Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(48)

It’s because of Sol.

This woman has been the breath I didn’t know I needed to take. Yeah, her. The one clinging to Wren and Sofia as I pass. But I don’t look at her then. I have a job to do, and that includes proving why I deserve to be her man.

I’m checked by the cut man, every inch of me tensing as he swipes petroleum jelly all over my face. It’s supposed to help the punches slide off my face, and decrease the cuts I receive. Personally, I think it does jack.

Kill clasps my shoulder, Curran does, too, both assuring me my opponent doesn’t stand a chance. I respond with a stiff nod and make my way up the steps and into the octagon.

Game time.

“Ladies and gentlemen . . .” the announcer begins.

I’m not paying attention to my stats or Boris “the Thorn” Thornsby’s. I’m looking at him, like he’s looking at me, both of us so wired and ready, we can’t keep still. His favorite submission is the rear-naked choke, when he doesn’t knock his opponent out first. He hits hard, but so do I. And I’m just as good on the ground as I am on my feet. If he gets me down, he’ll try for the choke, guaranteed.

But he better watch out for his arms, or I’m popping one loose with an armbar.

I hear, “against Finn the Fury O’Brien” in time to raise my fist. Yet it’s Sol’s “Get him, baby!” that almost makes me grin. Almost. I’m a fighter now, I’ll be her lover after I win.

The ref calls us to the center. “You both know the rules,” he says. “Give us a good show and a clean fight. You want to touch gloves, do it now.”

I lift my hands to tap his gloves. He responds with a middle finger. Okay, there’s my grin. You want to play it that way? Let’s go.

We back into our corners. “You ready?” the ref asks Thorn. Thorn nods. “You ready?” he asks me. I lift my hands and tilt my chin. “Fight,” he yells.

“Come on, Finn,” my camp begins.

“Come on, Fury,” some fan yells.

Thorn and me meet in the center. We smack gloves, trying to get a feel for each other’s reach. It looks innocent, cute, even. It’s not so cute the minute he takes his first swing. I duck under and nail him square in the chest with a front push kick.

It’s enough to get his attention, and knock his air out. I rush forward as he stumbles away. He sees me coming and reacts without thinking. His rush to return my strike making him reckless.

He goes for a jab, but tries to fake me out and does a back spinning kick. I dodge that, and his elbow, nailing him hard in the face. “Oh!” yells the crowd.

Pain is my trigger, it always has been. But apparently it’s Thorn’s, too. He punches me in the jaw. I punch him back and the next thing I know we’re going blow for blow. Considering I knocked the air out of him, he should be slower. Yet he’s swinging like it never happened.

Hard, that’s how we go at it, throwing our weight into every blow. I don’t have to look to know the crowd is on their feet. I barely hear their screams, too focused on slamming Thorn with everything I have. But this guy’s no *.

I catch him just right in the chin, sending him staggering back. I charge, but he kicks me off and tackles me. Now, we’re on the ground. I was the better fighter on my feet. Now I have to prove I’m also better on the ground.

Like I guessed, he goes for the choke. I slip out under him before he can move his arm beneath my chin, swinging my legs around and searching for his wrist. I snag it fast, hooking my legs around his arm and pulling hard, feeling that sweet tap on my shoulder when he submits seconds later.

I roll off him to my feet, raising my fists in victory, electrified by the roar of the crowd. My brothers rush in, losing their minds in a way I feel down to my bones. Jesus, I feel everything now, and it’s never felt so damn sweet.

I climb the cage, straddling the bar to scan the crowd and find the rest of my family. But it’s Sol’s face I lock onto. I toss her a wink and a grin, halting her screams and her jumps up and down. She smiles, gushing with pride as she clutches her hands against her chest.

That’s her. That’s my girl. That’s the woman I f*cking love.





CHAPTER 19


Sol



I lean heavily against Finn as we make our way through the hotel lobby and toward the elevators. What a night. It was an awesome fight, and an even better win. My man kicked serious ass, annihilating his opponent with four seconds left in the first round! But it was the way he pulled me out of the crowd on his way back to his changing area that completely stopped my heart.

He kissed me, in front of all those girls elbowing each other to touch him, in front of all those men patting his back wishing they could be him, and in front of the cameras. I blushed, but oh yes, I totally kissed him back.

“You okay with us heading to the room?” he asks.

“I am,” I assure him, stroking his waist.

“Yeah? You look like you were having fun dancing. I almost hated pulling you away.” His stare drags the length of my body. “Almost.”

His appraising look is one I need then. You can call me insecure, but the more I’m around professional fighters, the more I’m aware how much like rock stars they truly are. Women, lots and lots of women, with bigger breasts, better clothes, and more grace to their movements want to have sex with Finn. His Instagram account alone lit up with “Marry Me Fury” requests. And as MMA becomes more popular, supermodels and celebrities are starting to date the most prominent stars.