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as they crowded into the bedroom. Cormac filled his lungs with a huge, calming breath. Whatever way it worked out, he intended to go down swinging.
    The Scullions' soft brown eyes had narrowed into jackal-like slits. The pair of them practically panted. Paddy barged past the bloodthirsty brothers to stand by his cousin. Righteous anger puffed his chest. He placed his hands on his wobbly hips and jutted his treble chin. A roll of fat slipped out from under his ski mask.
    "Let's get the air cleared, Cormac," O'Neill said.
    Fucking bastard had used his name in front of the hostages. The sound of it had the same effect as the shuck-shuck of a pumped shotgun. They were hanging him out to dry. The assignment was fucked. And so was he.
    O'Neill rolled his bulldog shoulders. "You shouldn't have hit our man here."
    "If I hadn't, we might have been dealing with a dead hostage right now." From the corner of his eye, Cormac saw Mattie stiffen. "I think the fool got off light with a bump on the head."
    "Funny, he thinks the same about you."
    Cormac's hand hovered above his own head injury. "How about we call it eye for an eye and let it be, eh?"
    Paddy shook his head. "I didn't get the pleasure from it."
    "So what? You going to crack me one now too? Fuck's sake, my skull won't hold up to it."
    "We thought about that," O'Neill said. "So he's going to break a couple of fingers instead."
    Cormac raised his hands. Before he could form any sort of guard the Scullions were on him. They seized a wrist each and pulled him into a Jesus Christ pose. Mattie started to keen. His father wrapped his arm around the kid's neck. Mattie buried his face in his father's chest.
    "Does my son need to see this?"
    O'Neill looked to Mattie and John and sucked air through his teeth. "Get John out of here." He pointed at Big Frank. "Take him into the other room."
    "What about my son?"
    "He started this shit storm. Maybe it'll put some manners on him."
    "Are you fucking—?"
    Big Frank stomped over to John. He grabbed the smaller man by the arm and cranked it up his back. He squeaked like a kicked shih tzu. Mattie scrambled to his knees and tried to grapple with the brute hurting his father. Big Frank shoved the kid away.
    "Dad! Don't go, Dad!"
    The boy's piercing command set the father off on a more frenzied struggle. Then he was on his tiptoes and howling.
    "Enough, enough. You're going to fucking break it."
    "No. Dad!"
    Frank eased off on the pressure just enough for John to settle.
    "I'm okay, son." He hissed through clenched teeth. "I'll come back as soon as I can. Be good."
    Big Frank wrapped an arm around John's throat. He dragged the defeated man out of the room.
    Mattie backed into a corner and squirmed.
    Cormac struggled against the Scullions but they held fast. His shoulders burned with exertion as he spat and cursed and jerked. The brothers mocked him with their own high-pitched F-words.
    "Would somebody panel this fucking wriggler?" Mick asked.
    O'Neill nipped forward and caught Cormac with a textbook uppercut. Cormac's head snapped back and his crown bounced off the wall behind him. The room disappeared in a brilliant white flash. His wound reopened and warm blood coursed down the back of his neck. The floor dropped away from his feet. He started to sink; slow and lazy like a falling feather. The Scullions gave his arms a tug o' war heave. And the floor was back. His knees trembled slightly but his feet stayed under him.
    A little voice at the back of his mind suggested he say a quick decade of the rosary.
    He chased away the fear and tried to focus. Clarity came back with a vengeance. O'Neill had his crazy eyes on. He drew his Glock and pointed it at Cormac's face. The boss's fat trigger finger went white-knuckled with pressure.
    O'Neill stepped forward and pushed the muzzle into Cormac's face. Ground it into the flesh below his cheekbone. Cormac could smell gun oil. It stuck to the back of his throat like smokers' mucus. He breathed the scent deeper.