Tourists, while good for the city and for places like Murphy's where his brother, and soon to be sister-in-law made their living, caused an awful lot of trouble for everyone else.
Jesus Christ how many times has he been called in since summer had ended, and the new festival season began? He had lost track, and hours of sleep. So many, in fact, that he found himself longing for a vacation, one that would take him far away, somewhere he could close his eyes and sleep for days. Wouldn't that be something?
Kilian hit the brakes hard and fast as his heart leapt in his chest. Stained glass doors had swung open hard, hammering against the stone walls, and a roar of noise echoed out to the empty street. Not bothering to park his car in a parking space, Kilian unbuckled and bolted from the still running vehicle.
“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded as he strode forward, his boots sloshing through the rain.
The onlookers said nothing but pointed fingers towards the inside of the pub.
“A tourist?” he demanded, already feeling a dull ache behind his tired eyes, “I swear to God if it's another drunk American.” He growled shoving past the onlookers and stopped dead in his tracks; there in front of him was no American, but a feisty brunette, who was all but puffing steam out of her ears.
She raised her fist at the ruddy faced man on the ground.
“The hell is wrong with you?” the man bellowed as he slowly shifted his weight from the floor, and rose to tower of her.
Great. Ron MacPherson. Ron was a tall man, more brawn than brain, Liam had always said, and normally had excellent luck with the ladies, not tonight though.
Taking a step forward to gauge the situation, Kilian crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.
Ron had been fierce in high school- iron fisted. He never backed down from a fight, which was probably why he lost as many as he won. He never knew when to take no for the answer, and several times Kilian’s own fist had collided with that wide mouth, so, it didn't surprise him that he would find a spot of trouble. What was surprising though, was that he was getting his ass handed to him by a girl.
Turning his gaze back to the feral female in front of him, his cool blue eyes roamed her body as he sized her up. She was lean, her body hard from a disciplined fitness regime, he mused, and her form, now that was truly something to be admired.
She took a step towards Ron, her small fist raised, ready to strike, her full lips curved into a snarl that managed to be both sexy and intimidating.
“I don't think you want to screw with me tonight, Red,” she growled, and huffed her dark bangs from her eyes.
“That's exactly what I wanted to do,” Ron smirked as he looked around the room as if expecting support from the onlookers.
Kilian grimaced as he met his gaze and shook his head slowly in warning- a warning Ron ignored.
“But you're not my type anymore. I don't like frigid.”
Kilian closed his eyes and groaned, and as he did, a sickening thump filled the room. He didn’t have to open his eyes, he knew the sound of fist hitting soft flesh. Years of living between two worlds had left him too acquainted with violence, too familiar with the sights and sounds.
Hearing another thump and groan, Kilian’s eyes flashed open, and his muscles tensed ready to act, but before he could, the young woman’s fist burst forward, lightning fast, and struck Ron so hard in the throat that no sound escaped his thin lips. Ron’s eyes bulged wide as his hands clutched his neck, and he dropped to his knees.
“Whoa. Hey there!” Kilian shouted as he moved forward, his heavy boots thudding against the old wood floors.
“Ah man, let her finish him, Ron’s had it coming,” an onlooker called, and though Kilian was a little sorry to break up the fight that she was clearly winning, it was probably the most responsible and police like thing he could do. He sighed, “Let's-”
Before he could finish his sentence, she whirled around to face him, striking him hard. Pain shot through him, white hot, and left him with stars in his eyes.
“Damn it,” he snarled, and clutched his surely broken nose. He was too fucking tired for this.
She raised her fists to strike again, but he was faster. He caught her with one hand, grasping her wrist tightly, and twirled her body around, slamming her back against his chest, her arm pinned.
“I don't know who you are,” he snarled as he tasted blood. “I don't know where you're from lady, but we don't strike officers.”
“Officers?” She craned her neck around to look at him. Those dark brown eyes, fierce, and full of challenge widened in surprise at the sight of his uniform. “Shit.” She groaned, and stopped fighting.
“Yep,” he said as she laid her head back on his chest. Her sudden surrender surprised him. Before he could think anything of it, or enjoy the surprising scent of lavender in her hair, Ron MacPherson, having finally caught his breath, rose from the floor.
“You bit-”
“MacPherson,” Kilian barked as he handcuffed the dark-haired woman and signaled for Ron to spin around, so he could do the same to him.
“What? Come on, Kelly, you know that's not necessary. Right?” Ron whined, his eyes wary as he glanced at the set of cuffs in Kilian’s hand.
