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Isiah turns rigid by my side. “No.” The look in his eyes is one I can’t really place as he glares at James.
“Who are the Daltons?” I ask.
James smirks as he glances between Isiah and me. “Oh, just a crime family that used to run the Irish territory before Cathal took over.”
“What was that?” Cathal asks.
Isiah shakes his head. “You need to keep your dog on a leash, Bingley.”
Cathal’s brow furrows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, Isiah.”
“I heard about it earlier and had nothing better to do tonight.”
He claps his hands. “Perfect, I like you. Come sit by me,” he says, nodding at the chair next to him.
Thank God.
Isiah glances at me and then at James again. “I’m alright here.”
Cathal shakes his head. “Unfortunately, I haven’t booked that seat and its occupant is on his way over right now.”
Cathal signals to a huge beefy man who looks about double the width of Isiah and, although Isiah is about six foot four, he has to be a good three or four inches taller.
“Who is that?” I ask.
“Damien Petrov. Russian bastard always books a seat next to my lot.”
Isiah doesn’t look intimidated in the slightest. “Well, he can sit in the seat next to you instead.”
Cathal laughs. “Good luck with that.”
I notice the determination in Isiah’s eyes at what I assume he takes as a challenge. The hulking man approaches Isiah and glares at him. “That’s my seat.”
Isiah holds eye contact. “It may well be, but you know that seat over there.” He nods toward the seat next to Cathal. “It’s a lot better than this one.”
Damien tilts his head. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?” His attention moves to Cathal. “One of your fucking henchmen, no doubt?”
Isiah stands and squares up to the man who’s far bigger than him. “Who do you think you’re calling a henchman?” His fists clench by his sides as if he’s ready for a fight. A fight I certainly don’t want to see.
“You,” he says, poking him in the shoulder.
Isiah moves fast, grabbing his finger before the guy can even interpret the move and he snaps it. The crack of bone makes my insides chill and my stomach churn. “I’m Isiah Darcy and if you have a fucking problem, I’ll break more of your bones, got it?”
The Russian looks furious and swings at him with a heavy fist, but the move is slow and laborious. Isiah ducks in plenty of time and grabs his arm, twisting it at an unnatural angle until the man is screaming.
“Now are you going to go and sit down in the other seat or are you going to make me break your arm?” Isiah asks, the calmness of his voice concerning.
Damien spits on the floor. “Fine, you win.”
Isiah releases his arm, and he glares at him before moving to sit next to Cathal, who’s watching in shock. I must admit I never expected to see a man like that back down for Isiah, but then I must admit Isiah has this dangerous air that he exudes twenty-four seven. He’s not like other men I’ve met in my dad’s line of work. There’s something different about him that I can’t quite put my finger on.
His ice-blue eyes find mine and a cruel smile twists onto his lips. “Impressed, love?”
“Hardly,” I reply, shaking my head. “I don’t find violence impressive.”
“And yet here you are, ready to watch an illegal, bloody fight.”
I tilt my head. “Not by choice.”
