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“Why not? I’d teach mine,” I retorted, folding my arms across my chest.
“Yeah, but you’re not cultured like our Dec.” Conor shot Shay a look. “Brennan thinks ballet is boring.”
“So do you, dickwad,” I retorted, scowling at him for stirring shit with me. The whole family knew Shay had been taught to appreciate the arts.
“Ballet isn’t for everyone,” Shay dismissed, but his gaze was fixed on mine even if I kept on casting glances at my brother to glower at him. “But I need to know how to protect myself.”
“From what?”
“People.”
I frowned. “People? In general? Or bullies?”
His mouth tightened, and at that moment, he looked so much like my younger brother it was uncanny. Seriously, no paternity test was required where Seamus O’Neill O’Donnelly was concerned. He had the same scowl as his father, and the same brooding stare that was more apt for that prick who threw himself off the hill—that Heathcliff fucker—than a mobster.
“Bullies,” he confirmed.
“Who the fuck would be insane enough to bully you?” I rumbled, shooting Conor a stare.
“Idiots?” he confirmed. “They’re everywhere. Not as bad as ants but almost.”
“What?”
“Did you know that the total weight of ants on this planet is more than the weight of humans?”
“No, I didn’t know that, and I could have lived a long time without knowing it either.” At Conor’s shrug, I reached up to pinch the bridge of my nose. “Let’s start at the beginning. Do your parents know you’re with Conor?”
Shay nodded. “I told Mom I was coming here.”
“Good.”
“That’s not the beginning,” Conor pointed out. “The beginning is that some assholes thought they could mess with our little dude.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’m not having it, so I called in the heavy hitter.”
I scowled at that. “I’m not a prized bull.”
“Now you know how it feels to be objectified,” Conor said dryly. “But you are. You’re the fixer.” He wafted his hands, somehow managing to look both pissed off and supremely at ease as he slouched against the sofa, directing the troops from his seat. “So fix this.”
“I haven’t fought in years. That’s not how I work now.”
Conor and I shared a look, but we didn’t verbalize what I was talking about. Other people grabbed the fuckers who were unfortunate—read, stupid—enough to come to my attention. I didn’t do any of the heavy lifting now. I just made the bastards regret they were born.
“Like you don’t train anyway.”
“Declan won’t like this,” I argued.
“Stop worrying about that. Kid’s already going to have to explain the shiners.”
“Isn’t that school of yours like sixty grand a term?” I asked. “Why the hell didn’t they call your ma in for fighting?”
“Because the—” Shay clenched his jaw, his hands turning white from the pressure he put on his knuckles.
“You can swear here, Shay. We’re the cool uncles. Your mom and dad have to turn you into a semi-decent human being. We’re not obliged to do the same.”
Making a mental note that, when I did have kids, not to leave them alone with Conor—ever—I rolled my eyes at him. “Neither are weobligedto turn him into a psycho.” I squeezed Shay’s shoulder. “Tell me what happened. With swear words or not.”
“The bastards attacked me during Phys Ed. It looked like it was just a part of training.”
My brow puckered. “They should still have told your parents.”
