Let Me
O’Brien
Family, #2
by Cecy Robson
Publication date: April 19th 2016
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
BLURB
Once he was broken beyond repair.
Now this MMA contender is fighting to be a better man—for her. RT Book Reviews
proclaims that the O’Brien Family series from award-winning author Cecy Robson
“has the hottest brothers ever!” And in Let Me, it is Finn’s turn to discover
how love can heal the deepest wounds.
A mixed martial arts star on the rise, Finn O’Brien dismantles his opponents with brutal precision. And yet beneath his fierce persona, Finn is raw from a trauma he’s buried for years . . . until the day his deep-rooted rage erupts and lands him in court-mandated therapy. Finn’s not one to bare his soul, but if talking it out means meeting beautiful women like Sol Marieles, he’ll give it a shot.
Sol is working toward her
master’s degree in psychology, and already she feels like she’s in over her
head. With an important internship on the line and a scary family situation
demanding her attention, the last thing Sol needs is Finn around to distract her.
The man is ripped and seriously sexy yet it’s his troubled side that warns her
to keep her distance. But their attraction is intense, and he clearly has the
heat to see how far and fast their passion takes them.
Alone, Finn and Sol have been
fighting to find happiness in their lives. Together, there’s no stopping them
as they face their greatest challenges—not in the ring, but in their hearts.
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Chapter
One
Finn
I see the strike coming at
me a split second before it connects with my skull. My head snaps back from the
force, the crowds’ hollers resonating like a muffled cry in the distance. It
was a good punch― lightning quick with enough impact to knock most guys on
their asses. But I’m not most guys.
You hit me, I’m only going
to hit you harder.
My right hand shoots up,
blocking and smacking away the kick gunning for my ribs. I pivot out of the
way, again, and again, and again, avoiding Easton’s arms and legs as they come
at me. He’s fast, strong, with a six inch reach advantage. But he’s too eager
to take me out and not pacing himself like he should. Already he’s breathing
hard and it’s just the start of the second round.
I take my time to figure him
out, planning each move, searching for that opening I need. Do I take a few
bashes because of it? Sure. It’s part of the job. But believe it or not, it’s
part of the job I look forward to.
Those punches and kicks
remind me that I still feel, that I’m
still human. And that for now, I’m still alive.
“Oh!” some drunk behind me yells when my
uppercut finds Easton’s chin.
He staggers back, swiping
the blood oozing from his lip, yet he keeps his grin. He’s trying to make like
it was a lucky shot. That it won’t happen again.
Like me, Easton needs to win
this match. And if he does, he’ll move up to the top ten, making him a
contender for the UFC Lightweight title.
Talent aside, the guy’s a
raging asshole, and so are the idiots in his training camp. They’ve been
trash-talking since the moment I agreed to this match. I didn’t really care and
laughed most of it off until they got personal and took it a step too far.
Again he nails me in the
head. It’s not as hard as it was last time which tells me he’s getting tired.
Does it hurt? I guess.
But let’s say I’m a guy
who’s used to pain.
Easton grins. He thinks I’m
afraid of him. He thinks he has me where he wants me. But fear is an emotion I
don’t allow myself to entertain. Fear gets you hurt and rips you apart till you
think there’s nothing left.
I dodge out of reach. He
scowls and takes another swing. This one gets close enough to my jaw to create
a breeze that whips across my skin.
“Finn,” my brother Killian
barks from the side. “Take him out now.”
He’s worried about me. So is
my family. But now’s not the time to think about them. I keep my hands up as I
edge away, letting Easton think I’m backing down, that I’m tired and need to
catch my breath.
I sidestep when he lunges
forward, avoiding his next swing and use the momentum to drop my head and nail
him in the temple with a roundhouse kick.
Like I said, Easton’s fast.
Too bad for him I’m a little
bit faster.
The kick is my signature
move, as natural for me as the next breath. He goes down like I planned. But in
the Octagon you don’t stop just because your opponent collapses like timber.
You charge forward. You show him what you’re made of. And you prove just how
tough you really are.
That muffled screaming,
isn’t so muffled anymore. The crowd loses their shit as I pounce, my blows
nailing Easton in the face until the ref’s arms hook beneath mine as he hauls
me off. I back away, my fists up because I already know I won.
I should do a back flip or
some crazy shit to incite the crowd. This is it. My time has come to own it.
But the good things aren’t as great as they can be. Not with the memories that
haunt me. And not with the anger they stir.
Killian rushes in as the
medic wipes down my face. I’m bleeding from the punch Easton caught me with at
the beginning of the round. I didn’t think it was that bad, but the way the
ringside medic is pressing the towel against my head clues me in the gash isn’t
closing like it should.
“I’m going to have to stitch
you up, Fury,” he mumbles.
“I figured,” I tell him.
Kill pats my back. “Good
job,” he says.
Maybe he believes it, but I
don’t miss the concern in his voice. He thinks I took too many unnecessary
hits. I can’t really argue, seeing how it’s true.
He doesn’t understand that I
don’t feel those strikes the way I should. Hell, I don’t think I’ve felt
anything the way I should in a long time. Not like I used to. I try to tell
myself that maybe that’ a good thing. That numbness is better than pain. But I’m
not so convinced anymore, and neither is my family. I try to shrug it off like
I’m fine. Except given the way they’ve been eyeing me, I’m not fooling anyone.
