It was just one left hook.

Just one.

I lower my forehead against the glass outside the hospital room as the Garda slap the cuffs on my wrists behind my back.

My chest is tight, and I can barely breathe as I steal one last glimpse of Owen from over my shoulder before I’m escorted away.

How the hell did this happen?

“Is that really necessary?”

It was Da. How did he know I was here? He’s out of breath as if he ran here. I’m surprised he’s even in town. The guy is always gone.

“Sorry, Mr. McGregor. Following protocol,” the officer says.

Da has a lot of respect in the city, but then again—he’s one of the richest men in Dublin. And by default, so am I.

I keep my attention averted to the floor as we head toward the lift. I can’t look Da in the eyes.

“I’ll meet you at the station, Son,” he says to me as the doors start to close, and it’s then that I look up and catch his eyes.

I don’t see anger.

I see disappointment. And I don’t blame him. He’s been doing everything he can to stop my fighting since I started almost seven years ago. And now . . . Owen may not walk because of me. I fecked up.

“Come on,” the officer says once we reach his squad car.

I duck my head as he urges me inside the back of his vehicle.

“What the hell is someone like you doing mixed up with Donovan Hannigan?” the officer asks as he begins to drive.

I look out the window, staring at the people walking alongside the street in a daze.

I know what’s going to happen once I get to the station. They’re going to want me to spill everything I know about the notorious crime lord.

And as much as I hate him, hate myself—hate everything right now, I know I can’t say shit.

Money goes a long damn way. Money gets you out of jail. Money bails you out from when you fecking hurt someone so bad they’ll probably never walk again.

I raise the tumbler to my lips as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are dead. My entire body is numb. And it’s not because of the seven drinks I’d already had.

I swallow and step back, throwing the glass at the mirror, watching it break—brownish gold liquid streaks down, hiding my reflection.

I grip the short strands of my hair, pulling in anger.

“Adam Fecking McGregor.”

My body stills at the sound of Donovan’s voice. How the hell did he get in?

I lift my head and slowly face him.

He has two guys at his sides. Two guys that I once considered friends. But judging by how they glare at me, we are anything but.

“Did you talk to the Garda?” Donovan asks while approaching me. He steps on top of my blue floor mat, glances down at the shattered glass by my feet, then narrows his eyes at me.

“If I did—wouldn’t you be in jail right now?” I look over at Finn and Preston standing by the door. They have gloves on their hands. Just great. They came for a fight, didn’t they? I’m not in the mood to raise my fists right now—maybe never again.

“I think you should bite your tongue, Son,” Donovan says.

“Son?” I laugh. Yeah, he was like a father to me, but he put Owen in that ring. He knew he shouldn’t have been in there. I can only blame him in part, though. I went through with the fight. “You’re nothin’ to me now.” I start to turn from him, but his hand comes down over my shoulder.

“You’re not done. You have a fight coming up in a month. I don’t care how much money your da offers me—you’re done when I say you’re done.”

Da offered him money? Why am I surprised?

“It ends now, Donovan. You can’t control me anymore,” I rasp and face the bastard again. I’ve never stood up to him before. I never needed to. But I’m drunk and pissed off.

Donovan reaches out and fists my T-shirt, his face coming within centimeters of mine, and I don’t flinch.

Hell, I don’t care.

Numb—remember?

“You’re a fighter. Are you really going to let some loser that couldn’t hold his own stop you?”

“I’m done,” I grit out and finally shove free of him.

Donovan looks back over his shoulder at Finn and Preston and tips his chin their way.

I blow out a breath. “I’ll keep my mouth shut about you to the Garda if you just leave me the hell alone.” I’m not up for a showdown. I want out. I want this done.

“Are you threatening me?” Donovan cocks his head, his brows snapping together.

This is a bad idea. But I can’t fight anymore.

I could have killed Owen in that ring.

Murder. Fecking murdered someone.

Finn and Preston flank my sides.

And when Donovan steps back out of the way, I bow my head and close my eyes—allowing the pricks to hit me. To knock the shite out of me—because I deserve it. I deserve it after what happened to Owen.

“Adam?”

I walk down the hall in search of my brother. Da hadn’t planned on telling the family about what happened to him, but when the newspapers aired Adam’s dirty laundry to the world, he didn’t have a choice.

I need to see my brother, and he hasn’t been answering his damn mobile.

“Adam,” I call out again as I approach his gym.

I slowly turn the knob and push open the door.

My brother is on the floor, leaning against the wall, one knee is propped up with a glass in his hand.

I can’t seem to move. When he glances my way, my hand presses to my mouth to stifle a cry. His shirt is off. His body is covered in purplish-black marks. His cheek swollen and bruised.

“Adam. What happened to you?” I finally rush to him, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.

He’s sitting there like nothing’s happened to him. He even takes a drink and casually rests the tumbler on his jeaned thigh. “I’m right as rain. No worries, Holly.”

“Are you kidding, Adam?” I kneel down next to him and cup his cheek, urging his face my way so I can get a better look at him. “Can you walk? I need to get you to a hospital.”

The smell of alcohol on his breath is strong.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He tilts his head back, resting his skull against the wall and shuts his eyes.

“Did Donovan do this to you? Did that arsehole beat you up? Why?”

Adam doesn’t speak. And I don’t know what to do, so I stand up and slowly move away from my brother—a man I barely recognize at the moment.

I leave the room and call my brother, Sean—Adam’s twin. “I need your help,” I say once he picks up the line.

It’s been five weeks since Adam put that fighter in the hospital. Five weeks since I feel as though I lost my brother, too.

He’s become someone different.

Cold. Withdrawn.

He hasn’t come to the office since he was in jail.

