Knockout: The Doyles A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Read online

  Owen says something to me, but I miss it, lost in my thoughts.

  “The old man and the girl,” he continues. “What are their names?”

  “He’s an Ericson and his niece’s last name is Smith,” I reply. “Why, Owen?”

  But now he’s not paying attention. He’s looking out the front window, where Lily Smith is coming up the front walk. Without saying a word, he runs out of my apartment.

  Loud footsteps echo thunderously down the stairs, and the door crashes open before I have time to react.

  “What the fuck?” I ask my empty apartment before tearing off after him down the stairs.

  When I reach the bottom of the stairs and step out onto the front porch, Owen is standing in front of Lily and he’s examining her face. He looks as though he’s looking for something, although what I couldn’t tell you.

  The tiny girl is deathly pale, her face a mask of terror. Who can blame her, when a man Owen’s size takes her completely by surprise?

  “Owen,” I call out firmly, moving toward them. “What are you doing?”

  His face flushes and he immediately takes a step back. But his focus remains intently on the girl’s face.

  “Your last name is Smith? Is that right?”

  She visibly swallows and barely manages a tight nod.

  Why is he asking her this? My head swims as I try to make sense of it. I don’t know what’s going on, but I step in between them. Lily is too frightened to move.

  “Owen, you’re scaring her.”

  To be honest, he’s frightening me a little, although my senses tell me I’m missing something important.

  I can see by the regret that washes over his face that he didn’t mean to scare anyone. But it’s a jarring reminder to me of how Owen moves in the world. Of who he is, and how he sometimes approaches situations.

  Wide blue eyes meet mine.

  “I didn’t mean to scare anyone,” he says in a low voice, holding his hands up in a peace gesture. But I can see Lily taking in the bruised knuckles, the scrapes.

  Even a kid in this neighborhood recognizes a fighter.

  “You need to remember that you’re a giant fucking man, Doyle. She’s a kid. Look at your face. Your clothes are covered in blood.”

  I sound eminently reasonable to my own ears, even though I’m sure my eyes are pleading with him.

  There’s a dawning horror in his eyes. He wasn’t thinking about being a giant fighter with blood-soaked clothes. None of that registered. He was entirely focused on something else.

  Turning to Lily, Owen says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, Lily. My name is Owen, Owen Doyle…”

  But when she doesn’t react, he looks back at me. It seems like he might continue, but I give a quick shake of my head.

  I slide an arm around Lily. Her bright, blue eyes so much like Owen’s are starting to shine with unshed tears. “I think you’d better go for now, Owen.”

  My voice is soft, but firm. He looks almost pleading.

  “I’m sorry, Molly.” Stabbing a hand through his hair, I can tell that Owen would do anything to make this right. But one look at Lily tells me now’s not the time.

  “We’ll talk later.”

  He nods, and heads for his truck. I walk Lily up to her apartment, answer the questions I can, and then head back to my place, before falling into an exhausted sleep.

  10

  Owen

  A few days have gone by, but everything that happened with Molly is very much on my mind.

  The back booth of the Kildare is dark, and I look across the table at my father’s tired face while deciding what to tell him.

  Dad and I play cards a few times a week. He wipes the floor with me nearly every time, but after I found out he can count cards, I feel less bad about it. He’s too tired for anything complicated today, so we’re just playing War.

  I toss down an eight.

  “I found him, Dad. Your nephew, Jamie.”

  My stomach pulls tight at having to deliver bad news. My father’s relationship with his brother has always been strained, and what I had to tell him about that man’s son wouldn’t make him feel any better about the family animosity.

  He tosses down a nine and grabs my card. “Did ya now? Good boy. Where is he?”

  His next card is a three.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. He’s dead.” Mine is an ace. Figures I waste a great card on a fucking three.

  “Goddamn my brother,” he growls, not taking his eyes of his cards. “Goddamn scoundrel, turning his back on his own blood. Well? Your turn, Owen.”

