Fighting Irish (Crime Kings Book 2) Read online

  Fighting Irish

  Crime Kings Book 2

  May Gordon

  Copyright © 2018 by May Gordon

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Photo: Bigstock Photos

  Cover Design: May Gordon

  Editor: Elizabeth Neal

  Created with Vellum

  About the Author

  May Gordon

  Brining you sweet, sexy, safe reads.

  Happily ever after guarantee.

  Crime King Series

  Dark Souls- Book 1

  Out Now!

  When Lawson, D.C.’s biggest kingpin, receives a call from his enemy claiming they kidnapped his woman, he wants to laugh in their faces. Until he hears Cleo’s voice for the first time and quickly realizes they’re right. She will be his. Now he’ll do everything in his power to get her back and keep her. Forever.

  Cleo knows the streets and gangs. Her time with both taught her how to take care of herself. Lessons she’ll need when she’s kidnapped. But when Lawson charges in and saves her, vowing to protect her at all costs, she realizes having someone to share a life with is what she’s been missing.

  Unfortunately, Lawson’s position comes with no shortage of enemies. Can he and his new Queen survive the dark perils that lay ahead of them?

  This book is a sweet, sexy, and safe read with a happily ever after guaranteed!

  Amazon: Dark Souls

  Fighting Irish

  Fighting Irish

  Crime Kings Book 2

  Molly Dunne, the only granddaughter of Connor, head of the Irish mob, is focused on training for her next fight. She was born and raised in Ireland and had no plans to leave until a threat forces her to. Fleeing her home for the States, she stays with one of her family’s oldest rivals, unaware of the deal made to ensure her safety would become permeate changing her life forever.

  Quinn O’Sullivan didn’t hesitate to accept Connor’s proposition, marriage in exchange for inventory worth millions. He had no time or desire to have a woman in his presence, but she’d be gone as soon as her trouble passes with and they’d get divorced. However, he’s a goner after one look at the redheaded beauty and has no intention of ever letting her go.

  But when the threat follows her, Quinn and Molly’s marriage is tested, and they find themselves showing their enemy what fighting Irish really means. But once the battle is over, where does that leave them?

  This book is a sweet, sexy, and safe read with a happily ever after guaranteed.

  Irish Terms

  Irish Terms/ Phrases

  Boyo - boy(s)/man/men

  Chiseler - child

  A bad bastard

  A slabber - a big mouth

  Dead on - all right/okay/sure thing

  Fella/fellas - man

  Not playing with a full deck of cards - mad/crazy

  Wee - small/short/little

  Lass - girl/woman

  Bollocks - curse word

  Dope - dumb/stupid

  Arse - ass

  Granddad - grandfather/grandpa

  Spit - shit/shoot

  Aengus - Irish spelling of Angus

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Thank You

  More Crime Kings

  Coming Soon

  Other Books by MG

  Chapter 1

  Molly

  His fist slams into my nose and though I stumble, I quickly regain my footing. Cheering, yelling, and cursing surrounds me and my opponent in the makeshift ring. I feel the blood pouring from my nose but don’t have time to wipe it away because another hit is coming toward me. I duck, weaving to the other side, then punch him in the face. He steps back, but I don’t let up. I move forward, punching him again. And again. And again, until he drops like a rock. The crowd goes wild, and I finally take my first deep breath since the fight started.

  “And Irish wins again! Molly Dunne is unstoppable!” The announcer calls out.

  I brush back my mass of red curls, just as wild as me, that came undone during the fight. I turn when I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder and see Shane standing behind me.

  “Well my Irish monster, you cleaned house tonight. Lots of fellas betting against you since the dope was almost twice your size.” I grin at the obvious pride in Shane's voice, just like after every fight I win. He’s my trainer, not to mention practically my uncle.

  Here in Ireland my granddad, Connor Dunne, is the head of the most prominent crime family. My father was before him, but he and my mother were tragically killed in a car accident when I was ten. My granddad raised me, with the help of Shane, my father’s best friend and righthand man. Between them, I learned a lot about life and the crime business. My granddad tried his damnedest to bring me up like a lady when I was a wee lass, but it just never stuck. Over the last few years, he’s grown tired of the life, as have most of his men, all being older since there haven't been any young recruits in a quite some time. He’s been slowly selling businesses, getting out of the illegal side. After a long line of Dunne Mob family, it’s gradually coming to an end. It’s sad to think of it, but times are changing, and so are we. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

  Once, when I was eleven, I followed Shane to the pits, the underground fight club. I saw his match and fell in love with it. The movement, sweat, blood, and cheering, hell, everything amazed me. After that, I begged him to train me. My Granddad didn’t like the idea, but agreed because my wildness. I think he hoped it would eventually tame me, but no such luck yet.

  “That boyo was easy scraps,” I tell Shane as I wipe the blood from my nose.