But he’s gone to the bars, from what I’ve heard. Whispers of gossip all around town.

He’s been getting drunk on a nightly basis.

He needs help.

“He’s going to be angry when he sees us,” I say to Sean as we stand outside the bar. I’m mentally preparing myself to face my brother. A slow curl of fear sweeps through me. How can I be afraid of Adam?

But I am. I’m not afraid of him hurting me. No, of course not. But I’m afraid he’s gone—forever.

I’m not sure if he changed because of what happened to that fighter, Owen, or if he died on the inside when he stopped doing the thing he loved—fighting.

“Maybe you should go wait in the car and let me handle this,” Sean says while squaring his hands on each of my shoulders.

I’m a coward right now because I want to say yes. But I toughen up and shake my head no. “I’m coming with you.”

Sean blows out a breath and looks at the door. “Let’s do this.”

We enter the pub. It’s a small place, not too big, so I should be able to see him. We know he’s inside because we followed him like creepy stalkers from his flat in the city here.

“Where is he?” I ask Sean, and then he lowers his head briefly. “What?”

Oh. My big brother is tucked inside the entrance to the hall leading to the jacks. Some girl has her back pressed up against the wall, and he’s kissing her.

So, he’s screwing half the city, too?

“What do we do?” I ask Sean, suddenly wishing I said no and stayed outside.

“I’ll get him.”

And I let him go alone this time. I watch Sean head toward the back of the bar where Adam is.

My brothers are so different. Sometimes I wonder how Sean and Adam are even twins. Hell, how are they even related?

Sean has his hand on Adam’s shoulder, and Adam stops groping the woman in front of him and turns to face our brother now.

Adam then peeks over Sean’s shoulder and looks at me.

I look away, embarrassed.

I suck in a few breaths, and then I can feel him closing in on me. My brother has some sort of aurora around him, I swear. It’s kind of like the seas (and I mean all of them) part for him. He has a presence.

I see his hand locked with the woman’s when I drag my gaze up to Adam’s eyes.

“Stay out of my business, Holly. I mean it.”

I was expecting him to curse, but he doesn’t. He tends to go easy on me, even now. Even when he’s hit rock bottom.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand when the door opens and a gust of cold air hits me.

Sean is dragging his palms down his face and shaking his head when he comes before me. “I think we’ve lost him, Holly.”

My head is pounding like something fierce. I roll to my side and see a brunette lying next to me. I don’t remember her name, and I’m not even sure if I ever bothered to get it.

I need to wake her up, to tell her to get out of my home. I don’t want her getting the wrong damn idea.

But I hear something—or maybe someone, from outside my bedroom.

I sit upright and tug at the sheet, covering my lower half because feck me—I think it’s Ma. “Leave!” I call out after a moment, but I know full well she won’t be going anywhere.

I’ve been avoiding her since I was in jail. How’d she get the damn key to my flat? I clearly need better security.

“We need to talk, Adam,” Ma says and taps at the door.

The woman next to me groans, but she doesn’t wake.

“We’ll be waiting in the living room. So, send home whoever you’ve got in there!”

Shit.

I look down at my hands and curl them into fists on my lap. I haven’t thrown a punch since I hit Owen. I feel like I’ve given up breathing, though—like I’m dying on the inside.

Maybe I can’t quit fighting? And that damn thought keeps popping into my head—and so does my desire to go back to the sick prick, Donovan, and tell him he was right.

I’m a fighter. I’ll always be one. Feck the suits and the ties. Feck the money.

And that’s why I drink. And screw.

So I don’t go to him.

But I’m not sure how much longer I can stay strong.

“Mm. You were incredible last night.”

The brunette’s awake. She wets her lips and stares up at me, and she wants more. But there’s nothing of me to give to her—to anyone.

“You need to go. Get dressed and get out, please. My folks are here.”

“What?” Her eyes widen as she sits. “I mean, I’d love to meet them. They’re like royalty in this city.” She smiles. “So are you.”

My wallet and my name. That’s all women want from me. Well, not going to happen.

“Listen, do you really think I’m going to introduce some woman I met at a pub to my family? I don’t even know your name.” She starts to open her mouth, but like a dick, I cut her off, “I don’t want to know.”

“You’re a real asshole. I guess the rumors are true.”

I impatiently wait for her to get dressed and leave before I tug on some sweats and a tee in preparation to face Ma.

“I told you I needed space,” I say once I see Ma and Da in the living room. Da’s arms are folded, and he’s casually leaning against the window.

“We’re worried about you. You need to come back to the office. You have a job,” Da says in a low voice.

“You aren’t fighting again, are you?” Ma rises and comes in front of me. The pain in her eyes is almost unbearable.

I copy Da’s move and cross my arms, standing on the edge of the living room, unable to come any closer.

“No, I’m not.” But maybe I should. Maybe fighting would make this pain in my chest go away.

“Good. I expect after you paralyzed that boy you’d never do it again,” Da says and drops his arms to his sides.

Ma looks over her shoulder at him, her brows pinched.

“He’s paralyzed?” I almost choke out. I had hoped that maybe with physical therapy Owen would recover, but . . .

“We saw him last week, and I cleaned up your mess,” Da spats.

I let out a breath and turn away from them.

“Please, Adam, I miss you.” Ma’s hand comes down on my shoulder, and I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering Owen’s body as it fell to the ground.

I paralyzed a man.

“I don’t want to lose you. Promise me you won’t ever fight again, Adam. I need to hear the words.” Her voice is nearly a whisper, and it cracks as she talks as if she might cry.

What the hell have I done?

I slowly turn around and face her and open my eyes. And I say the words that need to be said, “I promise I’ll never fight again.”