Page 54 of Dangerously
Then I notice a fourth guy on the ground who looks like his nose is broken.
“Who’s next?” Declan spins around with his arms wide open, talking with an American accent. It’s totally weird. He stops turning when he sees me, a glint of rebellion in his bold, green eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I stuff the gun into my pants before anyone sees it.
“Blowing off some steam?” He stumbles over to me. “Men, meet my beautiful bride.” He puts his arm around me, and I try to push him away
Bride?He has lost his fucking mind. And dear God, he smells like a rotting distillery.
The four guys say their hellos, clearly as wasted as he is.
“Told you she was gorgeous. But don’t let the pretty face fool you. She’ll kill ya in the blink of an eye.”
I smile uncomfortably. “He’s joking.” I elbow him in the ribs.
“Oomph,careful there, Poppy, I think I broke that one.
“Wonderful. Are you finished playing with your new friends?” I clench my teeth.
“I don’t know. Boys, are we finished? Anyone else want a go?”
They all wave him off. I think they’re more interested in drinking than fighting.
“Where is your shirt?”
Declan looks down at his dirty chest. “Don’t know.”
“Fantastic. Inside you go.”
“No, no, no.” He slips out of my grasp. “Lenny, I need the bottle.”
Fucking hell.
“It’s yours.” A guy in a flannel jacket and baseball cap hands it over. “I haven't seen anyone take down Hammer like that in a long while.”
“Happy to oblige.” He's still talking like an American. It’s wigging me out. “Have fun with that beauty.” Lenny points to us as he walks off with the rest of the guys.
“Only if she’s feeling generous tonight.”
“Which she’s not.” I cross my arms.
“Aww, you’re too pretty to look so mad.” He puts his arms around me, and I shove him away.
“You’re drunk.Again.”
“So? I’m Irish. It’s what we do.”
“How disappointing.” I turn to go back inside.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Declan grabs my hand and pulls me into a bear hug. “I’m sorry. I fucking needed it. And I need you.” He tries to kiss me, and I knee him in the balls. He drops to the ground. “I fucking love it when you’re rough.”
“Can you please stop talking like that?”
“My American accent doesn’t turn you on? I think it’s pretty good. Sounds like I’m from Boston, no?”
“Yes, it does. Impressive.” I’m not impressed at all. I’m tired, and hungry, and testy. And the last thing I need is a drunken Irishman to deal with.
“Go inside. Go to bed.”