  It’s a seven.

  “He got into drugs as a teenager,” I continue, as my dad sweeps up my card with a ten. “But I also found out that he got a girl pregnant.”

  I put down a six. So does my dad.

  “So it’s war,” he says. “Go on.” We set up our cards. The sixes at the top, two cards face down, and draw one more to flip at the bottom. Dad beats me again, and collects all the cards.

  His eyes meet mine then. “Tell me, Owen.”

  “Both of them overdosed, Jamie and the kid’s mother. Their daughter’s alive though. She’s living with an older relative on her mother’s side, I think.”

  Dad doesn’t even flinch. We keep dropping cards.

  “She’s in high school. Wants to be an EMT.”

  I’ve got two cards left. There’s no way I’m going to win this, but it doesn’t matter. It’s never about the winning against Murphy Doyle anyway.

  At least not to me.

  He grabs my cards and reshuffles the deck. He taps them on the table, puts them down, and then taps the shamrock tattoo on my arm. The one my brothers and I all share.

  “I’ve been saving some money for Jamie over the years,” he finally says. His fingers are cold. “Pretty good amount now. I should’ve done a better job looking out for Jamie, but we’ll do better by his daughter. She wants to go to school to be an EMT or anything else, there’s enough we can pay for it.”

  He pauses, then adds. “Tell Seamus to care of the paperwork. Get her information to him, okay?”

  My brother, the lawyer. Always making things happen and trying to right old wrongs.

  My father pats me on the shoulder. “Too old and tired to come to your big fight, Owen, but we’ll have it on at the bar. Even though it’s pay-per-view. Gonna cost me an arm and a leg.”

  His grin tells me he’s just kidding.

  “You could charge admission?”

  “No one here’s gonna pay to see you scrap on TV when they’ve seen you scrap for free a million times, kiddo. I need to call your brother.” He stands up and heads for his office.

  I hang out at the bar for a few minutes, tapping my knuckles on the dark, scarred wood of the booth. Can’t help but snort when I imagine asking Maude for advice on Molly, but I know she’d just swat me with her broom. I probably deserve it.

  That night with Molly was….amazing. Something catches in my throat. That tells me I’m in far more trouble than the stirring of my cock from remembering her touch.

  My heart’s getting caught up in this. And that’s a problem.

  Dragging my eyes around the bar, it comes to rest on a photo of my brothers and me, along with some of the neighborhood kids. My arm is around Sean O’Brien’s shoulders as we ham it up for the camera.

  Fuck. If it was just a one-night stand, I could navigate that.

  But something more serious with Molly? Sean and I have been through a lot together as friends. Always had each other’s backs.

  I’d made him a promise that our friendship would come first. That no girl – woman, I correct myself – would come between us.

  Right now, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to keep that promise. Not even if I wanted to. My mind wanders back to Molly again, and the thought of her long red curls and inviting trail of freckles isn’t helping me focus.

  Who knows if she’d want me, even if I offered. Offered what?

  There’s only one way to sort this out.

  Leaving the Kildare, I plunge into the icy cold and suck in a breath. It’s only been two days since I’ve seen Molly, but it feels like weeks. She’s probably still furious with me, and who can blame her?

  I’d been so focused on getting the information I needed that I scared the hell out of Lily. My cousin, apparently.

  Frankly, after spending the night in Molly’s bed, I wasn’t thinking. Wasn’t thinking about anything, really. In the end, it’s for a good cause—the girl and her guardian look like they could use some extra cash.

  My father will make sure they’ve got what they need, and help secure Lily’s future.

  But I could have handled it a hell of a lot better. Could have handled it at all. Seeing those emotions flashing over Molly’s face – confusion, concern, fear – had left me cold inside.

  I want to make her feel a lot of things. But never those emotions.

  And anyway, I’m lucky Molly didn’t mace me again. My hand involuntarily swipes at my eyes, which are still a little red.

