Chapter 6: Beating the Thief Senseless
Inside the nightclub—
On the second floor, Jimmy Lishman leaned casually against the railing, a bottle of beer dangling from his hand.
Maybe it was fate.
Or maybe he was just another horny South Side pretty boy.
Either way, the moment his eyes landed on Fiona Gallagher, he couldn't look away.
---
Fiona had gone all out tonight.
She'd "bought" herself a shimmering blue club dress earlier that afternoon.
Of course, by tomorrow, that dress would be right back in the store's return bin.
In America, full refunds were a beautiful thing —
and the Gallaghers had long mastered that loophole.
Fiona and Veronica had built an entire shopping rotation around it —
borrowing high-end clothes for one night, then cashing them back in the next morning.
And years later, Debbie would take that little trick to a professional level.
---
The lights flashed. The bass pounded.
Then, right as Fiona was catching her breath,
a handsome guy with an exotic look swaggered up to her.
He smiled — practiced, charming.
"Hey."
"Hey!" Fiona beamed, already halfway to dancing again.
She didn't notice the way his eyes flicked down —
not to her face, but to the small purse in her hand.
They started to dance, her laughter mixing with the heavy rhythm.
Then — in one smooth motion — the guy snatched her wallet, spun around, and bolted for the exit.
Upstairs in the club, Jimmy Lishman nursed his beer against the railing, watching the crowd below.
He'd been planning how to approach the gorgeous brunette in the blue dress.
And just like that — fate, or maybe sheer dumb luck — handed him the perfect opening.
Without hesitation, he bolted down the stairs.
He spotted the thief just as the guy was making a break for it.
Jimmy lunged —
—but at the worst possible moment, the thief slammed into a waitress carrying a full tray of drinks.
Crash!
Beer, glass, and bodies went flying.
Jimmy hit the floor hard, skidding across shattered glass.
Instead of being the hero, he ended up flat on his back, dripping beer and blood.
Touching his forehead, he saw a smear of red.
"Shit…"
Before he could get up, Fiona and Veronica came bursting out of the crowd, chasing the thief toward the exit.
And like any good South Side man ruled by lust and bad decisions,
Jimmy jumped up and ran after them.
---
Outside the club, William was still leaning casually against the brick wall, waiting.
Then — movement.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a man burst out the doors,
clutching a woman's purse as he sprinted into the street.
Perfect timing.
William pushed off the wall and stepped right into his path.
"Move!" the thief barked, glaring at him.
He glanced back — saw three people chasing him —
and assumed this tall blond stranger was just another random obstacle.
When William shifted slightly to the side,
the thief sneered, thinking he'd scared him off.
Big mistake.
A split second later —
his world flipped.
Thud!
"Ah! Holy sh—!"
The thief hit the pavement chest-first, the air knocked clean out of his lungs.
He wheezed, gasping for breath.
William didn't hesitate.
He stepped aside, twisted his body, and kicked the man square in the ribs.
Another groan.
Then one last move — a sharp stomp to the thief's hand, crushing it against the asphalt.
The wallet dropped.
William bent down, picked it up smoothly, and asked,
"Whose wallet is this?"
The whole scene happened so fast it looked choreographed.
A few bystanders began to clap.
---
"Mine! Oh my God, thank you! Thank you so much!"
Fiona ran up, breathless, clutching her chest.
The relief in her face was pure, unfiltered gratitude.
There wasn't much cash in the wallet — maybe a few bills —
but when you came from Fiona's world, every penny mattered.
She threw her arms around him without thinking.
The crowd erupted — cheers, wolf whistles, laughter.
---
"Wait— it's you?"
At first, she hadn't recognized him in the dim light.
But up close, there was no mistaking it —
William Blake.
The same mysterious, well-dressed guy who'd crossed paths with her twice that day.
Behind her, Jimmy froze mid-step, watching.
His expression twisted — half jealousy, half disbelief.
Beside Fiona, Veronica shot her a knowing look, wiggling her eyebrows.
"You know him?"
Her tone dripped with mischief.
Fiona understood perfectly what that look meant —
Since when do you have hot, badass friends who fight like action stars?
Ignoring her friend's teasing, Fiona turned back to William.
"He's… a friend of my brother's," she explained quickly.
She remembered seeing him talking with Ian and Lip earlier that day.
That was enough to make her assume the connection.
As for that "Aunt Ginger" story from the morning —
she'd written that off as a joke.
---
The thief groaned weakly from the ground.
"Well," William said, glancing at Fiona. "What do you want to do with him?"
She crossed her arms, scowling. "What else? Call the cops."
Then, fueled by adrenaline and anger,
she kicked the guy — hard — even though she was wearing heels.
"Holy—!" the thief howled.
Veronica laughed and joined in, delivering her own kicks for good measure.
William just stood there, shaking his head slightly.
"Yeah… anyone connected to the Gallaghers is a little unhinged."
And Jimmy?
He wasn't even pretending not to stare —
his eyes were locked on Fiona's legs.
---
After a minute or two, Fiona exhaled, satisfied.
Her bad mood evaporated, replaced with something softer — warmer.
She looked at William, eyes bright.
"Thank you — seriously. I never even got your name."
There was a spark in her voice now — a flutter of something dangerously close to infatuation.
Three encounters in one day.
Once in the morning.
Once at work.
Now, a dramatic rescue at night.
If that wasn't destiny, she didn't know what was.
Whether she wanted romance or something far less complicated,
not even Fiona could tell.
---
"William Blake," he said simply.
And right on cue, a police car rolled up to the curb.
A tall, broad-shouldered blond officer stepped out — Tony.
He smiled as soon as he saw Fiona.
"Hey, Fiona. You the one who called this in?"
"Yeah," she said, gesturing at the thief still writhing on the ground.
"This asshole tried to steal my wallet."
Tony glanced down at the man's bruised face and battered body.
Technically, this was a clear case of excessive force.
But this was the South Side.
So instead of paperwork, there was just a metallic click.
Handcuffs snapped around the thief's wrists.
And that was that.