More laughs at his expense.
"Everyone might act like you're some kind of god at this school," he growled, "but she's fair game as far as I'm concerned." Puffing out his chest like a defected gorilla, he smirked at me. "If I want her, I'll have her."
"Fair game?" I barked out a laugh. "If you want her, you'll have her? Christ, kid, what world are you living in?"
Ronan's cheeks turned pink.
"I live in the real world," he spat. "The one where people have to work for what they get, and not have it handed to them because they're in The Academy."
"You think so?" I arched a brow, tilting my head to one side to take his measure. "Apparently not when you're deluded enough to think I've been handed everything in my life – and especially when you refer to girls as fair game." Shaking my head, I added, "They're girls, McGarry, not Pokémon cards."
"God, you think you're so great, don’t you?" he snapped, jaw clenched. "You think you're so fucking amazing! Well you're not."
Growing bored of his antics, I shook my head and gave him an out, "Sling your hook, kid. I'm not playing this game with you today."
"Why don’t you do us all a favor and sling your hook, Johnny! I wish you'd just fuck off to the youths and be done with it," he roared, face turning an ugly shade of purple. "That's what you're in The Academy for, right?" he demanded, tone furious. "To be conditioned? To move up the ranks and get a contract?" Huffing out a breath, he snarled, "Then fucking move. Leave Tommen. Go back to Dublin. Take your contracts and go the fuck away!"
"Education is very important, Ronan." I grinned, relishing in his hatred of me. "The Academy teaches us that."
"I bet the Irish heads don’t even want you," he tossed back angrily. "All this talk about you joining the u20's in the summer is all bullshit you made up yourself."
"Kid, you need to walk away now," Hughie Biggs, our number ten, and a good friend of mine, interjected with a sigh. "You sound like a fucking clown."
"Me?" Ronan barked, glaring across the room at Hughie. "He's the asshole walking around this town like he owns it, getting special treatment from the teachers, and ordering all you around. And you just take it!"
"And you are stinking up the room with your jealousy," Hughie countered in a lazy drawl. "Pack it in, kid," he added, dragging a hand through his blond hair, as he came to stand beside me and Gibs. "You're making a right eejit of yourself."
"Stop calling me kid!" Ronan roared, voice breaking, as he charged towards us. "I'm not a fucking kid!"
Neither Gibsie, Hughie, or I moved an inch, all highly entertained at his tantrum.
Ronan had been a problem for the team since September; defying orders, breaking rank, pulling stupid stunts on the pitch that almost cost us several games.
This little outburst of his wasn’t the first one.
It was just another in a long list of many tantrums.
He was ridiculous and needed reigning in.
If his uncle wasn’t prepared to do it, then I was.
"He's your captain," Patrick Feely piped up, much to my surprise, as he and several members of the team came and stood in front of me, blocking McGarry's pathetic attempt at exulting power, and showing their support for me. "Show a little respect, McGarry."
Well, shite.
I felt terrible now.
I looked at Feely, my eyes full of remorse for my earlier on-pitch antics.
The look he gave me assured me that, for him, it was long forgotten.
It still didn’t sit well with me.
McGarry was right about one thing; I did get preferential treatment in town.
I worked like a dog on the pitch and was rewarded fabulously off it.
I would use that pull to buy Feely a pint in Biddies at the weekend – Gibs and Hughie, too.
"Run on home to mammy, Ronan," Gibsie ordered, shoving him towards the changing room exit. "Maybe she'll get your Legos out." Swinging open the door with one hand, Gibsie pushed him out with the other. "You're not ready to play with the big boys."
"I bet yer one Shannon won't be saying that," Ronan snarled, forcing himself back into the room. "Or should I say, she won't be able to," he grinned darkly, eyes locked on my face, "when my cock is buried down her throat."
"Keep talking about her like that," I seethed, fists forming into tight balls at my sides. "I would love a reason to tear your fucking head off."
"I sat behind her this morning in French, you know," he taunted, grinning widely now. "Had I known what she was hiding under that skirt, I would have been friendlier." Winking, he added, "There's always tomorrow."
"And that, folks, is how you sign your own death certificate," Hughie muttered, throwing his hands up in resignation. "You stupid, little bollox."
Not one person tried to stop me when I barreled towards Ronan.
No one dared.
I had hit my quota of bullshit for the day and the lads knew it.
"Now listen to me, you little fucker," I hissed, hand wrapped around his throat, as I dragged him back into the room, closing the door from witnesses with my free hand. "And listen good, because I'm only going to tell you this one more time."
Slamming Ronan against the concrete wall, I stepped in front of him, towering over him by a good six inches.
"You don’t like me. I get it. I'm not particularly fond of you either." I clutched his throat tight enough to make it hard for him to breathe, but not enough to cut off circulation and kill him. I was trying to make a point, not commit a crime. "You don’t have to like me, but as your captain, you sure as shit will respect my authority on the pitch."
At 5'10 and sixteen years old, Ronan wasn’t small by any means, but at seventeen, 6'3 and growing, I was a big bastard.
Off the pitch, I rarely used my size to intimidate anyone, but I would use it now.
I was sick to death of this kid and his mouth. He had no goddamn respect, and hell, maybe I could handle his crappy attitude and aggression towards me.
But not her.
I didn’t like, couldn’t cope, and wouldn’t put up with him talking about her like that.
That haunting look of vulnerability in her eyes drove me forward, causing me to lose what little grip I had on my temper.
"When I tell my team something," I added, snarling now, the memory of her lonesome blue eyes clouding my judgment. "When I fucking warn you to leave a vulnerable girl alone, I expect you to heed my goddamn warning. I expect your submission. What I don’t expect is your lippy backtalk and defiance." A faint choking sound came from Ronan's throat and I loosened my hold but kept my hand there. "Are we clear?"
"Fuck you," Ronan strangled out, spluttering and wheezing. "You can't tell me what to do," he rasped, breathless. "You're not my father!"
This fucker.
He was determined to defy me even when he couldn’t win.
"I'm your daddy on the field, bitch." I smiled darkly and squeezed, cutting off his air supply. "You don’t see it because you're a jumped up, narcissistic, little spanner." I squeezed tighter. "But they do." I waved a hand behind us, gesturing to the team who were all standing down, not one of them intervening. "Every single one of them. They all get it. They all know I own you," I added calmly. "Keep pushing me, kid, and it won't matter who you're related to, you'll be off this team. But go anywhere near that girl and god himself won't be able to save you."
Deciding I had terrified the young fella enough to get my point across, I released his throat and took a step back.
"Now," folding my arms across my chest, I glared down at him and asked, "are we clear this time?"
"Yeah," Ronan croaked out, still glaring at me.
I didn’t mind.
He could glare at me all he wanted.
He could stick pin needles in a voodoo version of me and go on hating my guts for the rest of his life for all I cared.
All I needed from him was his submission.
"We're clear," he spat.