Tristan is broader, bulkier, older.
One has the advantage of speed. The other has the advantage of strength.
I’ve taken a few of Tristan’s punches. I know how powerful they are. I know that he can make your eye swell up to twice its size with just one hit.
I had to take two weeks of leave from work that month. And even at the end of those two weeks, the swelling and discoloration remained obvious. Or at least, obvious to everyone except those who would have been inconvenienced by the truth.
Tristan lunges forward and I shriek, but Cillian manages to sidestep the hit. He pivots around and lands a punch to Tristan’s stomach.
My husband’s face seems to deflate for a moment. The wrinkles from years of hard drinking ripple across his forehead. The skin along his jaw sags just a little, and his eyes are two tiny slits of fury.
He’s a forty-eight-year old man now, and it shows.
Cillian’s fighting style is lithe, quick, graceful. Once I’ve calmed down slightly, I realize that he actually looks like he’s having fun.
It’s enough to make me hopeful.
More gunshots go off down below. But the only ones I’m paying attention to are the ones being fired from up here, inside the castle.
Kian’s taken down two of the Kinahan men with expert marksmanship. The other sharpshooters have bagged one each.
“Saoirse.”
I don’t take my eyes off Cillian.
“Saoirse!”
I startle and turn to Kian.
“You know that gun’s not just for show, right?” he prods.
I look down at my right hand and realize I’m still holding it. It’s odd that it now feels lighter somehow.
“I… I… what if I shoot the wrong person?” I ask.
“My advice would be, don’t.”
He misses the annoyed glare I send his way.
He shoots again. Another Kinahan man falls to the ground.
Down below us, Cillian throws another punch and Tristan falls back onto the hard stone of the courtyard. He’s bleeding from his nose and mouth now.
And he looks absolutely fucking furious.
The ranks have dwindled thanks to Kian’s sniping and the other O’Sullivan men on the ground.
It’s just Tristan now and his two remaining men.
They make a lonely trio against Cillian and the seven of his troops still standing.
BANG.
BANG.
The last two Kinahans go down.
It all feels so easy that I can’t believe it’s really happening. Tristan is on his back, looking up at Cillian, who rises above him like an angel of death.