Chapter 73

“Marc, this is insane,” Sinead hissed softly. She was clutching onto Marc’s arm tightly even though she was otherwise putting out an air of calm intensity. “We can just fucking leave.”

“Ah, we could,” Marc sighed. “But then I would have let that man put his hands on you, ma petite rebelle, when you didn’t want him to.”

“I told you I could have handled it myself,’ she said.

“And I told you that I knew that was the case, but that you shouldn’t need to,” Marc replied. They were out on the metal stairs outside the loft that held the gambling hall, walking down into the warehouse proper. The big bouncer woman and the scrawny rat-faced man were watching the parade coming down towards them with interest. Victor was in the lead with Liam and the skinny Italian, trying to work out whatever issue that this whole episode could cause for him or his relationships. Marc and Sinead were next, a few steps behind, followed by several of the guests and other onlookers who hadn’t stayed up by the tables.

“Fucking hell,” Sinead said, shaking her head. “Fucking men.”

Marc stopped at the bottom of the stairs and pulled her aside, away from the others as they headed more towards the centre of the mostly empty warehouse. “Sinead,” he said. “This is about your honour, but it’s not just about your honour. And certainly not my ego. Right now Victor and all of his contacts think I am just another one of his business world contacts, here to gamble away my money as I swim in dangerous waters for the fun of it. By doing this, I may draw the attention and respect of other criminal elements that I can then pass off to your capable hands.”

Sinead worked her jaw for a moment, obviously wanting to tell him off but still trying to process the completely new vector of explanation. To be fair, Marc had only really come up with it on their way down to the warehouse floor, but it was a pretty good one.

“Just...” she started, then shook her head. “Do you really think you can take him? Do you even know how to fight?”

Marc sucked in a long, slow breath and then let it out. “I haven’t trained nearly as much recently as I wish I might have, but I attained a black belt in karate about a decade and a half ago.”

“That’s not going to work in a street fight!” Sinead whispered angrily. “Marc-”

“I know,” Marc said, taking her by her upper arms and holding her firmly. “I know. This isn’t a tournament with rules for points, and respect. I’m not going to fall into that trap.”

Someone had thrown a switch and a few banks of lights in the centre of the warehouse came on with a mechanical clank and a hum of power, illuminating the bare concrete.

“Come on, you French fuck,” called the Irishman cockily. He’d already stripped off his suit jacket and was rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“What am I supposed to do if you actually get hurt?” Sinead asked sincerely.

“Take me to a hospital,” Marc said with a little smirk, trying to keep himself calm. Five minutes ago he was playing poker and it was a fine night. “Here, hold these for me please.” He took off the cufflinks from his shirt and handed them to her, then decided to take the shirt off entirely. Not letting the continued jeering from the Irishman rush him, he casually and neatly folded his shirt and handed it to Sinead, leaving him in his slacks and shoes. After a moment he decided to kick off the shoes as well - they were leather-soled dress shoes and were more likely to slip on the concrete than grip.