The blood that seeps down this arsehole’s face is like a feckin’ waterfall of red.
“Please, you’re a fucking monster,” he cries out in agony.
Offering him a smile, I say, “Aye, tell me somethin’ I don’t know.” I straighten up, still holding onto the metal that’s pierced through the soft skin of his eyelid. “Where is yer boss?” I hiss, low and feral. I’m tense, my shoulders are tight, and my hand is fisted at my side, needing to hurt someone, something.
“If you think I’m going to talk, you’re sorely mistaken,” he tells me. “You can do anything you want. I’m not fucking talking.”
I have never been one to shy away from an invitation like that. With a smile, I reach for the black gloves and slide them on while keeping my focus on the man before me. I pick up the next implement—a long, thick needle.
“I’ve always enjoyed bein’ creative when it comes to talkin’ to arseholes like yourself,” I murmur as I lean forward, one hand on the arm of the chair, the other holding onto the needle. “Hammer,” I call to the new prospect. I need his assistance. “Why don’t we help our guest out of his trousers and pants?”
Once I can grab his flaccid dick with my gloved hand, I hold the small shaft and smile at the fecker before I press the long steel blade into the slit of his cock. His cries of pure agony fill the room.
“Ye know, some men find this a turn-on,” I tell him calmly as if I’m tellin’ him the weather forecast.
“Fuck, stop. Please stop,” he begs when the sleek silver has almost penetrated him fully. “I-I don’t know where they are. Both of them. Please. I don’t, I really don’t.” His brow is dripping with sweat, and there’s blood trickling from his cock. Without warning, I pull the needle out, which earns me a cry of utter distress.
“Clean this up,” I tell the men before I pull the gloves off and take one last look at the bastard. I slam my fist into his mouth, which paints my hand in his blood. “You’ll died today.” I turn and walk away with Miren following close behind me.
“Feck!” My voice booms as I walk into the small office in the corner of the warehouse. I’m sure everyone can hear us. I don’t give a shite. They can listen all they want because they know who I am. Not finding Sinéad and Patrick is frustrating. It’s feckin’ with my head.
I glance at Miren, and as much as I want her dead, I can’t feckin’ bring myself to hurt her. I’ve learned her real name. She’s the one hiding in plain sight, but yet she’s nothing like her father. I’m torn between wanting to kill her and wanting to kiss her. “You can’t stay here. You can’t be near me. There’s no way this is goin’ ta work. Why are you feckin’ with my head?”
She shakes her head sadly. Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears as she stares up at me. “I’ve never felt this way before. Never wanted to be close to someone as much as I do with you. And I know it’s wrong.”
Her confession is enough to have my blood boilin’ in my veins.
She can’t want me.
She can’t feel anythin’ for me.
I spent my life hiding from emotions I know will end up killin’ me, and the path to love, to allowin’ my heart to feel, is one of those. I haven’t said those words to anyone since I said goodbye to Ma.
I push her against the wall, pinning her between the cold concrete and my body. I’m drenched in another man’s blood, but I don’t care. I reach up and swipe her cheek with my thumb. Her porcelain flesh is now smeared with crimson.
“You’re a liar,” I tell her as I lower my mouth to hers. But I don’t kiss her, I merely tease my tongue over her lips, much like I did before. “You may taste like heaven, but you’re the ultimate sin,” I whisper. My words hurt her because she flinches at my insult. “You’re the living incarnation of him. Your blood is his blood. What makes you different? What makes you someone I should save?”
Miren blinks as she stares at me. The tears trickle down her cheeks, and I know I’ve hit her hard. Not with my hands, but with my words. She knows her father is the devil in-fecking-carnate. But you can’t change blood. It runs through yer veins until there’s nothing left but the knowing you’re forever connected to them.
“I’m… I’m…”
“Sorry?” I arch a brow at her. I don’t want her apology. I need her father to feckin’ pay for what he’s done. Now that we know he’s alive, we will find the bastard. The problem is, she knows her ma is the ringleader. Her mother oversees the feckin’ Irish mob. A woman who has no qualms about killin’ innocent people. She’s done it once, and I know she’ll do it again. There’s no way she’s getting her princess back. I wanted to get revenge, and the best way to do that is to keep the pretty wee fox to myself. The monster will devour the precious girl until there’s nothing left.
“I don’t believe anyone should pay for the sins of another,” Miren tells me. “Yes, his blood runs through my veins, but my soul is nothing like his.”
She lowers her teary gaze, and I want to lift her chin just to see those strange-coloured eyes again. I’ve never seen anything like them. The soft shade of blue reminds me of the sky on a cool winter’s day. Almost white. I never met anyone who looks as ethereal. Long, dark hair hangs down her back, and I can’t stop my gaze from drinkin’ in her soft curves. Wide hips with a gentle slope that offers the view of her arse I’m dyin’ to spank.
Anger turns to lust.
The feckin’ roller coaster this girl has me on is drainin’. “You need to tell us everythin’, and I mean it, Miren. Yer da is still alive, and I ain’t stoppin’ until I’ve got his blood on my hands.”
“Is that going to bring your mother back?” Her voice is tender, gentle. She’s not tryin’ to hurt me. She’s genuinely askin’.
“No, but it can stop him from hurtin’ others, from taking loved ones from families.” When I first started my crusade, I was focused on revenge. I wanted to make sure I watched the man die, but now, I want nothing more than to keep others safe from his brutal violence.
“The whole idea of an eye for an eye is wrong,” Miren tells me.
I know this, but I don’t acknowledge it. I don’t allow her to see what I’m feelin’. Showing emotions only gets you hurt. I learned the lesson from watchin’ others.