Breaking a Legend

  Breaking a Legend is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2015 by Sarah Robinson

  Excerpt from Saving a Legend by Sarah Robinson copyright © 2015 by Sarah Robinson

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Saving a Legend by Sarah Robinson. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  eBook ISBN 9781101885581

  Cover design: Diane Luger

  Cover photograph: © vuk8691/istock

  readloveswept.com

  v4.1

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Sarah Robinson

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Saving a Legend

  Prologue

  Three!

  Two!

  One!

  Fight!

  The crowd roared around him as the bell sounded, vibrating through his entire body. Rory Kavanagh immediately moved into position, his head low and his fists in front of his face. His arms were tucked in, shielding his body as he advanced on his opponent. This was it. A lifetime of practice, sparring, training: It was all for this moment.

  It was all for this fight.

  He was bigger than his opponent; this would be a simple win. He had the strength, he had the power. He towered over him by several inches, his shoulders broader, and his muscles thicker. This fight was in the bag. Punch, block, jab, shield, kick, sidestep. His opponent was moving fast, but Rory practically danced around his attack. He rained down jab after jab, his opponent staggering backward with a bloody lip. The bell sounded and both men retreated to their respective corners.

  “Water,” Rory grunted, leaning against the cage side as his father handed him a water bottle, his brothers eagerly watching from outside the cage. He dumped a mouthful of water onto his tongue before swirling it around and spitting it out into a nearby bucket.

  “You’re doing great, Rory, but remember technique. You’re too heavy-handed on power, and you’re not focusing on skills. That’s how fighters get hurt.”

  “I’m fine. This is in the bag.” Rory tossed the bottle at him, strutting back toward the center of the ring as the ref began announcing the start of the second round.

  “Fight!” The ref backed up quickly as the men converged on each other. Rory landed the first hook, blocking the return. Breathe, focus.

  And that’s when it happened.

  He blinked in surprise as blinding pain coursed through him. He looked down for a second, just a second, and it was over. Rory hadn’t even seen it happen; his opponent had been too fast. He looked down at his leg, but it was entirely twisted at the knee and bent the wrong direction. Bones were protruding and blood trickled morbidly down his calf. Searing pain inexplicably mixed with tingling numbness shot through his body in pulsing currents as he wavered.

  Then all he saw was black. He felt the cage floor hit the back of his head as he went down hard. He heard the screaming from audience members, his family included. The ref’s whistle was blaring and medics were asking if he was okay.

  Rory said nothing, and gave in to the black.

  Chapter 1

  “I will tell you when I’ve had enough.” He spoke through clenched teeth, slowly raising his silver eyes to stare down the irritated bartender.

  “Rory, come on. Don’t make me throw you out.” The bartender peered sideways at him, clearly exasperated as he draped a dishrag over one shoulder.

  Rory Kavanagh narrowed his gaze, anger coursing through his blood as he contemplated reaching across and smashing the arrogant prick’s face right into the wooden bar. Instead, he stood and reached into the back pocket of his jeans, tightening his jaw in frustration. Separating a few bills from a rather thick wad of cash, he tossed them down next to his glass before turning and heading for the door.

  As the infamous oldest Kavanagh brother stalked in their direction, the bouncers securing the entrance straightened, giving him a wide berth as he shoved his way out into the cold night air. Rory stumbled slightly as he turned right and slumped his shoulders, shoving his fists into his jacket pockets to keep warm. The alcohol warmed his insides, but still wasn’t a match for the winter chill as he made his way north on Kepler Avenue in the Bronx.

  Rory slid one hand out from its warm haven to shove back his messy long brown locks with a quick sweep of his fingers. Glancing around, he was a bit surprised not to see more people roaming about the Woodlawn neighborhood on a Saturday night. Taking advantage of the momentary privacy, he pulled out an orange pill bottle from his pocket, shaking a few white pills onto his palm. He closed the container and stuck it back in his coat before dropping the pills onto his tongue and swallowing them dry. He was used to the sensation as well as eager to feel the numbing he knew would soon follow.

  Yawning slightly, he slid his phone out of his pocket and turned on the screen, revealing that it was already one in the morning. He was feeling tired, but he wasn’t ready to call it a night just yet. Turning at the next intersection, he made a beeline east to Katonah Avenue, eager to get to O’Leary’s Pub before their last call in an hour.

  “Well, if it isn’t our long-lost brother,” a familiar voice said a few minutes later, as he meandered into the neighborhood bar that everyone he knew frequented. A hand clasped his shoulder. “Shit, Rory, where the hell have you been?”

  Rory inwardly groaned as he turned to face his younger brother, Quinn Kavanagh. Rory wanted to wipe Quinn’s smug smirk off with his fist. He had been sporting that same cocky attitude since the moment he popped into this world, a trait that Rory found uniquely irritating.

