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I shake my head.
“You tink ye little stick will stop us?”
“I will hunt your whole fucking family down,” I vow, my lips twisting in rage. “I will kill everyone important to you.”
The red-haired man smiles. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard right now, yer blood will be replaced wit’ me cum. Den, I’m gonna slit ye throat and let ye brudha find yer sprawled out like da whore ye are.”
I step back, still holding the thick branch clenched in my hands in front of me.
He moves to grab the wood, and I swing it, scratching his hand. He moves toward me again, and I stab the makeshift weapon forward. He laughs but lifts his fingers, signaling his minions to move. They circle me from the side, and my gaze jumps rapidly between them.
I swing my weapon at each of them as they step closer, but I know it’s only a matter of time before they have me. Both men at my sides run at me, and I can’t move quickly enough. Their ringleader rushes forward, taking advantage of my panic, and rips the wood through my hands.
With a hand on my shoulder and one gripping my wrist, two men lift me and slam my back against the closest tree. The third moves closer, but I lift my legs, kicking at him. I land one or two kicks before he presses his body against mine, his breath on my face and his hand around my throat.
I try to scream, but his grip on my neck is too tight.
He sniffs me, and I attempt to headbutt him.
Pulling back, he looks me in the eyes as he undoes his belt. The grip the two other men have on my wrists is agonizing, and I fight their hold with everything in me. But it's no use. They're stronger.
Bile rushes up my throat, and my stomach hollows out. Tears fill my eyes, but I beg them not to drop. I don’t want to give them that. I don’t want to give them my defeat.
I feel him before I see him.
Something settles inside me out of nowhere, and the man ready to rip apart my soul falls to the ground.
Diego stands behind him with a rock clenched in his fist, the stone dripping with blood.
Letting me go, the other men step toward him, and he smiles.
“I’m gonna gut you,” he promises.
Dropping the rock, he reaches into his jeans and pulls out a simple pocket knife. Suddenly, I don’t feel so safe. Three men against one, and all he has to protect himself is a measly pocket knife.
The man on the ground is out cold, and I watch the way Diego taunts the two other Irish soldiers. He’s enjoying himself. He has bloodshed in his eyes and violence in his stance, and the fear I held for him moments ago fades in the blink of an eye.
One man runs at him, but he’s no match for my husband. Diego manages to stab the guy in the throat, and he stumbles back, holding his neck in shock.
The tiny knife dripping with blood, Diego beckons them closer again. Bleeding from the neck, the man roars in anger as he runs and launches forward. Two quick punches to the face, and he falls to the ground. The second man takes his chance and throws a fist against Diego’s jaw. They struggle for all of thirty seconds before the guy is pinned with his stomach to the ground. Sitting on his back, Diego yanks at his hair. Lifting his head and eyes on me, he slits the guy’s throat from one ear to the other. Pushing his face to the earth, I try to ignore the hideous gurgle mumbled against the dirt.
Standing, Diego moves to the man he stabbed in the neck. The man is unsteady on his feet, so it takes no time for my husband to knock him back on his ass. Straddling the guy’s waist, he uses the bloodied blade to tear open his shirt. He slams the blade down with ferocity, piercing the guy’s upper abdomen. Muscles pulsing, he drags the knife down, opening his stomach and keeping his promise of gutting the soldier.
I watch on in awe, shock, and, quite frankly, a little fear. The man I only weeks ago forced into marriage has just managed to subdue three Irish mobsters in less than ten minutes.
A groan hits my feet, and I look down. The man threatening to rape me grabs my ankle, blood rushing over his face.
I kick him off, glancing at Diego to let him know this guy is still alive. But he’s preoccupied. His knife still works inside the man’s stomach. “You think you can put your hands on my wife? You think you could touch my fucking wife and not die, asshole.” He’s speaking quietly, but the words carry across the silent breeze. “I told you, fuckface. I’m going to gut you like the pig you are.” He saws back and forth, blood coating his hands and arms. The man is dead, but Diego doesn’t stop.
I glance down again, watching the asshole at my feet attempt to stand. Lifting my leg, I kick him in the face, and he falls back down. Strolling toward the rock that Diego knocked him out with, I pick it up and, taking a page out of my husband’s psychotic playbook, I lower myself onto his back. He grunts in protest, and I lift the rock high in the air and slam it down with all my weight. The crack of bone and the squelch of blood vibrate through my hands, and I gag. He’s still beneath me, but to make sure, I repeat the move, throwing the rock to the side when blood sprays up my arms.
“Sia.”
Diego stands beside me, and he reaches a hand out. I take it, and he helps me up.
“Are you okay?”
I look around at the bodies surrounding us. Blood and mangled flesh stains the beauty of our forest, and I smile sadly. “Better than them.”
