Raw Redemption (Crossing the Line #4)(26)

A left jab snapped Henrik’s head back on his shoulders, but he was grateful for it. Staring any longer at Caine would arouse suspicion, and he needed to keep his head in the f*cking game. For Ailish. For his new team that didn’t believe him a disappointment to the calling. Henrik dodged a right cross and buried his fist in the other man’s stomach, gritting his teeth upon feeling a snap beneath his knuckles. As he’d come to expect in this type of fight, however, his opponent stayed on his feet, merely appearing more determined than he’d been at the round’s outset.

“Fuckin’ cop,” the man spat, blood droplets emerging from his lips.

“Haven’t you heard?” Henrik jabbed once before attacking from the right. “They don’t want me anymore. I’m free to kick your ass any time you want.”

His opponent responded with a head butt that compromised Henrik’s vision for a split second, but he rallied fast enough to block the fist hurtling toward his face. In his peripheral vision, Henrik saw Caine O’Kelly stand up from his front row seat and saunter toward the ring’s edge, propping an elbow on the mat. That was all Henrik needed to remind him what he fought for. This man had kept a beautiful butterfly in a cage for twenty-one years, not allowing her to make friends or explore her obvious potential to be something more than a mobster’s sheltered daughter. And those were the facts Henrik knew to date. Ailish hadn’t even confided what her life had been like prior to running from Chicago. Maybe she never would. But if he wanted a chance to find out, if he wanted the opportunity to protect that butterfly, it started with winning this goddamn match.

A roar simmered in Henrik’s throat, then broke free in a tremendous cyclone of noise. Even his cocky opponent fell back a step, the cheering and bantering from the sidelines dulling to a murmur. He wasted no time in launching his offense, juking to the left, the right, before coming in with a left uppercut that connected with his opponent’s chin. The crackle of bone was drowned out by the crowd’s renewed energy. Dozens of arms snaked in through the ropes, slapping the mat as they whistled and demanded more.

As the other man dropped, his eyes gone blank, Henrik saw Caine O’Kelly instead. He wore the same expression, smug but curious, as he slow-clapped from the sidelines. Although now he was impressed.

Good, *. Come and get me.

Henrik turned from his crumpled opponent—who was being attended by his boys—to collect his gear from the corner. The operation’s unofficial manager shoved a stack of money into Henrik’s gym bag as he ducked under the ropes and headed for the bathroom to clean off the blood and sweat. When the rusted bathroom door swung open two minutes later, Henrik didn’t even look up. He knew who it was.

As Henrik bandaged a particularly nasty gash on his right hand, Caine O’Kelly’s wingtips stopped in his line of vision. The man smelled like expensive, freshly smoked cigar. Henrik himself enjoyed a cigar from time to time, usually with his father on a holiday, but he’d never touch another one. Not as long as Ailish was around to possibly smell it on him.

Henrik retrieved a roll of white medical tape from his bag, ripping off a piece with his teeth. “Help you?”

Caine laughed, and if Henrik had hair on his head, it would have stood up. “That’s what I’m here to find out.” The older man removed a cell phone from his jeans, using a finger to scroll as he spoke. “You know who I am?”

“You know who I am?”

White teeth flashed in the other man’s face. “Come on, now. Everyone here knows who you are, Officer.”

“Ex-officer. And I could say the same about you.”

Caine tilted his head. “And yet you’re being kind of a prick.”

“Kind of?” Henrik wound the white tape around his middle finger. “I guess I’m losing my touch.”

A tense silence ensued before Caine laughed loud enough to create an echo in the small bathroom. Henrik allowed himself to show a hint of amusement, but on the inside he was thanking Christ Ailish bore no resemblance, physically or otherwise, to her father. “Look, I’ve got a woman waiting for me, so I’m going to make this quick,” Caine said. “I don’t completely buy this cop-turned-lowlife act you’re trying to pull off. But if it’s legit, you could be valuable to me. Especially with that uppercut.” He shifted closer, the leather of his wingtips creaking. “You like getting paid to use your fists? You could make a lot more collecting debts for me. There’s been a…change in management. I recently found out I’ve got a lot more money coming my way than I thought.”

Henrik couldn’t stop his upper lip from curling. Maybe he hadn’t fallen as far as these people just yet, because his skin crawled at the idea of being this man’s glorified flunky. “Not interested.”

Caine arched an eyebrow. “Oh no?” He dropped a number higher than Henrik’s salary when he’d been a cop. “That doesn’t interest you?”

“I have to think about it,” Henrik said, his lips feeling numb.

The older man seemed to grow a few inches, getting right in Henrik’s face. “No. I have to think about it. You will be the one doing the impressing, not the other way around. Are we on the same page?”

Henrik crossed his arms and propped a hip against the grimy sink. “How are you expecting to be impressed?”