Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(130)

The room fell silent for a beat, Dan and me watching Seamus as his boots scuffed against the floor on his way to us.

Dan—very, very slowly—placed his hand on my thigh, guiding me behind him. “What do you think you’re doing, Seamus?”

“I just want to talk to her. Can’t I talk to my sister-in-law? Ask her some questions. Get to know her. Learn all about her hopes and dreams.”

I felt Dan go stiff and he stepped more completely in front of me. “You know.”

For the first time since we entered, Seamus’s eyes left mine. “You married a fucking heiress, Dan. A. Fucking. Heiress. She tell you that? Did she tell you who she is? Do you know how much money this bitch is worth?”

I sucked in a breath, startled by the venom in Seamus’s tone. Of course, it was only a matter of time before Seamus found out. But what I didn’t understand was why Dan’s brother made my past, who I was, sound like a betrayal.

Dan flinched but took a threatening step forward. “You shut your goddamn mouth.”

“The bitch is using you.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, and if you call her that one more time, you’ll be shitting teeth.”

I placed a hand on Dan’s shoulder. He shook me off while placing his hand on my hip, gently pushing me back.

Eyes full of defiance, Seamus lifted his left hand to his hip, his right hand slowly sliding behind his back. “You’re too fucking stupid to see what’s right in front of you and the kind of payday this bitch could—”

I jumped back, covering my mouth with my hands, because Dan punched his brother in the face.

And then he’d punched his brother in the face again, and throat, and side, and kept on punching. For Seamus’s part, he landed a few blows, but he’d been caught by surprise.

Also, Dan seemed to be more motivated.

I’d witnessed fights before. I’d been targeted twice when I lived in a tent city west of Chicago; those encounters had resulted in my fair share of bruises, cuts, and cracked ribs. I’d learned to run. At the first sign of trouble, I ran. Always. I was small. I didn’t know how to fight. I was always running, sometimes all night. By the time I was incarcerated, running had become a deeply ingrained habit.

That had been a very long time ago. A lifetime ago.

Now, watching the brothers destroy their mother’s living room, I didn’t run. I couldn’t. It was like watching a car accident, or being in one. I was so shocked by what I was seeing, the violence, I couldn’t move.

But then Seamus—who was clearly the dirtier, sneakier fighter—reached for the brass lamp on the side table. Dan saw this, and blocked his arm, leaving his right side undefended. Seamus took advantage of the opening and grabbed Dan’s throat, forcing Dan to twist back and away.

While this was happening, and before Seamus’s fingers could close completely over the lamp, I grabbed my bag of heavy documents, rushed forward, swung it around once, and whacked him square in the face.

Seamus’s neck snapped back, he stumbled, tripped over his own feet, and crashed to the ground. His hands came to his nose as he rolled to the side.

“You dumb bitch! You broke my nose!”

Dan moved like he was going to kick his brother in the ribs, but I stepped in front of him, placing my hand on his shoulders and pushing him back.

“They’re just names. Please. Please don’t. He’s not worth it.”

Dan wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at his brother, his eyes dark with murderous rage. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Or what?”

Dan stepped around me, grabbed the lamp from the table, and advanced on his brother. He yanked, tearing the cord from the wall and ripping the lamp shade from the bulb.

“Dan. Wait. Stop. Please.” I reached for his arm, but it was no use. He didn’t shrug me off or push me away, but he was too strong. I might as well have been trying to stop a speeding train.

He crouched behind his brother, taking the chord and wrapping it around Seamus’s neck. He pulled.

“Oh fuck,” Seamus said just before he couldn’t say anything at all.

Yanking him up and back, Dan leaned close to his ear as his older brother kicked and struggled, grasping at his neck.

“Now you listen to me, you worthless piece of shit. You don’t talk to her. You don’t look at her. You don’t think about her. She doesn’t exist to you. If I see you near her, if I catch talk that you’ve said her name, I will find you and not even a fucking UN resolution will keep me from dissecting you alive. Do you understand me?”

Seamus did his best to nod.

Standing suddenly, Dan let his brother drop to the floor with a painful sounding thunk. He then moved to Seamus’s back while the man was gasping raggedly on the ground. I tensed, bracing for another blow, but Dan merely reached into the back of his brother’s pants and retrieved a gun. Then, stepping on Seamus’s ankle and placing a knee on the back of his other leg, Dan retrieved a knife and another gun from his boots.