Page 3 of Sinfully His

They laughed again, and one broke off from his little group and moved toward me. I got a glimpse of the girl who was still between them. Her eyes were wide in terror, her face red, probably from being hit, and one of them had their hand on her breast.

She should be scared.

The man coming in my direction had a cocky gait to his step and a wide smile as he told me how he was going to teach me how to mind my manners.

Pride cometh before the fall.

He didn’t even attempt to hide what moves he was going to try. He took his sweet time to wind his arm back and put all his substantial weight behind his fist. Had no one trained these menat all? He swung, and I stepped to the side, clearing the path of his fist so his force made him stumble. Before he could regain his balance, I kicked at the back of his weight-bearing leg and he face-planted on the hard, dirty pavement.

His friends roared with laughter while he got back to his feet.

“You’re going to regret that, asshole,” he snarled, blood already trickling from the corner of his twisted mouth.

“I’m ready when you are, princess,” I taunted. He seemed like the kind to get mad quickly.

Goading your opponent into an emotional response was always the surest way to win any match. Emotions clouded people’s judgment, turning them sloppy and rash.

Sure enough, his ghastly pale skin turned bright red under his mask, and he lashed out again, this time crouching down and running at me like he was a bull.

Nothing about how this man acted before this display of anger led me to think he was intelligent, but this was a stunning example of “too angry to think things through.”

Another step to the side, and the man head-butted a dumpster. My ears ached from the resulting bang, so I could only imagine how he felt.

He was out cold, so I turned back to his friends. They weren’t laughing anymore. Instead, two of them came at me, the last one holding the girl.

These men were smarter, or at least more cautious.

“You’re going to pay for that,” one seethed.

“I didn’t do a damn thing. It’s not my fault you inbred Irish sheep fuckers are simply too dumb to know not to ram your head into a dumpster.” I dropped my jaw and raised my hand to my face as if some brilliant thought had just occurred. “That’s it, isn’t it! His dad fucked a sheep, and now that asshole is part ram. It all makes sense now.”

I would admit I was a little disappointed they all took the bait so easily. But I knew how to piss off the Irish, being of Irish descent myself.

The first of the two reached for me, trying to grab my collar. I latched onto his sleeve and pulled him close, my fist and his face meeting somewhere in the middle.

He swore while covering his face, blood flowing freely from the cut my signet ring made just under his eye.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, or does she only understand bleating?” I asked.

“That’s it,” the second of the two said, in what I was sure was a stunningly witty retort for the dolt.

He lunged for me, his fist coming like a freight train. I ducked, barely missing the fleshy hammer. While low, I hit him twice in the kidneys and then stood to my full height to punch him in the face, blood spewing from his nose.

There was no time to celebrate. The other one was coming back at me fast. He was quick, but not as quick as I was. I sidestepped the punch and then grabbed the back of his head, forcing it into the side of the dumpster as hard as I could. If it were open and I had used the lip, I could have very well killed him. As it was, he would be concussed, and the only thing I killed was one of his last two brain cells.

He moaned and collapsed on his friend, out for the count.

His pal let out a roar of fury like a battle cry would help him. He threw punches that were easy enough to block. The local mafia had clearly stopped sending their men to the same boxing gym.

I was bored, and it was time to get on with it.

One hit with enough force and accuracy was all it was going to take. I shoved him back and threw all my power behind my fist, aiming for the spot where his jaw met his skull. He went down like a sack of sheep-fucking potatoes.

The girl let out another muffled scream, and I saw the last man trying to drag her away.

“Put her down now,” I said. Part of me was hoping he wouldn’t. This guy was smaller, so maybe he was scrappy, would need to use technique over brute force.

“I’ll… I’ll,” he stammered, backing away with my prize in his arms.

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