  Now I remember why I’ve been avoiding this bar, Rory thought as he forced a smile at his brother.

  “Just stopping in for a quick drink, Quinn,” Rory said, attempting to make clear that he wasn’t interested in socializing.

  He headed over to the long wooden bar that wrapped around two sides of the small pub and stood before walls of liquor bottles and televisions. Several bartenders moved around swiftly, filling drink orders and talking with the full crowd that O’Leary’s always attracted on weekend nights. Rory found an empty stool down at one end, far away from the door, and quickly staked his claim.

  He saw Cian, who had worked at O’Leary’s for as long as he could remember, and nodded his head to him. Cian nodded back and put up his hand, indicating he would be over in a minute, as he finished serving the group of colleg
e-aged kids at that end of the bar. The door to the kitchen swung open and a short, petite blonde ambled through carrying a large bucket of ice that seemed much too heavy for her small frame to manage.

  Rory smiled slightly as he lifted one eyebrow, watching her with interest while she carefully poured the ice over the liquor bottles that sat in a metal bin below the bar’s surface. She huffed and her face was slightly red at the task, but she still managed to completely empty the bucket’s contents evenly around each of the glass bottles.

  He took advantage of her being distracted by her task to stare at her shapely legs, which disappeared under a short skirt barely longer than her small apron. Her skin was delicately pale and smooth, and he wondered what it would feel like to slide his fingers up the length of those legs. His eyes traveled up her body, disappointed that the thick, blond ringlets dangling halfway down her back were also hiding most of her face as she leaned over the bar. He wanted to see her perfectly sloped nose, catch her eyes with his, and see what her small pink lips would look like when they smiled.

  Something about this woman was intriguing him, although he couldn’t pinpoint what.

  Her work completed, she exhaled loudly and plopped the empty bucket at her feet, taking a breather. Rory chuckled lightly, finally grabbing her attention.

  “You laughing at me?” She put her hands on her hips, daring him to make fun of her.

  Her eyes narrowed as she spoke, but he was still able to catch a glimpse of the dazzling emerald color that contrasted against her light skin and golden hair so perfectly.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, mhuirnín.” A smile spread across his face as he watched her saunter over to him, her full, pink lips tightly pressed together in irritation.

  “What’s that mean?” she asked when she reached him, standing across the bar with her arms folded across her chest and one hip tilted higher than the other. Her tone was defiant and he loved the feisty spirit she exuded.

  “Mhuirnín? You’re all questions today. I’ll answer your question, if you answer mine.” Rory concentrated on keeping his speech normal and not slurring his words. He might have had a bit more to drink tonight than he had intended.

  She turned away from him, looking back down the length of the bar and drumming her fingers on its surface.

  Rory could sense her nervousness. He already missed her green gaze and silently begged her to turn back to him. There was something about her that stirred a protective instinct in him, a feeling entirely foreign toward anyone who wasn’t family. She was smiling, but there was an undercurrent of pain breaking through her friendliness.

  He didn’t like it.

  “I guess that’s fair,” she relented, turning back to him and leaning against the wall.

  “I haven’t seen you here before. What’s your name?” His question was simple, but the desire in his eyes was not as he licked his bottom lip and admired how perfectly her uniform hugged her curves, even on her small figure.

  “Clare Ivers. I’m new in town. Needed a job.” She shrugged, not divulging much, but he felt a sliver of hope when he saw that the smile on her face had yet to disappear.

  He knew that she could feel his attraction toward her when he saw the blush creep up her cheeks. The smile she couldn’t push away told him she was enjoying their banter as much as he was.

  Despite her clear interest, there was a hint of disapproval as he watched her eyes roam over his torso. It was a look he was way too familiar with from the last year. Rory worried he might be slurring his words or sounding more drunk than he felt.

  Wouldn’t be the first time, he thought.

  “Your turn.” She pointed at him, biting the corner of her lip in an attempt to hide her smile.

  “Mhuirnín means sweetheart. If you’re going to work in Woodlawn, Clare, you gotta learn some Irish.”

  “Is that right? I guess I’ll have to find a good tutor then,” she taunted, before turning on her heels and sauntering off.

  Rory felt his jaw drop slightly as he watched her, his interest piqued. He wasn’t normally one to let a girl walk away without snagging her phone number, but something about her told him that she wasn’t the type to give that away so easily.

  “Already hitting the latest talent?” Quinn came up beside his older brother and handed him a beer.

  “Fuck off, Quinn,” Rory ribbed, surprised at how light he felt at the moment. It had been some time since he had laughed at all, he realized, as he downed the beer Quinn gave him.