  Christ.

  Kicking a rock with the hard toe of my boot, I watch it pop up and ping against a light pole. What I need to do is go home and work out. My fight is in less than two weeks now, and the stress from my dad, and from…whatever is going on with Molly is not helping. I need to focus right now, and worry about Molly later.

  Which, apparently, is exactly how I end up standing outside her house.

  On her front porch, like an idiot moth to the flame, not sure which bell is hers or if it even works. Her crappy little hatchback is parked nearby, and her apartment lights are on, so I know she’s home.

  Jesus, I hope the kid doesn’t come down and find me here. Molly probably gave her her own bottle of mace.

  She’s al
ways one step ahead of me.

  “Only serial killers show up without texting first.”

  I look up. Molly’s opened her window and leans out, her red curls catching on the chilly breeze.

  “Could you be more Irish?” I call back, ignoring the jolt that goes through me at just seeing her face. “Hollering out the window when it’s thirty degrees out?”

  She laughs softly. “Hold on, Owen, I’ll be down in a minute.”

  She pulls the door open, and gestures for me to follow her upstairs. I shamelessly watch her ass the whole time, but I resist the urge to touch her. Don’t want to die just yet. The door clicks shut behind me, and I just stand there, unsure what to do beyond take her in.

  “You’re making me nervous, Doyle. Sit.”

  Molly points to the beat-up little couch, as if I can sit there and not immediately think about the make-out session that led to the best sex of my life.

  “Boner couch,” I say.

  Jesus Christ. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  Luckily, God looks out for fools and babies. Molly laughs.

  “Brings back good memories.”

  We sit, and I drag a hand across my jaw again. Scruffy. I need to shave.

  “Listen, I forget how scary I must be sometimes. You know me, Molly. I’d never hurt anyone outside of the octagon, and especially not women, but she didn’t know that.”

  “This is why I like you so much, Owen,” she says with a nod. “A lot of guys wouldn’t get that.”

  She leans back, her eyes on my face. “What exactly happened there?”

  Right. Want trust? Give trust. I need to explain everything.

  “She’s family, Molly. It’s complicated, but she’s my uncle’s granddaughter.”

  “That’s not that complicated.”

  Maybe not for her. I’ve always been terrible at math.

  “Will you help me talk to her? Or should it be her guardian? What’s the right play here? Dad has money for her.”

  Molly seems pleased that I’m asking her advice, and it makes me realize that her brothers and I don’t do that enough. Maybe it’s impossible for me to ditch the hardwired urge to protect her, but she’s smart and tough.

  “I’ll talk to her first. It’s a lot to swallow, Owen.” I watch her mouth as she says it, and raise my eyebrows

  She smirks at me. “Pervert.”

  Damn it. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but I can’t seem to resist her. No matter the cost. “Come to my fight, Molly.” I blurt out, and she freezes, her whole body going rigid. I clear my throat and press on. “I know you don’t approve, but I want you to be there.”

  Need you to be there, I say silently. Not aloud. Not yet.

  “Owen,” she says finally, tracing a finger lightly over the cut she’d cleaned up the night of my last fight. It’s healing nicely, wouldn’t even leave a scar, not that I mind scars.

  “I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she says, before adding in a firmer voice, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “But if you’re there, you can fix me up.” I try for a light tone, but the tight look in her eyes is killing me.

  Even if we can make this work, deal with Sean, deal with everything else. Could Molly accept what I do for a living?

  It might not be for much longer. I’ve got at least one more fight to get through – and win – if that future is going to be a reality. And if I lost?

  Could I give it up? Find another way? I never thought about it.

  “I don’t want you to do anything that would make you unhappy, Molly. But I’d love for you to be there with my family.”

  At the word family, her shoulders go even tighter. Her mind is obviously on her brother Danny. He’d never recovered from a fighting injury, and would always be a stark reminder that no matter how tough you were, there was always a chance something bad would happen.

