Page 2 of Enemy of Ours 1
“You won’t harm her, you sick bastard. I’ll kill you myself,” I promise, spreading my legs and bending my knees slightly as I track his movements the closer he gets.
He laughs loudly, tossing the open switchblade back and forth between his hands, and stops a few feet away from our corner.
“Well, well. It seems we have a fighter on our hands. I doubt you would be standing in my way, boy, if you knew the rival was right behind you.” He smiles nastily; I can smell his foul breath from here.
He smells of cheap liquor and cigarettes.
“I want my papa,” the girl cries again from behind me, clenching at my sweater that suddenly feels too heavy for my body.
Sweat drips down my back as my hands turn clammy. She keeps pulling at me until she’s squished against the wood paneling of the walls and there isn’t any more room to move, but that doesn’t stop her from tugging at my arm and sweater as if to get me away from the bastard.
Too bad we are literally backed into a corner. I’m not going down without a fight. I have a duty to my family, and this littlegirl is innocent; she shouldn’t have to see the ugly side of this world playing out in front of her at such a young age.
“Danny O’Connor doesn’t need his spawn running around New York anyways. She’ll only cause more trouble the older she gets. I’ll be doing the world a favor.” Mick leans to the side, trying to get a glimpse of her, and the look on his face makes my stomach dip.
I’ve seen some men wear that same expression right before a raid. Adrenaline pumping, hungry for a fight. He’s looking at Danny O’Connor’s child like he enjoys playing with his food before he eats.
Wait.
Not… He can’t be talking about that O’Connor? Right?
I gasp, my eyes widening before a laugh bursts out of me, making the girl jump behind me and Mick lean his head back with a confused expression.
“Oh, man. You really are a dead man.” I chuckle, grasping at my stomach because it hurts to breathe. “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about Danny O’Connor, head of the Irish mob family?”
“Papa,” the little girl whispers against my back with hope in her voice, and that confirms it for me.
“What about it, kid?” Mick growls under his breath, baring his yellow teeth at me, and grips his switchblade in his right hand.
“He’s going to skin you alive. Piece by piece. The thing about the mafia is… you do everything for the family. You took O’Connor’s precious cargo. Like I said, you're a dead man.” I let out a sudden grunt as he swiftly steps into my space and slams my face sideways against the wooden wall with his big, dirty hand. He raises his blade in a downward swoop, aiming right for my guts.
“What’s going on here?” Ed bursts through the cabin front door just as my left arm comes up, connecting with Mick’s forearm and stopping the blade from sinking into my stomach.
“Leave him alone!” With a sudden, battle-cry-like shout, the little girl darts out from behind me, her speed startling me.
She latches onto Mick’s arm before I can stop her, holding onto him with all her strength like a little spider monkey.
“What the hell!” Mick shouts and wiggles his arm until her feet are dangling off the floor as she opens her mouth with a warrior scream and bites his wrist.
I hear a scuffle near the front cabin door but don’t look; I can’t stop watching her hold onto him with just her teeth. He swings his right arm again, aiming for her, and I swear my heart stops beating for a second before I spring into action. I step into his path and stop the knife from striking the girl by throwing my hand up, causing the sharp blade to sink into the palm of my hand.
“Ah!” I bellow, blood squirting from the other side of my hand and down my palm as we grapple for the knife.
With a sickening, slick suction noise, the knife is yanked out of my hand just as a high-pitched scream comes from beside me. Blinking back the tears and the roaring ringing in my ears, my eyes focus as Mick growls and swipes the blade at her. I don’t remember moving or the pain in my throbbing hand, but I push her away just as the blade nips her left palm. She cries at my feet, but at least she’s not seriously hurt. I scream in rage and run headfirst into Mick’s stomach until he falls backwards in surprise with a humph leaving his mouth. I hop onto his stomach and just start punching anywhere I can; fury has taken over. My father once warned me that there's an instinct in us Messina men that takes over when we need to protect ourselves or others.
I guess seeing the blood trailing down the little girl’s wrist was my tipping point. I hardly register the arms around my stomach lifting me as I continue kicking and cursing Mick to hell.
“Romeo. Listen to me, son. You did well. Take some deep breaths. The family has you.” The sound of Father’s voice penetrates through the rampage.
I stop and slump in his arms. The moment he sees I’m done fighting for my life and hers, he loosens his hold.
“Don,” I mumble breathlessly, my chest heaving as I scan his brown eyes and look around the room with a sudden panic. “Is she okay?”
My frantic gaze stops on the tiny figure standing over the body of Mick; she’s holding her injured hand and gives him a swift kick before sensing my eyes on her. She looks over with big, fat tears in her green eyes and walks over to me. My father’s men lift Mick off the ground as he groans in pain and shove him to his knees next to his buddy, Ed. I step around my father and kneel down on the dirty floor while ripping a piece of my sweater from the hem. I don’t say anything but hold up my uninjured hand for her bleeding one. She doesn’t cry out when I wrap the fabric around her cut, which will likely leave a ridged scar once healed.
“All better. Thanks for having my back, little one,” I mumble quietly, climbing to my feet. A large shadow of a man’s silhouette shifts behind me. I spin around with my arms out, blocking her from sight again.
“Papa!” she shrieks as she runs out from behind me before I can stop her and admittedly starts wailing the moment she jumps into the arms of none other than Danny O’Connor.
