He cackles like he just made the world’s funniest joke.
He’s close enough now that I can smell the alcohol on him. Definitely drunk.
I’m hoping his stooges are equally inebriated. That might make it easier to take on all three of them.
If it comes down to that.
“I’m not a whore!” Saoirse rages. “Not all of us can be bought, motherfucker.”
Murtagh’s jaw twitches. “Everyone can be fucking bought,” he snarls.
I make sure to keep the rug squarely over Saoirse before I get to my feet. I don’t want any of them seeing her naked.
I reach for my pants, but Murtagh tries to block me.
I anticipate the move though, and I move fast. I grab his hand and twist it back. I can easily break it, but the situation is sensitive and I don’t want to invite a fight if it can be avoided.
So instead, I twist hard enough that it’ll hurt and shove him back before the bone snaps.
He growls with pain as he collides into the same brick wall that I’d had Saoirse pushed up against last night.
The Kinahan goons move forward, but none of them make a definitive advance toward me.
I take the opportunity to throw Saoirse her clothes and then I shimmy my pants on.
Saoirse grabs her clothes and ducks behind one of the bigger flower pots resting against the side wall. It doesn’t cover her completely, but I don’t want to take my eyes off any of the three men facing us.
“You fucker,” Murtagh growls.
“Don’t fucking mess with me, Murtagh. You don’t want the fight.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Then you’re even stupider than you look.”
His eyes narrow, anger squeezing out the pain on his face. “You’re forgetting who I am. Who I’m connected to.”
“I haven’t forgotten a thing. You’re a fucking rich boy who has a rich daddy. Congratulations.”
“Ronan O’Sullivan is a powerful man. But he’s not as powerful as my father. Not anymore.”
“That’s fucking bullshit.”
“It’s not,” Murtagh replies, licking his lips. “My father has the Kinahans at his disposal, not to mention half the cops in the city.”
He straightens up and grimaces. “In case you’re too fucking stupid to connect the dots, that means we significantly outnumber you.” A triumphant smile flares across his face. “And it means you don’t want to mess with me.”
“I like to stay out of the politics of the business,” I tell him. “Which means I have no problem beating the shit out of you and letting the chips fall where they may.”
“Your father might disagree.”
I glare at him. His confidence is starting to grate on me.
One thing I know about Brody Murtagh: he’s a fucking coward.
The only reason he’s standing here in front of me with so much bravado is because he feels untouchable.
“In fact, I know he would,” Brody continues. “He knows he’s not top dog in this city anymore.”