Hell Hath No Fury
Page 23
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Page Ahead for an Excerpt From:
Satan's Spawn
Satan's Spawn
The Devilish Divas Series, Book 8
Bridey hadn’t even bothered to leave me a note. I knew something was wrong that night she left, in the rain—which always seemed to fall on her—but I couldn’t coax it out of her. And, as life had taken me down again, I refused to get back up for another beating.
You won, Life. Feck it all.
As my Aunt Deidre was down at the opposite end of the bar having herself a chinwag, I stood on the rungs of my stool, reached over to snag the Jameson’s, and poured myself another wallop. Sometimes, like tonight, her absence hit me hard. Maybe it had been earlier, when I was in the pantry where we’d first kissed. I swear to God in heaven that her unique fragrance washed over me, and I could taste her strawberried lips. I shut the door behind me, sat on a crate in the blackness, and began to shake. Ten seconds before, I had been fine. But her mystical presence had fair taken the wind out of me and struck me to the core.
I’d put myself back together, like I always did, and finished my shift. But now I was half on the way to getting wrote off for the night, scuttered to a whole new level. I was pissed at my weakness, pissed at Bridey, pissed at life. And I didn’t care who knew it, either.
“Cam?” Cameron MacElwee sat to my right. “Have ya ever been in love?”
“’Ere we go again,” Robbie Nyland grumbled from beyond him.
“Shut yer trap, Robbie, or I’ll shut it for ya.”
He shook the ice in his tumbler. “Aye. Sure ya will, sonny boy.” He sucked down the dregs of his drink.
“Aye. I guess ya could say I was,” the younger man returned thoughtfully.
I tilted my head. “Was she true?”
He nodded vigorously. “Aye. She was true, all right.”
“Did she leave ya?”
He waved a hand. “Nah. It was just, in the mornin’, I didn’t love her no more.”
Robbie cut up, putting a hand on the lad’s back and leaning on him for support.
“Mind yerself, Robbie,” I growled.
He sobered and rose to his feet. “Ya know, Killian,” he clenched his hands, “I’m getting sick and tired of the way yar gob’s always flapping away like a woman’s.”
Bre glared at him.
Robbie cleared his throat. “No offense, of course.”
“Hmpf.” She stomped off.
I looked at Robbie, searching for the strength to stand. I wanted to give him a clattering. Beat the shit out of him. And I wanted to get battered, too. Knocked around until my physical pain took away my ache for her. With a sigh, I unfolded myself from my stool like a rusty ladder.
“Outside.” I moved out the front door, and Robbie and a half-dozen others followed me.
The night air bit at my bar-warmed face as I stumbled out into the street, turned to face Robbie, and raised my fists. I’d become a decent fighter since she’d left, becoming better for the frequency of the altercations.
Robbie shrugged out of his coat. “Hold my jacket while I pulverize this fool lush, would ya?”
Jude O’Duggan took the article from him and folded it over the railing running along the wooden walkway in front of the building, looking pleased with his role in the proceedings.
Robbie pulled up his sleeves, spit on his hands, and rubbed them together before taking a similar stance to mine.
“Come on, Robbie. Give him what’s coming,” someone jeered.
“Steady now, Killian,” someone else rooted from the sidelines.
A figure stepped out into the street to my right about ten feet away and I glanced in that direction, angling a little incase I was being doubled up on. Next thing I knew I was on my ass, flashes of light blinding me and a bolt of pain searing a pathway to my brain. I scrambled to my feet and rushed my opponent, barreling into his midsection and taking him into the sidewalk’s railing. People scattered to get out of our way. Robbie screamed as his back bent unnaturally over the bar.
“Son of a bitch.” He shoved me off, and threw a right hook, which landed solidly on the side of my skull. Robbie pressed forward landing punches so fast I had no time to react. I received them, one after the other, as if in slow motion and her face swam before my eyes.
“I love you, Killian.”
Bam.
“It was like throwing my heart over that cliff there to leave ya behind.”
Whomp.
“I’m yars.”
Boom. Crash. Bop.
Scenes played in my head. The kiss in the press. Her, naked in my bed as the sun rose and spread its rays across the quilt wrapped around us. Her smile. Walking on the cliff.
The next blow rattled me and I staggered backward. One more and it was nite-nite.
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Satan's Spawn
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Also by M.J. Schiller
The Devilish Divas Series
To Hell in a Coach Bag
Damned If I Do
The Devil You Know
Satan, Line One
Pitchfork in the Road
Sin Worth the Penance
Hell Hath No Fury
Satan's Spawn
About the Author
Bestselling author M.J. Schiller is a retired lunch lady/romance-romantic suspense, chick lit writer. She enjoys writing novels whose characters include rock stars, desert princes, teachers, futuristic Knights, construction workers, cops, and a wide variety of others. In her mind everybody has a romance. She is the mother of a twenty-six-year-old and three twenty-four-year-olds. That's right, triplets! So having recently taught four children to drive, she likes to escape from life on occasion by pretending to be a rock star at karaoke. However…you won’t be seeing her name on any record labels soon.
mjschillerauthor.blogspot.com
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