  A third brother, Kane, appeared behind Quinn a few seconds later, nodding at Rory. No one would know those three were related if it wasn’t for the famous Kavanagh name.

  Quinn was the odd man out in the group of brothers, with his straight black hair, clean-shaven face, and snakelike black eyes. Quinn had even added to his differences by covering his arms and chest with tattoos that peeked out from under his sleeves and shirt collar, along with piercings on both ears and several other places.

  “You coming to Ma’s tomorrow?” Kane asked Rory, leaning his back against the bar.

  His body was turned to face Rory, but he was obviously scoping out the bar as his dark blue eyes peered around the room. Rory followed Kane’s stare, noticing more than a few heads turned in their direction. He didn’t bother rushing to answer his brother, since Kane’s attention was clearly elsewhere.

  The Kavanagh brothers were well known in the Bronx, especially Woodlawn, but even if they weren’t, the group of athletic men was hard not to stare at. Several women on the other side of the bar were giggling, batting eyelashes, and attempting flirty glances as they openly gawked at the three men.

  Rory knew Kane was a notorious ladies’ man; he watched him smile eagerly at a woman passing by. Everyone had always told him that Kane resembled Rory the most out of all the Kavanagh brothers, which was ironic since Kane was one in a set of twins. Rory wasn’t as close to Kane’s twin, Kieran, who was currently serving time in prison. They had had a falling-out before Kieran landed up in jail and not gotten around to resolving things between them yet.

  Considering their similar dark brown hair, scruffy beards, and muscular build, the biggest difference Rory could see between himself and Kane, aside from their eye color, was that Rory liked to let his hair grow to chin length, leaving the wavy locks down to frame his face. He liked his longer style versus Kane’s short hair, and most of the women he found himself around seemed to share that opinion.

  One woman had even told him he appeared medieval, as if he could be her knight in shining armor. That was a comparison that still eluded him, since his refusal to settle down or be in any type of serious relationship usually had women calling him much different things, none of them very pleasant.

  Pulling back his attention to his brothers, Rory purposefully stayed noncommittal, though he knew Sundays at the Kavanagh house really weren’t optional. Not if their mother had anything to say about it.

  “What about Monday, coming to Legends?” Quinn asked, nodding suggestively at one of the women watching them, as he referred to the MMA club and gym that the Kavanagh family owned a few blocks over.

  “I can’t start training yet.” Rory pushed his hand through his hair, wanting to avoid the topic.

  He was suddenly feeling a lot more sober than he liked, wanting his brothers to leave so he could slip a few more pills out of his pocket undetected. The numbing feeling they had brought earlier was already wearing off.

  “It’s been over a year since the fight, man. The hell you can’t train—you’re Rory ‘Knockout’ Kavanagh, best MMA fighter in New York!” Quinn said sarcastically and slightly louder than was necessary.

  “New York? Try the entire nation, Quinn,” Kane added, a swell of pride in his voice as he beamed at Rory.

  “Was, guys. Past tense.” Rory spoke through gritted teeth as his hand touched his own knee, feeling the thick scars through the fabric of his pants, gruesome evidence of the injury that had ended his mixed martial arts career. The bottle of pills was now
burning a hole in his pocket as he thought about how badly he wanted some relief.

  “Maybe it would be present tense if you didn’t reek of booze all the damn time,” Kane said, daring him to counter the statement. Rory took a slow, deep breath to calm himself. He loved his brothers, but he didn’t need their pity.

  “Rory! It’s been a while, man!” The tall, skinny male bartender strolled over, pausing to fill up a tall Guinness on his way.

  He slid the drink in front of Rory and then crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for an explanation as to his absence.

  “Sorry, Cian, just been busy,” Rory said, his words sliding together sloppily, giving away his drunkenness. Rory picked up the glass and began to chug, glad his brothers had wandered over to the table of women in the corner and finally left him alone.

  “Shit, Rory. It’s one o’clock in the morning and you waltz in here, unable to walk a straight line, and now you’re slurring your damn words.” Cian rolled his eyes at Rory as he watched him polish off the glass. Their interaction was going very quickly from friendly to not so much.

  “What the fuck do you know about where I’ve been? I’m a paying customer—give me another damn drink.” Rory’s voice was gruff and deep as he pulled out the large, folded stack of cash and threw some bills onto the counter.

  His previous life as a professional fighter had set him up financially for quite some time, giving him the luxury of not having to work even though he still helped out at Legends on occasion. The bartender shook his head and pushed the money back to Rory, refusing it.

  “I’m not giving you another one tonight, Rory. And that last one was on the house. I won plenty of money, thanks to you—when I bet on Santiago.” An arrogant sneer crept over Cian’s face.