Page 21 of The Twins
“As if that matters.” Finn huffed.
“You think it’s respectful to speak to a lady like that, huh?” Cillian said, his arms hanging at his sides but his body tense, primed like a predator about to attack.
“What the fuck has it got to do with you if we admire a fine ass?” One guy—dark beard, yellow shirt—stepped forward. He was holding a bottle of beer. “You married to the bitch or something?”
Finn stiffened. “Eejit is going to get what’s coming.”
“Fuck,” I muttered, wishing for a cop car to drive past.
“I’ll tell you what it’s got to do with me, she’s my fucking woman, asshole. And I don’t appreciate you calling her names.”
Drunk Guy laughed. “Don’t fucking look like it.” He nodded my way. “She’s with him.”
“You’re going to apologize to her right now,” Cillian said.
“I ain’t apologizing to no one, and ain’t no twatty Irish dude gonna make me.” In a sudden flash of aggression, he smashed his bottle of beer against the wall, taking the end off and creating a lethally sharp weapon. He grinned manically and held it forward, toward Cillian. “Come on then, think you’re tough, do you?”
“Oh God, no.” I grappled for my phone, a fresh shot of adrenaline shooting into my system and making my hands shake. “We need to call the police.”
“No, no don’t do that.” Finn wrapped his hand around mine. “I promise it will be okay.”
“But—?”
“No bloody police.”
I had no idea what type of martial arts Cillian practiced. It wasn’t a subject I knew anything about. But I hoped he was as good at it as his brother seemed to think he was.
The guy suddenly lunged at Cillian, the broken bottle aimed forward, a wicked and lethal weapon.
Cillian dropped his body weight and scooted to the right in one smooth move.
The drunken gang cheered and punched the air, eager for the fight, and clearly expecting their mate to win.
“You don’t want to do this,” Cillian said and flexed his fingers. “Walk away now.”
“Sure I do.” The guy rushed forward, broken bottle aimed at Cillian’s face.
Cillian stood his ground until the last moment then he brought his arm down on the man’s extended forearm. The bottle flew to the right, hitting a rubbish bin. But he kept up his momentum, racing toward Cillian.
But Cillian was suddenly behind him. He took out Drunk Guy’s legs by slamming the side of his foot onto the back of both of his knees in quick succession.
The man crumpled to the ground, his yellow shirt exposing his lower back and the crack of his butt cheeks. “You’ll fucking pay for that.” He heaved himself standing and balled his fists.
“Yeah, get him, Duncan.” One of his cronies smashed his hand into his fist and leered forward.
“I wouldn’t bother if I were you, Duncan.” Cillian held out his hands as if in surrender. “I don’t want to hurt you. Apologize to the lady and walk away.”
A manic growl emerged from Duncan, and he charged, bull like, at Cillian.
“Fucking fool,” Finn muttered.
“This is going to end badly and…oh…” I gasped.
Cillian had stopped his attacker in his tracks. One swift sharp punch to the lower neck, his throat, and the man stood like a statue. He then began to sway, forward and then back. But he kept on going backward until his center of gravity was unrooted and he hit the ground with a whump. Out cold.
“What the fuck have you done?” One of his mates raised his fist at Cillian. “I’ll fucking kill you for that…”
“I’d think twice about that, mate, if I were you.” Cillian frowned at his hand, as though checking it for damage. “’Cause I’m just getting warmed up.”
