Page 75 of Beer & Broomsticks

Eoin rose to his feet and stepped in the gap between his brothers. “Timely save.”

“You always were dramatic,” Cian said with a light laugh.

Carrick didn’t bother to shush them, instead taking a step forward to confront the stranger. “We know you’re not Loman—”

“Or Shane,” Eoin inserted.

“—or Shane,” Carrick added with a nod. “How about you tell us who you are before we kick the shite out of ya?”

“You, O’Malley?Youthink you have what it takes to fightme?” The stranger laughed, and his disguise faded away. The three of them shared a look, no closer to figuring out who the man was than they were ten seconds before.

“Sure, and I’d give it a go.”

Cian laughed at Carrick’s flippant reply, and Eoin was hard pressed not to chuckle himself. Being Irish, and pub owners to boot, his brothers were always up for a good tussle.

“Doyle.”

Cian’s face lost every trace of humor, and he edged closer to Eoin. “Get out, and take Carrick with you,” he said in a low voice.

“Not going to happen. I—”

Bridget burst through the opening, accompanied by Ruairí O’Connor and some Loreal-blond, supermodel-type dude Eoin had never seen before. Ruairí stopped short, and based on his slack-jawed expression, he was thoroughly shocked.

“Fuck!”

“Does your father know you’re a turncoat?” Doyle spat on the scarred wood floorboards.

“Aye, Madden, he did know.” He gestured to the ground with a tilt of his chin. “You’ve still got the manners of a barnyard animal, I see.”

Eoin inched closer to Cian. “How did he get past the wards?”

“If you take a good look around, you’ll notice the wards didn’t hold up.”

It took everything he had not to laugh at his brother’s response. Cian was seldom serious when it came to confrontation. He employed humor in every aspect of his life and gained great pleasure if his quick quips could disorient and anger an opponent into making a costly mistake. Cian had a charm all his own.

“A cornered animal,” the blond man beside Bridget said. “Never a good combination.”

Mr. Loreal lifted his arms, palms upward, and Eoin could swear he felt an atmospheric change. An instant later, electricity crackled between the guy’s fingertips.

“I hope he’s on our side,” Eoin said in an aside to Cian.

“Aye. And be grateful he is. Knox is feckin’ lethal.”

“You’ve one real choice here, friend,” Knox said casually, as if discussing the weather. “You can allow yourself to be arrested on behalf of the Witches’ Council, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

The cool delivery of the ultimatum caused Eoin’s stomach to flip. Sure, he’d always known of the feud between the O’Connors and the O’Malleys, but it hadn’t truly touched him. Happily creating away in his studio in New York, he was far removed from any drama. Or at least he had been until tonight.

Shite got real when Shane O’Connor had shown up with his thug in tow, and Eoin was still worried for his sister, Dubheasa. Her last text to him had been to say she needed a vacation and was going off with her girlfriends for the weekend. No amount of trying on Shane’s part had gotten her to respond to the inquiring messages he’d sent as he tried to lure her to Eoin’s place.

Dubheasa was brilliant, and she knew Eoin never asked about her personal life or whereabouts. He only ever told her to have fun, be safe, and call if she needed bail money. He certainly had never been pushy about details the way Shane had been. Eoin only hoped she understood and had gone into hiding for her own safety, especially considering Bridget’s call the other day.

When Madden Doyle glared at Knox, raw hatred on his face, Eoin sensed what was coming. He didn’t have long to wait.

“I’ll never surrender to the likes of you! I’ve the blood of kings—”

Without a by-your-leave, Knox fried his arse.

Eoin’s legs grew shaky when he saw Madden shudder from the electrocution and wet his pants. When the second bolt hit him, the smell of burnt flesh filled the room, and Eoin dashed for the door, afraid he was going to toss up his last meal on Bridget’s not-so-pristine floors.

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