“I treat my wife the way she deserves to be treated. Exactly the same as I’ve always treated every woman I’ve ever been with the waytheydeserve to be treated. I fucked you like a whore, because that’s what you deserved. You come into this office one more time uninvited, and you’re fired. You proposition me one more time. You’re fired. You disrespect my wife one more time, to her face or behind her back, you’re fired. In fact, you even look in the direction ofmy wifeone more time. You’re fired. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”
I shove her away from me, and she scampers to the door, wrenching it open. The silly bitch hesitates in the doorway, looking back at me.
“I’m sorry,” she squeaks, squealing as my whiskey tumbler smashes into the wall next to her, and she disappears.
TIGGY
Finishing up the bar stocktake with Mellie, I go in search of some more coasters to restock the private bar stash. They are in the second storeroom along the back passage. The first has the consumables in it.
As I step out of the room, my box of coasters in hand, Fiona approaches me. Her eyes dart around like she’s afraid someone will overhear, and I lean closer, so I can hear what she wants to tell me.
“There’s someone here to see you,” she mumbles. I blink in surprise. Why the secrecy? “They’re waiting out the back, in the alley.”
My stomach clenches. That sounds like a trap if ever I’ve heard one. I thought Fiona was my friend. My thoughts must be broadcast on my face because she quickly shakes her head.
“It’s a child,” she hisses. A child? Why would a child be here to see me? And in the back alley behind a Mafia-run strip club, no less. Fiona shrugs, taking the box of coasters off me and leaving.
Shit. Do I ignore it? Or do I go and see what is happening? I mean, a child... Why would a child want to see me? Why would Fiona set me up? She wouldn’t. I have to believe that.
Poking my head into the second storeroom, my eyes land on an open box of whiskey. My fingers close around the smooth, cool neck of a bottle, and I pick it up. I can wield it as a weapon if I need to. The element of surprise and all that.
Tiptoeing to the door next to the kitchen, I open it cautiously, peeking out to the back alley where the industrial bins are. My eyes land on the boy standing there, and I blink in shock. Idoknow him.
“Tristan?”
I open the back door wider as he turns to me, his eyes widening, relief flashing across his face.
“Ms. Albescu!”
Stepping outside, I prop the door open with the whiskey bottle and beckon for him to sit on the step. We sink onto the top stair, and he glances uneasily up at the building behind us.
“You quit to work in a strip club?” he asks, sounding unsure. I can see how that would be a shock.
“My husband runs this place. But that’s neither here nor there. What’s going on, Tristan? Why are you here?”
“I needed to talk to someone,” he whispers, and my heart aches for him. Casting my mind back to my final case files, I try to remember who I handed his file over to.
“Mrs. Shawney is your caseworker now.”
He shrugs, mumbling noncommittally. “I don’t like Mrs. Shawney,” he whines. “I liked you. I want you back.”
“Jesus fuck. How many fucking exes do you have sniffing around?”
We both jump at Paddy’s loud outburst. His eyes dart between us, landing on Tristan, blinking in shock.
“Christ, Tiggy. He can’t be more than fifteen. What the fuck?”
I’m about to protest that Paddy has completely misread this situation when Tristan makes a funny noise, projectile vomiting over the step at my feet.
My eyes widen as I take in Niall’s blood-splattered form and the bloodstained, sheet-covered object he is hefting that was clearly a living person not too long ago. Shit. I didn’t realize he wasworkingdownstairs today. Ugh.
“Fuck!” Paddy exclaims again, his hand closing around my arm, jerking me to my feet. “Connor, grab the lad!”
Connor darts out from behind Paddy, snatching at Tristan’s arm, where he is still emptying the contents of his stomach over the concrete steps.
“Take him downstairs.”
Tristan is now dry heaving, so Connor drags him inside without a second glance at me. Downstairs. Where Niall got his sheet-covered, bloody body from. Not Tristan. Not happening.