I’m scaring everyone around
me. And it sucks. Not only because I don’t want them scared, but mostly because
I don’t know how to stop it.
“The referee has called a
stop to this match at two-minutes and forty-nine seconds into the second
round,” the announcer begins. “The winner by TKO, Finn ‘The Fury’ O’Brien.”
The crowd screams and pumps
their fists in the air when my hand is raised. I take the few seconds I need to
thank my sponsors, my camp, and my brother, because that’s what I’m supposed to
do despite the fog clouding my senses. I wish that disconnect had something to
do with all the hits I took, but deep down I know that it doesn’t.
I’m back in the locker room
before I know it getting stitched up, too many people talking at once. God, I
barely hear their questions or my responses. But they’re there and somehow I
make it through.
“I’m worried about you,
Finnie,” Kill says when everyone piles out.
“Don’t. I’m not drinking
tonight. I’m headed home,” I assure him.
“That’s not what I mean,” he
says. He’s sitting in a fold out chair, his arms resting against his muscular
legs. “I think you need to talk to someone.”
I stretch out my arms. By
now they’re so tight, they pull against the bones. “I am. I’m talking to you.”
I don’t have to see him to
know he’s shaking his head, or that he’s looking sad, disappointed, and maybe
something else, too. “I’m not who you should be speaking to,” he says. “Not for
what’s going on in your head.”
“You’re enough,” I say, even
though I know it’s no longer true.
“Finn,” he begins.
I don’t wait for him to
finish, leaving the changing area and heading toward the showers. “Go find
Sofia and Wren,” I call over my shoulder as I strip out my shirt. “See if
they’re up for some dinner.”
I don’t remember peeling the
rest of my clothes off. That numbness I’ve been feeling too much lately
claiming me like a mist until it fully engulfs me. Fuck. It’s like I’ve stopped
living even though for the most part I think I’m still alive.
I lean against the tile with
my arms spread, allowing the water to beat against my back. It’s too hot. I
should turn it down, but I don’t bother. Eventually, like everything else, the
sensation fades.
I’m not sure how long I’m in
that position. A few seconds? A few minutes? But then Easton and his trainer
Yefim are suddenly there. “You got lucky, O’Brien,” Yefim calls out, taunting
me with his thick eastern European accent.
Shit. Like all the trash
talk before the fight wasn’t enough.
“Did you hear me, you
pussy?” he fires back when I don’t answer. “Did you hear me, you goddamn
coward?”
Coward?
Fuck you. It’s what I think, but not what I say, focusing instead
on the streams of water that gather along my feet before they swirl into the
drain.
It doesn’t help. The rage
that’s building, the one I only manage to barely keep in? It stirs in my gut
like a heavy pot filled with hate, sin, and all the curses my Ma would still
beat my ass for saying.
“What’re you doing?” Yefim
asks.
His voice is closer, he’s drawing near. I
doesn’t matter that I’m standing here naked. He wants to be next to me. I
shudder, that feeling I keep buried drilling its way up.
“I know about you,” Yefim
says, not bothering to keep his voice low. “But everyone knows, don’t they?
Even if you don’t want them to.”
My body shakes a little
more, but it’s not from the cooling water. It’s from his words and all that
anger they trigger. Don’t do it. Don’t go
there.
“You like to keep it a
secret. Don’t you, pussy?”
Yefim laughs when I keep my
trap shut. He thinks I’m backing down, just like Easton did before his face met
the mat. “He’s crying,” he calls out to Easton. “What? Not so tough now?”
That’s where he’s dead
wrong. Every muscle I’ve conditioned serves a purpose―to take down those who
fuck with me. And right now, Yefim is seriously fucking with me.
“You like to pretend that
it’s girls you like, don’t you?” he says. “But that’s not true, is it? Oh, no,
that’s not true at all . . .”
I raise my chin, knowing
that someone’s not leaving without bleeding, and I’ve bled enough tonight.
Yefim kicks at my calf.
“What? Nothing to say? Can’t speak without your boyfriend here?”
“Boyfriend?” Easton asks,
laughing. “No fucking way.”
“Yes. Way,” Yefim insists.
“Didn’t you know this little pussy takes it up the ass―”
I punch him so hard, I feel
his teeth crack against my knuckles. For someone with decades of boxing
experience he never saw me coming. But I see Easton flying at me out of the
corner of my eye. I toss him over my shoulder, slamming him hard onto the
ceramic tile floor. Like in the octagon, I throw myself on top of him, my fists
colliding against his skin.
Voices rush forward, telling
me to stop. A woman screams, but I don’t stop fighting off the bodies trying to
grab me, breaking through the arms wrenching me back. I need to hit him―I need
to feel my fists meeting his face―I need to feel something.
God damn it. I need to feel
alive.
I don’t want the pain.
I don’t want the terror.
But once more, it’s all I
feel.
Buy Links:
Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo / iTunes
Author Info
Cecy Robson is a new adult and
contemporary author of the Shattered Past series, the O’Brien Family novels and
upcoming Carolina Beach novels, as well as the award-winning author of the
Weird Girls urban fantasy romance series. A 2016 double nominated RITA®finalist
for Once Pure and Once Kissed, Cecy is a recovering Jersey girl living in the
South who enjoys carbs way too much, and exercise way too little. Gifted and
cursed with an overactive imagination, you can typically find her on her laptop
silencing the yappy characters in her head by telling their stories.
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