Chapter 6
“ A bsolutely not.” No fucking way this is going to work.
That was my initial thought when Helen, in her tight skirt with her big blue eyes, followed Donna into the meeting room.
She’s a distraction of the highest order, which is the last thing I need right now when my Da’s legacy rests heavily on my shoulders and all eyes are about to be on me, even more so than usual.
Never mind the fact she’s woefully underqualified and overflowing with attitude.
There’s no way we could work together. We wouldn’t last a week before she’d be bent over my desk, getting her ass spanked raw to knock the brat right out of her.
“What the hell is the issue this time?” Donna sighs, capping her pen and slotting it into her ponytail before giving me her full attention, arms crossed, lips pursed, tapping her foot. All signs of my impending doom.
Pointing at her, I respond, “You know what! Don’t give me that. Playing dumb doesn’t suit you. The girl has no experience.”
“Jonathan. You shot down the last nine interviewees for reasons ranging from their lack of availability to not having the balls to stand up to you. Now, it’s your turn to listen.
” She blows out a breath, rustling her bangs.
Plucking her pen out of her hair, she pokes me with it as she continues.
“We’re fast running out of options. She’s perfect for the role, and we both know it. Now, pick: her or Saul?”
“Fucking hell, woman. That spineless piece of shit wouldn’t last an hour. Fine. But if she sets one foot out of line, she’s gone. No second chances, you hear me? I will not be babying her.” Ignoring the smug look of satisfaction on her face, I take my leave.
As much as sitting in on these interviews has been a pain in my ass, it’s also been a nice reprieve from the bigger storm brewing. But with no more excuses or distractions available, I head to the carpark while dialling Seamus.
“Anything?” I demand as soon as the call connects.
“Other than painful small talk, a few underhanded deals, and, oh! They ran out of the salmon… Nope.”
“Cut the crap and be serious for a second. You know what I mean.”
“I am being serious. That salmon is insane. Have you tried it?” The mirth in his tone would normally have me laughing, but these days, laughter is a foreign concept.
“I put it on the menu. What do you think? I meant anything about Angus,” I clarify with a roll of my eyes as I peel out of the car park and head towards our underground torture chamber, nicknamed the Pit, to meet Ciaran.
“Nope.” He pops the p. “Maybe they have access to oil or diamonds or something up there.”
“You know as well as I do that the arms deal he was chasing after was easily worth five figures a month. How much oil would it take to be raking that in?”
“Shit, I don’t know. Why does this even matter?”
“Because Da says it does. Because there’s a rumour that whatever he is up to isn’t Table approved.
” The implications of that hang between us like a thread neither of us want to pull.
There’s only one thing the five heads of the most powerful and deadly mafia factions agree on wholeheartedly, only one rule they must abide by to keep their seat at the Table.
If Angus has gone against that and gotten involved in the flesh trade?
God help him, for he will be spared no mercy.
The silence stretches between us for a moment, heavy with bitter understanding, before Seamus rasps, “Roger that. I’ll get Brennan to do some digging for us. Speaking of the twins, you headed to meet Ciaran?”
“Yeah. Any idea what he caught?” I enquire. Ciaran’s tendency to be vague at best is one of those qualities that drives me up the wall while also making him the best at sniffing out intel most would never get their hands on.
“None. He just said it was something juicy. Fill me in later?” With a grunt, I hang up on him and continue making my way to the Pit. Pulling into the car park, I abandon my car before clearing security and heading to the basement.
“You catch me something, O’Malley?” I call, strolling into the all-too-familiar room.
At this point, this place may as well be my second home for the number of hours I’ve spent here.
Spying him reclining against the wall, one foot crossed over the over, a smug smirk on his face, I make my way over to him.
The quietness has me quirking an eyebrow at him in question.
“Oh, you could say that,” he taunts, jerking his head for me to follow him deeper into the room. All around us are tools of the worst kind, and the urge to stretch my muscles and put some of those to good use has me salivating, wondering where the fuck his captive is.
I swear, if he dragged me out here to chat…
“Stop edging me like I’m your wife and tell me what’s going on.” He stops walking suddenly, and I nearly run into his back. Whirling around to face me with a manic look in his icy blue eyes, he says, “Look down, Johnny.”
Noting we’ve approached the edge of the Pit, I glance down to see one of our new runners, bound and gagged as he thrashes widely. The whites of his eyes are visible as he locks eyes with me and starts fighting even harder to get free.
“And what do we have here?” I drawl, prowling around to the other side of the hole, crouching down so I can see the kid better. Kid truly is the only way to describe him—he looks young as fuck.
“We have a wannabe rat. Isn’t that right?” At the kid’s increased mumbling and frantic head shaking, Ciaran continues, “Oh, so it wasn’t you I saw trying to break into Senior’s house? It wasn’t you who was about to go in all guns blazing like some pathetic rookie hit man?”
Spitting on him, Ciaran steps back, looking at me with glee. “I caught him crawling around the house all sketchy like, a mask on and his hood pulled up. He was packing heat, too.”
