Dublin Nights Series Box Set: On the Edge & On the Line Read online

  Dublin Nights Series: On the Edge & On the Line

  Brittney Sahin

  EmKo Media, LLC

  On the Edge

  By: Brittney Sahin

  Published by: EmKo Media, LLC

  Copyright © 2017 EmKo Media, LLC

  Previously titled: Forever Dublin

  Second edition copyright © 2019

  This book is an original publication of Brittney Sahin.

  Editor: Sarah Norton, Chief Editor, WordsRU.com

  2nd edition proofing: Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading

  On the Line: A Dublin Nights Novella

  By: Brittney Sahin

  Published by: EmKo Media, LLC

  Copyright © 2019 EmKo Media, LLC

  Editor: Anja, HourGlass Editing

  Proofreader: Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading

  Cover Design: LJ, Mayhem Cover Creations

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any reference to sporting teams is used fictitiously and is no way intended to represent any real teams, present or past. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Paperback ISBN: 9798669227043

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  On the Edge

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Bonus Material

  On the Line

  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

  Epilogue

  Learn More

  Also by Brittney Sahin

  Where Else To Find Me

  On the Edge

  Dublin Nights 1

  Chapter One

  Adam

  “Get up! Get up!” Chants echoed through the musty room. People were packed up against each other, huddling as close to the fight as they could get.

  “Don’t do it, you bloody idiot. Stay the hell down,” I muttered under my breath. I gripped the cage, pressing my face up close, ignoring the swarm of people who jostled and bumped behind me.

  “Shit. Is that you?” A throaty voice cracked loud in my ear.

  I didn’t bother to look over my shoulder as the bloke screamed, “Adam!” The last thing I wanted was to be recognized. I shouldn’t even have come here.

  My fingers curled tighter around the metal, and I shook the cage. Feck. Come on, stay down, man.

  The other fighter raised his arms up, showing his inked biceps as he paced around the cage, circling his opponent—Les—my idiot friend. The man’s dark eyes were sharp on Les, who remained facedown on hands and knees, blood dripping to the ground beneath him.

  The bastard wanted him to get back up, didn’t he? That was why he wasn’t crushing my friend to the floor right now. He didn’t want to end it right then and there—no, he wanted more.

  Frankie “The Beast” Donahue wanted to kill him.

  Jesus, Les. Don’t do it.

  But Les was stubborn, dammit. He pressed a palm to the ground and pushed up, his one good eye open, finding me. His cheek was swollen and busted beneath his eye, blood oozing from the wound and into the crater of his split lip.

  “No!” I shouted as Les tipped his head, almost as if in apology to me, and then pushed upright and to his feet.

  I released my grip, my hands snapping into fists, my knuckles twitching. “Stop it! Stop the fight!” I looked over at the ref, but he didn’t even blink. Instead, he remained in the corner, observing as Frankie closed in on Les, his lips spreading into a disgusting grin.

  I lunged up, attempting to climb the cage as Frankie moved in fast with a hook to Les’s jaw, followed by a quick kick to the shin. Les’s face jerked left and his mouth guard popped free, shooting across the Octagon, then his cheek connected hard against the ground.

  “Les!” I finished climbing the frame of the cage and swung my leg over the top, not giving a damn if anyone wanted to stop me. Hell, let them. I was tense and wired, ready to kill someone.

  “Les?” I dropped down into the cage, my eyes on Frankie’s as he lifted his chin and smiled.

  I shifted my attention back on Les and checked his pulse. There was a faint tick. “Get a fucking doctor,” I shouted over the drunken cheers as the crowd celebrated this arsehole’s win. “Stay with me, man.”

  I wasn’t sure if Les could hear me.

  “Don’t feckin’ die.” I lowered my head, memories from my past ripping me apart. Being here was too goddamn much.

  I wanted to claw at my flesh and scream. Les should never have stepped inside the ring.

  “We can’t let the medics come here—you know that. You should take him to the hospital.” The ref squatted next to me and stared at Les.

  “You should have stopped the fight.” I shook my head in revulsion, unable to even look at him.

  “And you know the rules,” the ref responded dryly. I had to fight the urge to slug him.

  But he was right.

  This wasn’t an official arena. It wasn’t the UFC. It was an illegal, underground, street fighting ring. And people had bets riding on each damn fight.

