Warrior (Nolan Bastards #2) Read Online Amy Olle

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Nolan Bastards Series by Amy Olle

Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)

When my reckless little brother falls in debt to the mob, it’s up to me to save him. My plan is desperate and slightly impulsive, but it’s going perfectly.
Until he gets in my way.
Cian Nolan, the wounded MMA fighter with the body of an Adonis and the face of a fallen angel, is suddenly turning up at every mob-infested shindig in town. Growing up parentless, homeless, and with a big fat “worthless” stamped on my forehead, I learned early on how to spot trouble. And Mr. Chiseled Jawline isn’t just bad news—he’s the damn headline.
I don’t know him, but I know I hate him. I hate all men like him. Cold. Ruthless. Destroyers of Perfect Plans.
Okay, my plan sucked. But it would have worked if only I hadn’t kissed him.
Or fallen into bed with him.
Or given him my heart right along with my virginity.
It doesn’t matter that he risked his neck to save mine or that he says my name with a rich, buttery Irish accent that crawls all the way inside me and makes me want things I can’t have. None of that is going to stop me from protecting the only family I have left. If I must, I’ll take down every bad guy in Chicago.
Even if it means destroying the man that I love.




In the crypt-quiet examination room, Cian Nolan stared straight ahead at the sterile white wall. Like an outlaw dragged finally before a judge, he awaited the final verdict.

A pensive scowl twisted Dr. Hoffman’s grizzled features as he swiped his finger across the tablet’s screen.

The stark, vivid mixture of terror and dread lashed at Cian, and he dragged in a slow, steadying breath full of dry air and the potent odor of antiseptic. He coughed.

Dr. Hoffman’s gaze struck him like a laser beam. “How long have you had that cough?”

If he still experienced ordinary emotions, Cian might’ve been annoyed. “It was just a cough.”

Dr. Hoffman made a sound, then returned his attention to the tablet. “Your labs look good. Great, actually. And you’re sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I feel fine.” Cian hadn’t stepped foot in the cage in over a year, but he felt like he’d had his ass kicked.

There was nothing unusual about that, though. Fatigue was his new normal.

“Your MRI was clear. Vitals are strong. Blood work looks good. Your cortisol levels are a little high…”

“I started training again.”

“That’s probably it.” Dr. Hoffman regarded Cian with a frown. “Be careful not to overdo it.”

“If I were any more careful, I’d be napping, not fighting.”

Dr. Hoffman’s rare smile materialized. “You’re extremely fit, and I imagine you’ll regain your strength quickly. But the chemo caused some slight weakening of the heart muscle, so be sure to take it slow. If you’re lightheaded or experience any chest pains, rest immediately and call me.”

“Don’t worry, Doc. I’m retired.” Cian rolled down the sleeve of his gray Henley. “Professional fighting isn’t in my future. I have no plans for any marquee matches in Vegas. I’m just trying to get back into a routine.”

Dr. Hoffman set aside the tablet. “I look forward to seeing you only when you need your nose reset.”

“Ah, the good old days.” The corners of Cian’s mouth lifted. But he wasn’t smiling. He hadn’t smiled since this nightmare began.

“You did it. You beat this thing.” A brief glimmer flashed in Dr. Hoffman’s blue eyes. “You’re cancer-free.”

The tension that’d tightened every muscle in Cian’s body eased from him, but he was too exhausted, too ravaged, to feel anything other than the relief of air filling his lungs.

While he may have won the battle for his life, he hadn’t escaped unscathed. Not even close. Cancer had taken everything from him. His career, his fiancée, his peace of mind.

Dr. Hoffman sank down on the stool. “Before you go, we should probably talk about The F-Word.”

A host of offensive words beginning with the letter F rattled around in Cian’s brain. Fidelity. Faithfulness. Future.

He settled on the one that’d tormented him the most of late. “Family?”

Dr. Hoffman peered over the rim of his glasses and pinned Cian with a look. “Fertility. Your counts are low, which is not uncommon after chemo.”

“Is it permanent?”

“Some men regain the ability to produce sperm after treatment, but it might take a year or longer. It may never happen.” Dr. Hoffman held out a business card. “They’re the best in the business. Give them a call when you’re ready.”

Cian pinched the card between his fingers and glanced down at the small print.

Chicago Center for Fertility.

He rolled his thumb across the raised lettering.

To make a kid, Cian needed a woman, and he wanted a woman about as much as he wanted another round of chemo.

The protective paper crinkled when he pushed off the exam table. “Just happy to be alive, Doc,” he said, shrugging into his wool coat.