Page 50 of Iron Blade

The sweet, summer child…

I wouldn't let his insult stand. Rowan was not a member of the clan by blood. But that didn’t matter. Rowan was Irish. His parents were Irish, and were one of us by blood oath. Therefore, it extended to him.

I was here to enforce that oath.

“It’s his bar, and you’re not welcome here.” I rested my knuckles on their table as the drunk one with red-shot eyes looked at me and blinked. “Get the feck out!”

“What are you going to do about it?” the man said, his nose flaring in anger, as he pushed my shoulder away, as if that would cause me to back down.

“My name is Eoghan Green.” I clapped him on the back of the neck. If my name registered, he didn’t let it show on his face. But that didn’t matter to me. “And this is my territory.”

I slammed his face down, seeing the splash of blood across the table top as his nose crunched with the impact.

Dairo came out of my peripheral vision, his fist clenched, arriving like a lightning strike on the skinny man’s throat. The fat one tried to stand as I punched him in the sternum, and it knocked the wind from his lungs and he wheezed to regain his breath.

The one with the freshly broken nose stumbled up, wiping the blood falling from his nostrils. He stumbled into his chair, and grabbed a beer glass, smashing it against the table so it shattered into a shiv.

“Oh, you maggot,” I laughed. “You’re wanting to turn a brawl into a murder.”

I laughed, lunging for him. The sharpened glass touched my cheek, narrowly missing my eye as he flailed. I grabbed his wrist and smashed it against the edge of the table, feeling the break of bone as his hand went limp, letting go of his makeshift weapon.

Dairo grabbed one by the collar, and I grabbed the other two, and we dragged them kicking and screaming out of the bar.

O’Malley sat outside, leaning against the Cadillac, while he scrolled through his phone. He gave me an amused smile, as Dairo and I dragged the three men out into the cold, kicking them on the pavement.

“They try to get back in,” I commanded. “Shoot them in the head.”

“Will do, boss,” O’Malley said with a shrug, not caring about the violence he had just witnessed.

That’s what I liked about him. He didn’t care much about anything, and took the world in stride. Whatever needed to be handled, he would handle it. The man was going to come up fast in our world.

I laughed as Dairo, with his leather-clad shoe, kicked one in the ribs.

“Leg it!” I laughed, telling them to run.

The crumbling, beaten Italian men squirmed, before they limped away from us, their hands over their hurt ribs. I started to laugh as one held his wrist at his chest, whimpering over his broken bones. Fucking gobshite.

Those stronzos may not know a word of Irish slang, but they understood what the hell I said, because they started limping faster.

Dairo and I clapped each other on the shoulder, laughing like two eejits, as we started to feel the full effects of our drinks. I pulled out another cigarette, lighting up, and was gratified when Dairo stuck out his hand, asking for one. I gave it, no question, and we smoked in silence, with O’Malley leaning on the car, playing on his phone.

“So, show me this girl, Eoghan,” Dairo said, clapping me on the back.

“What?” I chuckled, as I watched the Italians limp away.

“Show me this extraordinary girl that was, apparently, the reason why I flew home. I want to meet her.” He pulled me upright, his hand around my neck, as he growled. “I dare you.”

Oh, no. He knew that there was no way I could ever live down a dare. A dare from Dairo?

I couldn’t let that slide.

Chapter seventeen

Blood on My Hands

Kira

Blink was okay with it? He was okay with me spending more time with Eoghan Green?

---