‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’
She glared at him. ‘I think you should just leave.’
‘I won’t go until you agree to pay me reparation for the damage you and that brat have done to me and my property.’
‘What damage? We made the property look better!’
‘Not after my boy is finished with it. It’s going to look a whole lot worse.’
‘What? You can’t blame that on me.’
‘I’m not blaming it on you. I’m blaming your freaky-eyed son. I know all about the violent fits he’s had at school. I know his mother was a prostitute and a drug addict. His father was probably her pimp. I’ve seen the kind before. That boy will follow in the footsteps of his parents, mark my words. He’s nothing but trash, trash you’ve brought here into our town. It will come as no surprise to people to hear that he was responsible for destruction of property.’
The sound of a slap rang in the air before Flynn even registered she’d moved.
‘How dare you say that about my son,’ Prita said, her voice shaking. ‘Leave. Now.’
The look on Bob’s face as he cradled his cheek would have been funny if not for the fact Flynn knew the man’s temper and the nastiness of his pride. Flynn started up the incline towards them.
‘You hit me,’ Bob said.
‘I’ll do more than hit you. I’ll call the police and have you charged for trespass and making threats.’
‘Why, you bitch.’ He grabbed a hold of her arm as she turned away from him, jerking her back to face him.
Flynn saw red, his fingers crushing the plastic cup he was holding. Cool wine spilled all over his hand, but he barely noticed as he said, ‘Let go of her.’
Bob looked up, surprise and anger warring for prominence on his face. ‘This is none of your business, Findlay.’
‘I said, let go of her.’
‘I will when I’ve had my say.’
‘You’ve had your say, you racist bully,’ Prita said, her voice firm, but calm.
He looked shocked, so shocked he let go of her arm. ‘I’m not a racist.’
She snorted. ‘You’ve made plenty of comments about me and my background to anyone who will listen. Didn’t you think that would get back to me?’
‘That’s because you’re a woman.’
She blinked at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You’re a woman.’
‘I know.’
‘Everyone knows men are better at being doctors than women. You’re too—’ he waved his hand, an expression on his face like he’d just caught a whiff of horse dung, ‘—emotional and all that and I certainly don’t want a woman trying to tell me how to look after myself or touching my—’ he glanced at Flynn, his face glowing and then turned his attention back to her, ‘—stuff.’
Prita blinked a few times. ‘So you’re not a racist, but you are a misogynist. Glad I got that cleared up. Now you can go, or I’ll call the police.’
‘I’m not finished.’ He grabbed her arm again as she went to walk away and jerked her back to him. ‘Listen, you jumped up little bitch. You can’t call me names and get—’
Flynn hit Bob square in the face before he even thought about moving his hand. Bob went down like a sack of bricks.
‘Flynn!’ Prita cried. ‘That wasn’t necessary. I was handling it.’
‘He shouldn’t have grabbed you. Or called you a bitch.’ The crushed cup was still in his hand, the jagged edges cutting into his palm. He loosened his fingers to let go of it. Pain spiked out from his knuckles as the ruined cup fell to the ground. ‘Bloody hell!’ He’d never realised punching someone could hurt so much.
Prita, ever the doctor, dropped down beside Bob to check on him.
‘Get off me, you stupid cow.’ Bob shoved himself upright, making Prita scramble back.
‘I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay.’
‘If I need a doctor, I’ll go to Doc Simpson,’ Bob said as he clambered to his feet. ‘Not to some wet behind the ears jumped up daddy’s girl like you. For all we know the mighty Diarmuid bought you your medical degree.’
She sucked in a breath like she’d been punched.
Bob looked like he was going to continue his tirade. Flynn didn’t let him get that far. His fist ploughed into Bob’s flabby gut just under his ribs, making the other man grunt and bend over, then landed a square punch in his filthy mouth, his head snapping back, making him stumble a few steps, although this time, he didn’t go down.
Pain spiked through Flynn’s hand but he ignored it, ready for Bob’s retaliation to come, fury far greater than pain.
But Bob only wiped his hand across his bleeding mouth, and glared daggers at Flynn. ‘You’ll regret that, Findlay.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I will.’ He forced himself to straighten up to his full height, arms casually at his side as if he was fully in control and not bristling with rage, ready to take Bob to the ground and keep punching and punching until the man was nothing but a mess of blood and snot and torn skin. He was aware of Prita staring at him. Shit, what had he done? He grasped a hold of his control, the blinding pain in his hand helping him to see past the rage and focus on the bully before him. Men like Bob Thompson were weak, preying on those they thought wouldn’t fight back. He’d picked on the wrong target if he thought Prita would ever back down. And he would have let her deal with the issue if not for the fact that Bob Thompson had grabbed her and called her things nobody deserved to get called, let alone someone like Prita.
Bob eyed him warily, but then like every cowardly bully Flynn had come across in his life, his gaze flickered away and he took a step back. That mean-hearted gaze landed on Prita and he sneered, ‘We’re not done here.’
Flynn saw red again, but managed to stop himself from
