, beer, and whatever Gillian’s brothers were giving to him earlier…”
His stomach knotted up. “What were they giving him?” And why the hell would he take it? Jesus, Owen. You know better.
Yeah? So do you.
“All I know is it was glass-cleaner blue, it looked homemade, and he was drinking it from a jar with the redheaded brother. George, I think. The one who keeps insisting he’s a poet? I imagine he’s in the same shape as Owen right now.”