Page 90 of Sins of Arrogance

We’ll find out if this is bravado, or if he’s got a drop of Irish blood run­ning some­where in his an­ces­try, when I get him to my throne room.

I slam his head against the wall again, stun­ning him enough to make get­ting the zip-ties around his wrists eas­ier. De­spite the gas, the flash bang and one al­ready hard knock to his nog­gin’ he’s still fight­ing.

I’d be im­pressed if he wasn’t on the wrong feckin’ side.

The itch to force this man and his boyos to tell me what they know set­tles at the base of my neck.

They’re go­ing to learn what it means to dance with the devil.

“Get the other two sta­bi­lized for in­ter­ro­ga­tion. They’re no good to me bleed­ing out.”

“You got it boss,” Conor says. “And this one?”

“We’ll be in In­ter­ro­ga­tion Room 1. Bring the oth­ers in to watch once they’re sta­ble.”

My cap­tive tries to run twice and over­power me once on the way to in­ter­ro­ga­tion. Not sure why I don’t just kill him. I’ve got two more men to ques­tion, both of whom showed them­selves to be less well trained.

But feck if I’m not re­luc­tantly im­pressed. It won’t stop me from killing him when the time comes, but damned if I don’t want to test his met­tle some first.

Chap­ter 24: Blood’s Thicker Than Vin­tage Cling­wrap

KARA

Róise hits the mat again with a solid thud. For the sec­ond time in five min­utes.

“Too much think­ing,” Fabi­ana snaps, yank­ing her to her feet like she weighs noth­ing.

“I’m built for think­ing,” Róise groans, shift­ing back into a ready stance. “Not Judo-flip­ping a mafiosa.”

Fabi­ana smirks. “Your fi­ancé dis­agrees. Now again. Less brain. More in­stinct.”

Across the room, Fiona’s stiff form mir­rors mine as we square off, Zoey stalk­ing around like a smug jun­gle cat.

“This isn’t a fenc­ing les­son,” Fabi­ana barks at Róise. “You’re not pos­ing for Re­nais­sance paint­ings. Drop your weight. Lower. Again.”

Róise ad­justs her stance and sud­denly I’m flip­ping through the air and land­ing on the mat with an all too fa­mil­iar thud.

“Pay at­ten­tion to what you’re do­ing, not your cousin.” Zoey puts her hand out to help me up.

Frus­trated and feel­ing more than a lit­tle salty, I grab Zoey’s hand in a tight grip. Yank­ing hard, I kick out and sweep her feet from un­der her.

Then I roll right on top of her like Fabi­ana taught us and press my fore­arm against Zoey’s throat. “How’s that for pay­ing at­ten­tion?”

Fiona and Róise are both laugh­ing and clap­ping.

Zoey grins. “That’s what I’m talk­ing about.”

“Good job.” Fabi­ana ap­proaches, Róise fol­low­ing be­hind. “Zoey, show them the se­quence for dis­abling an at­tacker com­ing from the back.”

With a nod, Zoey leaps to her feet. Her move­ments ef­fi­cient and vi­cious, she demon­strates a se­ries of ac­tions that cul­mi­nate in a sharp el­bow to the so­lar plexus of one of the padded dum­mies.

“You know,” she says cheer­fully, “when I was four­teen, my cousin taught me that. We used each other as live tar­gets. He cried. I didn’t.”

Fiona’s eyes widen. “That’s… com­fort­ing?”

“Zoey’s love lan­guage is low-key vi­o­lence,” Róise says, voice dry as she wipes sweat off her face with a gym towel.

“Don’t act sur­prised.” Zoey gives Fiona a play­ful nudge. “You fell for a mafiosa.”