But more disturbing, there’s desire. An obvious need for possession.
I saw her first, motherfucker.
“She is not your concern,” I interrupt, inserting myself in the middle of a fight that’s not mine.
Sean is cautioning me with his eyes, but I ignore him. I’m not about to let Brody fucking Murtagh crash our party and then strut around like he owns this goddamn city.
His father may be Mister High-and-Mighty-Politician.
But the son is nothing more than a stain on my boot heel.
Brody looks at me. A slow smile spreads across his face.
“She mean anything to you, O’Sullivan?” he asks innocently.
I force a smile onto my face. “She’s as much a pain in my ass as you are. Does that qualify?”
I don’t glance at Saoirse. I’ve already put too many cards on the table by stepping in to defend her like some overprotective boyfriend.
“Hm,” Brody says. “Then you won’t mind if I do this?”
He reaches up with one hand and grazes Saoirse’s cheek. She’s so stunned by the action that she stands there silently for two seconds.
Two long, arduous seconds.
And then she snaps.
She snaps so hard that she actually beats me to the punch.
She steps forward and brings her knee straight up into Brody’s groin. I hear a nasty crackle.
He moans low, practically inhuman. And his face goes pink as he keels over.
A snort of laughter escapes my lips as I watch the idiot hit the pavement, clutching his balls for dear life.
“Nice kick,” I tell Saoirse approvingly.
“You want the next one?”
I take a step back immediately. “Maybe another time.”
“I want all of you off our property right fucking now,” she snarls, looking at the Kinahan goons first before her gaze veers to Sean and me.
“You bitch!” Brody manages to gasp from the ground.
Apparently, she hadn’t kicked him hard enough. The bastard is already managing to clamber to his feet. I thought for sure he’d be down for the count.
One of his stooges hoists him upright. As soon as he’s on his own two feet, he turns to Saoirse with vengeance in his eyes.
“You want to call the fucking police?” he demands, spit flying from his mouth. “Go right ahead. Do you know who my father is?”
I cringe instantly on his behalf. Of course he’d use his father.
What other weapons does the spoiled little rich kid have at his disposal?
“I don’t give a good goddamn fuck who your father is,” Saoirse hisses.
“Saoirse!” Padraig cautions again.