With a curse, I ponder aloud, “Now, what would give someone like this the idea that was a smart thing to do?”
“Probably someone whispering in his ear, full of false promises.”
“Question is, who?”
“Only one way to find out.”
Sharing a dark look, we act at the same time, reaching to grab the kid by his ankles and armpits. Ignoring his wiggling, we wrangle him over to the meat hooks and get him hooked up just how we like them: Immobile. Helpless. Stretched to the point of pain. All their vulnerable areas exposed.
“Here’s how this is going to work. We’re going to ask you questions.
If you answer them, we’ll only beat you up a little.
If you don’t or you lie, we’ll start removing body parts,” I drawl, unbuttoning my cufflinks and rolling up my sleeves.
Slipping one of the black rubber aprons we keep down here over my white shirt, I pick up a rusty knife from the array of tools beside me.
Ciaran lets out a cackle as he joins me in getting ready, shouldering his hatchet before joining me in front of our captive.
Reaching up, he yanks the gag out to a steady stream of pleas and apologies that fall on deaf ears.
I jerk my chin at Ciaran. With a manic chuckle, he lands a punch before prowling around to take his place behind the captive, resting his chin on his shoulder and muttering, “Now, now, enough of that. You heard the man. All we want are some answers out of you. Easy peasy, right?”
Watching him struggle not to let out more noise, I tip his chin back with edge of my knife.
“Let’s start easy, shall we? What’s your name?”
“Co…Colin, sir,” he stutters, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his struggle to swallow around his nerves.
“See how easy that was? Now, Colin, what were you doing outside Senior’s house?
Surely, you’ve been told that’s off limits to specks of dirt like you by now.
” I curl my lip in disgust as he whimpers, and his eyes glow glassy.
Fucking pussy. Whoever recruited him needs to relearn what it takes to be a Four Points member, because this sure as shit isn’t it.
“I…I didn’t know… I thought it was a random house.
” The thing about this job is, you learn how to weed out liars early on.
Everyone has tells, and detecting those tells is all too easy when you’ve clocked as many hours down here as we have.
Between the frantic, almost skittish expression on Colin’s face to the way he can’t maintain eye contact, he gives himself away instantly.
“You thought a house in our gated community, with our emblem engraved on the front fucking door, was a random house?” I snarl, spit flying as I apply pressure to the knife currently wedged under his chin.
“That sounds like a lie to me.” Ciaran sighs, that manic look in his eyes returning. Quicker than Colin can flinch, I draw my knife down and slam it into his thigh, listening to him howl in pain.
Little does he know, that’s nothing compared to what he has coming his way.
Stepping back, I wipe the blood on my hand on the apron and grab a pair of pliers.
While he’s busy whimpering about his stab wound, I clamp the pliers around one of his fingers, relishing in the crunch as I rid him of the useless digit.
For a second, he goes silent as all the blood drains from his face, and then he lets out a noise only dogs should be able to hear.
“Let’s try that again, shall we? What the fuck were you doing at my Da’s house?
” I roar, taking great pleasure in his flinch, only to freeze as he realises that just presses him even closer to Ciaran.
With a chuckle, Ciaran swings his signature hatchet to the ground, taking great joy in the kid’s whimper at the clang.
“It was just meant to be a quick in and out,” he cries, glancing between us as if he doesn’t know who to fear the most. That’s the smartest choice he’s made so far.
Depending on the day and circumstances, the answer to that varies.
Right now, though, we’re pretty neck in neck and equally sick of this bullshit.
“We’re going to need more than that, kid,” Ciaran chimes in, making a show of reaching for his hatchet again.
“No, please! I’ll…I’ll tell you everything, just not that. Please!” It’s always amusing to watch realisation sink in that the Butcher Brothers isn’t some cute nickname Ciaran and Brennan have. Seeing either one of them handle a hatchet always serves as a surefire way to loosen tongues.
“Then. Talk,” I growl, wrenching my knife free and wiping the blood across his cheek, pressing the tip into it to draw his eyes back to me.
“I was meant to see if he was really out of the country, that’s it! No one was meant to get hurt,” he explains frantically, looking between us for a scrap of mercy he won’t find.
“Who sent you?” I growl, spitting directly into his face and watching it land beside his eye.
“My dad!” he damn near squeals like a pig.
Scanning my mental memory of the ever-growing family trees of the Four Points draws me a blank.
When I look at Ciaran, he just shrugs, equally as lost. It’s impossible to keep up with everyone when half these fuckers are popping out a new kid every year like it’s going out of fashion.
“And just who the hell is your dad?” I bark, slicing into his cheek and relishing the scream he lets out .
“Billy Hayes,” he finally confesses, looking at me with wild eyes, begging for this to be the end of his suffering.
I’m too frozen in shock to deal with him.
Looking behind him, I meet Ciaran’s gaze, who, for once, looks horrified.
And for good reason—Billy is our current underboss, my dad’s second.
If he’s sending his son to snoop around then, shit just hit the fan even quicker than I was expecting.
Fucking perfect.