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This little outburst of his wasn’t the first one. It was just another in a long list of many tantrums.
He was ridiculous and needed reining in. If his uncle wasn’t prepared to do it, then I was.
“He’s your captain,” Patrick Feely piped up, much to my surprise, as he and several members of the team came and stood in front of me, blocking McGarry’s pathetic attempt at exulting power, and showing their support for me. “Show a little respect, McGarry.”
Well, shite.
I felt terrible now.
I looked at Feely, my eyes full of remorse for my earlier on-pitch antics. The look he gave me assured me that, for him, it was long forgotten.
It still didn’t sit well with me.
McGarry was right about one thing; I did get preferential treatment in town. I worked like a dog on the pitch and was rewarded fabulously off it. I would use that pull to buy Feely a pint in Biddies at the weekend—Gibs and Hughie, too.
“Run on home to Mammy, Ronan,” Gibsie ordered, shoving him toward the changing room exit. “Maybe she’ll get your Legos out.” Swinging open the door with one hand, Gibsie pushed him out with the other. “You’re not ready to play with the big boys.”
“I bet yer one Shannon won’t be saying that,” Ronan snarled, forcing himself back into the room. “Or should I say, she won’t be able to,” he grinned darkly, eyes locked on my face, “when my cock is buried down her throat.”
“Keep talking about her like that,” I seethed, fists forming into tight balls at my sides. “I would love a reason to tear your fucking head off.”
“I sat behind her this morning in French, you know,” he taunted, grinning widely now. “Had I known what she was hiding under that skirt, I would have been friendlier.” Winking, he added, “There’s always tomorrow.”
“And that, folks, is how you sign your own death certificate,” Hughie muttered, throwing his hands up in resignation. “You stupid little bollox.”
Not one person tried to stop me when I barreled toward Ronan. No one dared. I had hit my quota of bullshit for the day and the lads knew it.
“Now listen to me, you little fucker,” I hissed, hand wrapped around his throat as I dragged him back into the room, closing the door from witnesses with my free hand. “And listen good, because I’m only going to tell you this one more time.”
Slamming Ronan against the concrete wall, I stepped in front of him, towering over him by a good six inches.
“You don’t like me. I get it. I’m not particularly fond of you, either.” I clutched his throat tight enough to make it hard for him to breathe, but not enough to cut off circulation and kill him. I was trying to make a point, not commit a crime. “You don’t have to like me, but as your captain, you sure as shit will respect my authority on the pitch.”
At five foot ten and sixteen years old, Ronan wasn’t small by any means, but at seventeen, six foot three, and growing, I was a big bastard.
Off the pitch, I rarely used my size to intimidate anyone, but I would use it now.
I was sick to death of this kid and his mouth. He had no goddamn respect, and hell, maybe I could handle his crappy attitude and aggression toward me.
But not her.
I didn’t like, couldn’t cope, and wouldn’t put up with him talking about her like that.
That haunting look of vulnerability in her eyes drove me forward, causing me to lose what little grip I had on my temper.
“When I tell my team something,” I added, snarling now, the memory of her lonesome blue eyes clouding my judgment. “When I fucking warn you to leave a vulnerable girl alone, I expect you to heed my goddamn warning. I expect your submission. What I don’t expect is your lippy back talk and defiance.” A faint choking sound came from Ronan’s throat and I loosened my hold but kept my hand there. “Are we clear?”
“Fuck you,” Ronan strangled out, spluttering and wheezing. “You can’t tell me what to do,” he rasped, breathless. “You’re not my father!”
This fucker.
He was determined to defy me even when he couldn’t win.
“I’m your daddy on the field, bitch.” I smiled darkly and squeezed, cutting off his air supply. “You don’t see it because you’re a jumped-up, narcissistic little spanner.” I squeezed tighter. “But they do.” I waved a hand behind us, gesturing to the team, who were all standing down, not one of them intervening. “Every single one of them. They all get it. They all know I own you,” I added calmly. “Keep pushing me, kid, and it won’t matter who you’re related to; you’ll be off this team. But go anywhere near that girl, and God himself won’t be able to save you.”
Deciding I had terrified the young fella enough to get my point across, I released his throat and took a step back.
“Now…” Folding my arms across my chest, I glared down at him and asked, “Are we clear this time?”