  That had always seemed like an acceptable risk before.

  “You know what happened to my brother, Owen. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened to you, too.”

  What if it wasn’t anymore? Could everything really change that much?

  My gut clenches. I get it, I really do, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting her there. I lean into her hand, which is still on my face.

  “Okay,” I say softly. “I’ll leave the ticket for you, but you don’t have to go. Not even as an EMT, unless you’re on duty.”

  She gives me a faint smile and leans closer, kissing me gently. I can smell that perfume, ripe blackberries so out of place in the middle of the Boston winter. I don’t what the future holds, but right now, all I want to do is hold Molly O’Brien.

  Goddamn sexy couch.

  11

  Owen

  She has me pinned on my back. Her moves are impressive for a small woman. She could probably be a fighter herself if she wanted.

  “Strawweight,” I murmur as I reach under her shirt and unclasp her bra.

  “Excuse me?” she says, her thighs pressed on either side of my waist.

  Nice.

  “Strawweight,” I repeat, tugging at the hem of her shirt. She slaps my hand away. “Your weight class. A buck fifteen or less.”

  She squeezes my waist with her thighs. I don’t think her intent is to turn me on, but the pressure of her legs around me sure does. I reach for her shirt again. She snorts and pulls it over her head.

  “You’re so fucking sexy, Molly.” I curl up, grateful for all the core work I’ve done, and caress her breasts.

  Jesus, I love how her nipples respond, pebbling under my touch. It goes right to my cock, which is right behind her luscious ass. I shift up further. There’s nothing I want more than that ass on my cock, and her beautiful tits in my mouth.

  She’s rolling her hips, teasing me.

  “I am going to make you say my name, over and over and over again,” I promise, holding her hips and encouraging her movements. She tosses her head back, jutting her breasts out as her ringlets cascade down her freckle-covered back.

  The couch is uncomfortable. Way too small for me, but I’ll suffer because I sure don’t want to miss this show. Our hips roll together and my cock strains against my jeans.

  Normally, I have more self-control but she’s killing me. As I fumble for the button, she joins me, popping it open and yanking the zipper down, pulling the jeans over my hips.

  “Jesus Christ,” I groan as she runs her hand over my length. She slides down my body, and pulls me free from my boxers. Her full lips kiss the underside of my cock and I see stars, like the constellations of freckles that line her body. Her wet, hot lips separate, and pull me in. I say her name like a prayer.

  And then there’s pounding on her door.

  “Molly! It’s Sean! You here? Your neighbor told me some psycho grabbed his great-niece. Molly?”

  He rattles the doorknob as Molly and I fly up, struggling back into our clothes. There’s no hiding my hard-on. I manage to shove a pillow in front of it just before Sean gets the door open.

  Luckily Molly is fully clothed.

  He’s in uniform, moving fast through the door. His voice trails off, barely done shouting as he takes in the sight of her rocketing in his direction.

  “Sean,” Molly’s voice is loud and tense. “You asshole. Did you just break into my fucking house?”

  She’s all fury, flying at him and gesturing in his face. Sean is the ultimate boner killer, but it’s not retreating as fast as I’d like.

  “Hey, relax,” he says, throwing up a hand. “I was just worried. You didn’t answer your phone and your neighbor said…”

  That’s when he realizes I’m here.

  Fuck. He pauses for one beat, and then two, but his face is already bright red with fury.

  “Owen.” His eyes move from Molly’s flushed face to mine.

  The O’Briens always were too smart for their own good.

  “You son of a bitch,” Sean growls through gritted teeth. “That’s my sister!”

  He’s launching himself in my direction before he’s even finished speaking.

  He advances on me and I have no choice but to get to my feet, stretching to my full height. Sean’s a big guy. We spar sometimes. I’m the better fighter, but I’m not going to beat up my best friend.