  “Help me get Les to my car.”

  The ref nodded and positioned himself at Les’s legs, while I grabbed his shoulders. Together, we lifted him up.

  “He’s a wanker—shouldn’t have been in the Octagon with me. A pussy like him belongs fighting the women.” Frankie’s voice cried loud over my shoulder as we started for the exit, the weight of Les’s eighty-five kilos making it damn hard to walk.

  My ga
ze snapped up to meet Frankie’s eyes, my body stiff and ready to explode. Hell, just being here had me hanging on the edge—a sharp, dangerous fecking edge. The kind that could kill you.

  “Wait! Adam? Is that you?” Frankie’s brown eyes narrowed at me in recognition. He raised his hands in the air and flicked his fingers toward his face. “Come on, man. You wanna fight me?” He cocked his head and cracked his neck on each side.

  I did my best to ignore the hot wave of anger that tore through me as the ref and I lugged Les down the first of three steps leading to the main floor. I hoped the crowd would get the hell out of our way, but suddenly they began to surge forward.

  “Fight,” someone urged. Then, everyone took up the cry. “Fight. Fight. Fight!”

  Frankie opened his arms to the crowd. “He’s too much of a coward.” He shook his head, and I bit my lip, practically drawing blood.

  I walked backward down the last step, moving with my back to the crowd as people shoved and bumped from all around.

  My shirt had Les’s blood on it, and my hands were slippery. I repositioned my elbows under his armpits and shot one last look at Frankie, imprinting in my mind the smug look on his face.

  Chapter Two

  Anna

  “Your fingers are gonna go purple if you stay out here much longer.”

  I looked over at the profile of the woman at my side. With her head tipped back, she stared up at the red brick building before us. She had to be seventy, or maybe even older. Her cream-colored skin was lined with age, her hair a grayish white. But when she turned toward me, I could see a vibrant spirit in her green eyes.

  “You nervous about something?” Her thin, pink lips twitched as if my state of panic had amused her.

  I tried not to crack a smile at the sound of her voice. I had only been in Ireland for two hours, and I was already in love with the accent. And, in fact, everything else about the country, as well. As the taxi had taken me from the airport to my new home, the bold colors of Dublin had flashed by my window. The sun had slipped behind the city buildings and tiny sparks of excitement had ignited in my core.

  But here I stood outside my new apartment, terrified, my suitcase handle clutched tightly in my hand.

  “I haven’t met my roommate,” I explained. “We’ve only exchanged a few emails, and so I’m kind of nervous.” I swallowed and looked up at the five-story building.

  “Ah. An American?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long are you living here?”

  “Just three months.”

  “Well, I’m Elizabeth. My friends call me Lizzy, and I live on the first floor. If you need anything while you’re here, be sure to knock on my door. Flat ten.”

  I looked back over at Lizzy. Warmth, home, and comfort flooded my insides at the whiff of sugar and flour that drifted toward me as she held out her hand.

  “Thank you so much. I’m Anna.” I unfastened my death-grip from the luggage handle and shook her slightly cold, somewhat bony fingers.

  “Pleasure to meet ya,” she said before winking and heading up the short flight of stairs to the entrance of the building. “You coming?” She looked over her shoulder at me. “You can’t get in without a code. The apartments all have a code, as well, in case you don’t have a key on hand. At my age, I have forgotten my key on occasion.” She scratched her cheek, and her eyes glinted. “Hopefully someday I don’t forget the code, or I’ll be screwed.”

  I smiled at her, trying to imagine my grandmother using the word “screwed.”

  “Thankfully, my new roommate already emailed me both codes. It’s the kind of trust I’m used to in Kentucky, although I didn’t expect it in the big city.”

  She waved a hand my way. “The city might be a big one, but our hearts are even bigger.” She winked at me. “Goodnight, Anna.”

  Once Lizzy was out of sight, I closed my eyes. I can do this, I reminded myself. I had twelve weeks to prove to myself that I wasn’t just a country girl—I needed to find myself again. The girl I once was, or maybe always wanted to be.

  But as much as I wanted to get away from Kentucky, it was also twelve weeks away from Java, my Rocky Gelding. I wondered how he was. Maybe I’d be able to find a place to ride once or twice while I was here.