  “Savage as always,” Shane chuckles. “Got a call from the boss, he wants to speak with you. Let’s grab your cash and leave,” he says handing me a handkerchief for my sweat and blood.

  I get my winnings and we head to Shane’s SUV. I don't usually fight for money, but the beers were on me for the next poker night “Shouldn’t you clean up before seeing him?” Shane asks as we drive home.

  I laugh. “Why bother, he knows exactly where I've been.” And I think he likes how I kick ass in the pits each week.

  “This seems serious, Molly. He didn’t sound like himself,” Shane says, seeming concerned.

  “You worry too much.” And he does, over me and my granddad. He’ll give himself an ulcer one of these days if he isn’t careful.

  “Just telling you to prepare yourself.”

  “For what?” I question

  “Not sure, I just know there’s something,” he shrugs.

  I roll my eyes and wipe more blood from my nose and run my fingers through my hair, trying to look somewhat presentable to see my granddad. God, what I would give for a warm shower and some food at this moment. I hope this doesn’t go too long, he’s a talker that’s for sure. When we arrive at the house, I jump out before Shane even cuts the engine.

  “Bollocks Irish. At least wait until I shut off the bloody car,” Shane grunts out. I wave him off and enter the house, nodding to the men on guard. They’re in their early forties and
have been working for the family since they were lads.

  “Irish, how were the pits?” Riley asks.

  “Why bother asking? She’s a savage,” Seg, the other guard, says with a laugh.

  “Cleaned house, dope never saw it coming,” I grin at them.

  They both chuckle. “The Irish monster you are, lass,” Seg smirks.

  “Poker tomorrow night?” You can hear Riley’s excitement as he confirms our plans.

  “Like always. Guinness on me.” I pull the wad of cash from my sports bra, waving it in the air as I walk past them. They provide a cheer, making me smile.

  I walk to my granddad’s office, whistling as I do. I knock on the open door and he glances up from the papers he’s reading. His initial reaction is a smile, but then he seems annoyed.

  “Bloody hell Irish, you look a fright.” He appears concerned for all of three seconds then bursts out laughing. I roll my eyes and walk in, taking a seat across from his desk. I’m in a ratty t-shirt, athletic pants, and sneakers. I know I got roughed up this time, but I always make it through.

  “Oh, bugger off Granddad. It’s not that bad.” I toss my mane out of my face once again.

  “Sure, lass, if that's what you think.” He finishes laughing, then his expression becomes one of concern. “Molly, I have to talk to you about something.”

  “Well, I expected as much, but why so serious?” We’ve had these kinds of talks before about life or crime related issues, but this seems different.

  He takes a deep breath before saying, “You know over the years the clan has been thinning out, the crime here isn't as busy. Everything's in the states now. Hell, we barely have any illegal business left now. Times have changed.” He’s not telling me anything I don’t know, but I’ve yet to see where the doom and gloom come in. I nod and let him continue.

  “You also know about Kevin Murry.” Oh yes, I do. He’s a thug, a bad bastard who currently rules a decent amount of crime here. He’s dangerous, and not someone you want to mess with, evil through and through. Unlike the Dunne crime family who’d manage this life and illegal business, he creates the chaos he leads.

  “Is this about Murry?” I ask.

  “Partly. I’ve been slowly selling off more and more of my companies. Mostly to the very men that work for us because of them also want to go legit. I want to retire. I have no one to take over for me, and if I did, what’s left?” I understand this, and it’s no surprise. “I know you’re more than capable of leading in my stead, but that’s not what you want to do.”

  “If you really wanted me too, I would.” I’d do anything for him.

  He waves me off. “I would never ask you to do something you didn’t want to.” He pauses and looks even grimmer. “Unless it’s for your safety.” That makes me nervous.

  “And what’ll you be requiring of me for that very reason?” I ask slowly, not sure what to expect.

  “Murry. He’s made some intentions clear,” he vaguely states.

  “And what could he possibly want?” We’ve never worked with him. Before Granddad started liquidating, Murry would try and sabotage almost everything with our illegal businesses.

  “You.” The simple statement shocks me. I’ve met him a few times when he’d come into the pub with his goons. Never paid him any attention though. It didn’t seem like he did me either. I guess I should be scared, but all I can do is laugh.

  “You should take this seriously, lass,” Granddad scolds me.

  “He wouldn’t last five minutes with me. I'm a big pain in the arse,” I sass back.

  He cracks a smile then, trying to hold back laughter.

  “I’m aware, Irish.” He gave me that nickname as a joke. Growing up, and with my personality, my Granddad would always say, “Bloody hell you’re Irish.” Because I am to a T. A mane of fiery curly red hair, freckles, green eyes, a temper straight from purgatory, and an accent sometimes as thick at my hair. I’m Irish through and through.

  “So, what’s the big safety concern?” I ask.

