Page 69 of Fighting for Irish
The fight resumed. Kat’s eyes darted in a continuous circle: Irish, digital clock, thugs. Repeat. This round wasn’t nearly as active as the previous two. The other guy was doing a lot of leg kicks to the inside of Irish’s knee and dancing around, but not much else. Less than two minutes remained on the clock. If something didn’t happen soon, the fight would be over.
She leaned into Xander. “Why isn’t anything happening?”
“The wanker’s not entirely stupid. He’s clearly won the first two rounds, so all he has to do is survive the third to win the fight.”
“Does his deal count if he loses by decision?”
Xander shook his head. “Has to be by knockout or submission in the third round.” As they talked, Irish started getting more aggressive. He pressed the fight, punched harder. At one point he even taunted the other guy. “He’s trying to make him throw something or go in for a takedown. To do that he’ll have to either piss him off or make him think there’s a chance he’s about to lose.”
Those sounded like long shots. Maybe worse than long shots. She’d have more confidence if Xander didn’t look just as worried. He had a shitty poker face.
Kat glanced at the clock. Forty-five seconds. Her stomach roiled and acid crept up her throat. She swallowed it down, wincing from the burn. Leaning back slightly she found Sully and Vinnie in the back. Scowls darkened their faces as they took note of the clock ticking down what little time was left in the fight. Sully said something to Vinnie and they started moving toward the aisle, keeping an eye on the fight, the clock…and her.
Shit!
When Irish noticed the thugs making their way to the front, rage flashed over his face. Spitting out his mouth guard, he held his arms out wide and shouted at his opponent. He was clearly antagonizing him, although with the crowd’s deafening shouts it was impossible to hear what he said. The other fighter continued to bounce on his toes, and then winked at Irish with a smug, plastic-filled grin.
Irish roared and threw a right cross that had his target spinning around, his face leading as the rest of his body attempted to untwist itself before falling in a boneless heap at the ref’s feet.
Time slowed to a crawl. She prayed the man would get up and counter with something even remotely convincing so Irish could fake a believable loss. But her prayers went unanswered. The man didn’t move and the ref called the fight, raising Irish’s hand as the winner.
Then all hell broke loose.
The crowd went wild and some of them rushed the cage to celebrate with the winner. Irish was stuck in the sea of fans that now resembled a mosh pit at a grunge concert, but he still had his height advantage that allowed him to see the same thing she did: the bad guys closing in.
“Kat, run! Go! Get out of here!”
She never shook her head so hard in her life. “I’m not going anywhere without you!”
He shouted a string of curses and used his broad shoulders to shove his way through the throng. Kat looked over her shoulder. The thugs were now pushing people out of their way. Xander picked up Irish’s duffel bag in one hand and grabbed onto Kat’s arm with the other.
At last Irish emerged, his gloves already off. He jumped and hauled himself up onto the padded top of the fence, then dropped over to the outside. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he dug through his bag as Xan held it for him.
Kat gripped his arm. “What are you doing? We have to go!”
His still-taped hand emerged holding her gun, which he pointed straight into the air and shot off twice. The mass of fight fans panicked. They pushed in every direction for the nearest exit only to tangle themselves up more and more.
Irish leaned in to say something to Xander, then grabbed onto her hand and said, “Don’t let go and don’t look back!”
She nodded, but she didn’t think he noticed. He was too busy pulling her in the direction of the hall they’d come from earlier. Once they reached it, they broke into a dead run. Their steps echoed in the cement tunnel, making it sound like a posse was hot on their heels. They burst through the metal door at the end, into the gravel parking lot that had already started filling with the panic-stricken fans.
“Where’s your car?”
Kat pointed off to the right. “Over there in the very back.”
They took off running again, but they didn’t get far before they heard the men following their lead. Her heart jackhammered against her ribs so hard her chest ached. A second later a gunshot sounded and struck a car next to them. Kat ducked and screamed.
“Come on!” Irish pulled her up and wove them through the maze of cars. “I see it. Almost there!”
The pandemonium spread over the parking lot. Shouts and screams mixed with slamming doors and spinning tires. Fear had a death grip on her throat, severing her voice. She couldn’t get a full breath. Several more gunshots rang out and peppered the ground and vehicles around them, and still she ran with her eyes locked on Irish. Her protector. Her lifeline.
With only one more row separating them and her car, he ordered her to go on ahead, get into the passenger seat, and start the engine. The thought of leaving him behind scared the hell out of her, but the fact that he planned on driving the car said he had no intentions of not catching up. Bolting ahead, she grabbed her keys from her purse and unlocked the passenger door as fast as her shaking hands allowed.
As she yanked it open, she heard more gunshots. Unable to stop herself, she looked back to see Irish running toward her with Sully and Vinnie close behind. He yelled for her to start the car, effectively ending her frozen-in-fear moment. Seconds later, she watched Irish slide across the hood and then fling himself around the drivers’ door she’d opened. Throwing the car into gear, he pushed her head down and took off.
They didn’t speak for several minutes. The only sounds were that of the car and their panting as they both tried to catch their breath. When he finally lifted his hand from her back, she eased herself up and looked over at him. Both hands gripped the wheel tightly, the muscles in his arms twitching from tension. Determination and seething anger warred on his face in the set of his brow and the clenching of his jaw.
She noticed he never once glanced at the rearview or side mirrors, whereas she wanted to turn full around and watch for any tails. He appeared so wrapped up in his thoughts that Kat wondered if he remembered she was there. She was almost afraid to speak, but she had to know what he was thinking.
Glancing at the side mirror, she asked, “How long do you think it’ll be before they catch up with us?”
“I saw their Caddy as we were running, so I shot their tires out. It should give us a good enough head start until we can get rid of everything they can use to find us.”
She rubbed a finger over the bump in her forearm. “Like my tracker,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” he agreed reluctantly. “Like that.”
He grunted as he shifted in his seat. And that’s when she saw the blood.
