I head out to deal with Con.
Alone. Because this is my fucking battle, and as much as my brothers disagree, I don’t need three fucking babysitters breathing down my neck..
“You should whore her out. Sweet fuckin’ piece like that.”
The words cut deeper than any blade, and my fist slams into Con’s face before he finishes the last syllable. His teeth scrape against my knuckles and it’s satisfying as hell.
He spits out two teeth and a ton of blood.
The strip club I tracked him to is bratva-owned. Maybe he thought he was safe under the guise of Russian protection. He’s not. One of Ava’s clients runs this place. They rely on her smuggling routes. They rely onus.
According to unwritten rules, we don’t walk in here. If any of our boys want to blow cash in this joint, they can, but if they stir up shit, they’re on their own.
Debts are debts, especially the kind you dig yourself into.
Con spent our money on tits and drugs. Not his money.Ours.
And tonight, thanks to Ava, this place is mine. As long as none of the Russian girls get hurt and I pay for the mess and clean-up, they’ll turn the other cheek.
I roll up my sleeves. The brass knuckles are red and slick, same as my hand. I grab his collar and smash my fist into his face again. His head snaps back. Blood sprays over the stickytable.
“You pay up when it’s due, Con,” I growl. “And more importantly, you don’t talk about my girl like that.”
“I’d rape the shit out of her ass,” he spits.
I grab his hand and slam it flat on the cracked wooden tabletop. Then I pull a knife out of my pocket. It’s a Belfast souvenir, more art than weapon, but deadly all the same. I flick it open and bring it down, hard, slicing into his flesh. The blade lodges into the wood.
He howls.
Everything in me is focused on not killing him too fast. On savoring the question: how slow do I want this to be?
I could end him with one clean flick of my blade. My breath comes hard and fast. My whole body hums.
He feels it. He tries yanking his hand free, but I pull the knife from the table, spin it, and drive it down again…this time straight through his wrist.
He yells louder, reaching for his gun with his free hand, forgetting I already kicked it away when I jumped him.
I fist what little hair he has and wrench his head back so he has no choice but to look at me.
“Next part I slice off is your shriveled dick,” I tell him calmly. “I always fancied being a butcher. Might be time for some practice. After I’m done?” I lean close, my breath hot in his ear. “I’ll bury this knife up what’s left of your shaft and into your belly. Not forcraic.For the shit you spewed about my wife. Anything you want to say before we get started?”
“This isn’t you, Declan,” he pants. “You’re…fair.”
“It is me.” My voice is ice. “I’m fair. Not soft, youshite.”
“C-come on, you can’t blame a man for wanting to—” He stops, swallows, thinks he’s found a way out. He hasn’t. “For wanting to collect the bounty on her head. A redhead? It’s gotta be her. And that Cinco bastard said she, your wife,wanted to set the cartel up, so he was offering more than the bounty?—”
I punch him in the throat, feel the cartilage and bone give way as I crush his hyoid. I twist his neck in one brutal jerk, breaking it.
He slumps over. Done.
Someone behind me starts clapping slowly. “That’s some goodcraicright there,” Seamus says. “Though he might’ve been worth more alive.”
I grit my teeth. Of course he’s here.
He walks over to the girl cowered in a corner and presses a wad of cash into her hand. In the background, the bearded Russian owner is on the phone, eyeing Seamus’s bundles of money like they’re foreplay.
The girl bolts.