  “He’s a man set deep in Irish culture and religion, and he’s going to control the criminal element and poison this land whether we like it or not. He’s got the numbers, and I’m already pulling out of the life, so I can't stop him. He’s made it very clear he wants you to be his wife, pure Irish blood for his lineage or something like that,” he huffs out.

  “There are tons of women who are as well. Why me?”

  “You mean besides coming from what was the biggest and longest standing Irish mob family in Ireland’s history?” He explains. No, I guess not.

  “And with you shutting down shop you don’t think you could protect me,” I supply.

  He slowly nods. “There is something I haven't told you about who I’ve been selling our inventory too, plus, a few other businesses.”

  Weird, Granddad never keeps anything from me. Ever.

  “Shoot,” I egg him on.

  “An O’Sullivan,” he says, avoiding eye contact with me.

  “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me. You're not playing with a full deck are you Granddad?” I practically yell at him.

  He’s not offended by my language or outburst because he probably expected it. The O’Sullivan’s were our biggest rivals for as long as our history goes back. When my Granddad was a young boss, a few years after my father was born, the war between our clans was at its peak. Eventually, the O’ Sullivan’s left altogether, heading to Boston to start their own Irish mob. We haven't heard from them since, well until now.

  “He’s a decent boy, Molly. He’s impressed me so far with our dealings,” he tells me.

  “And what, you plan to ship me off to Boston to hide until Murry gets over his infatuation with me?” I growl out.

  “Quinn O’ Sullivan was adopted into the family. They picked him up wondering the Irish countryside, then took him to Boston with them. He struck out on his own later and now runs the whole state of Nevada.” He sounds impressed with this guy, and my ears perk up with the word Nevada.

  “I didn’t know there was an Irish Mob in Nevada.”

  “There isn’t, just a kingpin who’s Irish. He has a diverse following.”

  “So, you're sending me to Nevada?” I ask not sounding nearly as annoyed. I’ve never left Ireland, and Nevada has always been on my top list to visit. Hell, it’s the home of the UFC, underground fighting, cards, and gambling. Sound like a playground to me. I could easily spend time hiding out there.

  “Yes, but I needed a guarantee to protect you.” He goes into his desk and slides a piece of paper to me. I hesitate for a beat before picking it up and looking at it.

  “Well bloody fucking hell,” I mutter. I’m holding a signed marriage license between myself and Quinn O’ Sullivan. I’m a married woman, and I haven't even met my husband.

  “You should be more careful what you sign.” My granddad scolds me. He’s probably right, but it’s never been uncommon for him to ask me to sign stuff. “This will ensure your protection. Murry finds out you’re married and has time to cool down and move on, and in Nevada being the King’s Queen will also give you protection.”

  “What does he get out of this?” He must want something.

  “The stock of our inventory,” he says grimly. Well hell.

  I should be mad at him for basically trading me like a woman in the middle ages, but I know he has my safety at heart. Murry is brutal, and even I wouldn’t want to be pitted against him.

  “Fly to Nevada, wait until it’s clear, then come home.” Simple enough, almost like a vacation.

  Granddad gives me a sour look. “Even if this is only for your protection, I want you to give Quinn a chance.”

  I ask in disbelief. “A chance for what?”

  “Being your husband, in more than just name.” I laugh, but his face remains serious.

  “Why?” I ask, curious.

  “Do you trust me?” He asks

  “Always,” I say instantly.

  “Then trust Quinn too,” he plea
ds with me.

  I take a deep breath and let it out. “You do realize that when this guy meets me, he’ll think you sent me just to jab it to the O’ Sullivan’s.”

  This makes him laugh. “On the contrary lass, I think he’ll be thanking me for the rest of his life.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “When do I leave and who’s coming with me?”

  “Tomorrow, and Shane. I know you wouldn’t have it any other way.” He smiles and tells me, “Go easy on him Irish. He knows you’re coming, but I don’t think he’s expecting what he’ll get.”

  I can't help but grin at him. “Granddad, you know I'm a perfect wee Irish lass” I thicken my accent on purpose.

  “More like an Irish monster.” He mumbles. I chuckle at him. I couldn’t agree more.

  Chapter 2

  Quinn

  I look over the most recent inventory list Connor sent me along with other work. I received some high-class contraband liquor, and firearms from him, and all I had to do is marry the fucker’s granddaughter. I have no beef with the Dunnes, even with the rivalry our families hold, but if marriage and protection are what he wants in exchange for all his inventory and a large piece of his business then so be it.

  The thought of marriage never crossed my mind. I can’t even remember the one and only woman I was with, I was 18, drunk and just wanted to get it over with. It was shit, and never wanted to be with another woman again. They hold zero interest for me, always have. They call me the Irish monk, not to my face, of course, because I scare the shit out of everyone I cross paths with. I'm a big Irish fucker, not GQ handsome like the other crime kings, Lawson and Novak, I’m a tall, thick born beast, and will not hesitate to kill anyone who gets in my way. I'm cut from the same cloth as Foster, from the little I know about him.