  My eyes flashed open as a bus honked, and my shoulders shrank forward when sirens sounded nearby. Strangers found my eyes as they passed by me on the street, having to move around where I stood.

  What was I doing?

  It was getting cold and growing dark, and I was standing there like a statue.

  I shivered from the slight dampness in the air and rolled my suitcase to the steps and hoisted the heavy bag.

  My new rental was on the third floor. I rolled my eyes at the spiraling set of stairs and searched for an elevator.

  Once on my floor, I found myself in front of my new home.

  The door was brown and plain—nothing terribly exciting. I had seen a few pictures from the Internet, but I wasn’t sure if I was truly prepared to go from wide-open spaces to eight hundred square feet—or whatever that was in meters.

  My hand hovered before the small box outside the door, near the knob. My fingers trembled with nervous anticipation as I blew out a breath and tapped the eight-digit code. I had recited the code in my head on the flight over—my first ever plane ride—probably seeming like some crazy person, chanting to herself. Of course, in this day and age, a twenty-four-year-old who had never flown before was an oddity in itself.

  I sighed as I dropped my bag just inside the front door and fumbled for the light switch in the dark, wondering why a place with high-tech code locks didn’t have automatic lights or motion sensors. “There you are.” I flicked on the light and found myself in the kitchen. Well, the three square feet I stood in probably counted as the “entryway,” but the refrigerator was directly to my left, and there wasn’t much but a wall to the right.

  Shutting the door, I unwrapped the blue scarf from around my neck and let it hang loose down the front of my sweater. I moved deeper into the apartment, past the breakfast bar, which seemed like the closest thing to a table.

  There was a brown leather chair, a black suede couch, and a large, flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. No pictures. No lamps. No rugs.

  I’d been fortunate to find someone who would allow me to bunk with her for those three months at such a low rate. The internship barely paid, although I was lucky to get anything. Most of the other internships I had applied to were unpaid.

  I shook off the weird bachelor-pad vibe I was getting and glanced down the hall. My new roommate had told me in her email that my room would be the first door on the right. My hand shook a little as I gripped the brass handle and pushed.

  The room was small, like the rest of the apartment. There was a double bed and nightstand. And, hey, a lamp! Nice touch.

  I fought back my sudden urge to wash the plain white linens on the bed. Who knew whom—or what!—they had touched before me. But the weight of my sleepiness was too much. Although it was daytime back home, after being on such a long flight, I was beat.

  I went back out into the hall and found the bathroom, where I peeled off my icky airplane clothes and stepped into the shower. It felt a little awkward to take a shower in someone else’s home without them even being there, but if I was going to go outside the box, then I had to get used to doing new things.

  That was the point of this trip. Well, in part, at least. I also didn’t want to be the girl who’d only scribbled her dreams in a diary and never attempted to live them. Well, sure, I would probably never achieve world peace. And playing opposite of Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing was off the table. But at least I was doing this. Coming to Dublin was pretty big, in my book.

  I stepped out of the small, glass-framed shower and grabbed one of the drab blue towels from the hook on the back of the door. It smelled like sandalwood and spice. Maybe Leslie had a boyfriend. I probably should have unpacked my towel before deciding to take a shower.
/>   I quickly patted dry, trying to use as little of the towel as possible, and then tugged on my gray cotton nightshirt, which had “Horses are Love” scrawled across the front.

  The oval mirror in front of the sink was sweating from the steam, and I swiped at it. My mother’s emerald-green eyes stared back at me. For a moment, I wondered if I’d made the wrong decision, leaving Kentucky. I blinked a few times and combed my fingers through my long, strawberry-blonde hair—another feature of my mother’s I’d inherited.

  “I can do this.”

  Feeling refreshed—well, at least clean—I gathered my clothes and opened the door.

  In the doorframe, I halted, narrowing my eyes at the figure hugged by shadows at the end of the hall. A scream escaped my lips, and I dropped my clothes from my arms as I backed up. I fell against the bathroom door as my momentum left my feet behind.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I stumbled, upright, my mind and body prepared for the worst as my hands went tense at my sides. My heart smacked loud in my chest as I stared at the silhouette before me. The shape stepped closer and into the light, and I gulped. “You are not Leslie,” I accused, studying his blue eyes.