“Sure, look, should be easy enough. I’ve been checking out the apartment buildings around his, there’s plenty of nooks and crannies to settle in and hit him from long range.”
“You’re not going to have fun with him first?” I grinned, already knowing the answer.
Rowen snorted. “Torturing isn’t me thing, ye know that. Besides, with shite like this, dead fast is better. We’re on the clock.”
We all knew how Rowen was on the job—he preferred to get the assignment over and done with as quickly as possible, which was probably one of the reasons Sloan didn’t want him in Miami. After Reyes hurt Conall, the boss would want the pain we delivered drawn out, even if it wasn’t to Thiago directly. He’d feel the agony anyway when he saw his hard work and family destroyed. There was an awful beauty in jobs like this, and my heart beat faster as I considered we could soon be removing the keystones to an empire. We could cause chaos in the entire country.
But we had to get started first.
We parked and dropped Rowen off a few blocks away, and he got out, grabbing his inconspicuous rifle bag from the back. He saluted us before heading off, and I settled into the front seat, closing my eyes.
“Ye know it’s Rowen’s birthday coming up in a couple months,” Cillian said.
I nodded. “Yeah. April, right?”
“Aye. Did Vail tell ye what he’s doing?”
I popped open my eyes and looked at him. “What?”
He snorted and crossed his arms. “He’s sent Eamon back to Ireland. Well, I guess Eamon volunteered.” His mouth twisted and tension had his shoulders stiffening. “They wanna find something sentimental for Rowen. Can ye believe that shite?”
I stared out the windshield at the cars passing us. The neighborhood wasn’t anything pretty, with busted-up old buildings and spider-webbed sidewalks. It was one of the poorer areas, which wasn’t surprising. Most of these knuckleheads who did the dirtiest jobs needed the money for their addictions and lacked sense.
“Rowen will like that.”
“Aye.” Cillian didn’t sound sure. “They’ve probably thrown out a lot of stuff related to us.” He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel and didn’t look at me.
“Don’t be stupid. You and Eamon are their only sons. And they must’ve loved Rowen.” Though I didn’t know the specifics, I fucking hated his parents anyway. “Your dad’s a dick, but it sounds like your mom’s okay.”
“Eh, she didn’t fight hard enough for her children.” He closed his eyes and leaned back like he was going to take a catnap—we didn’t know how long this would take. Sometimes hits were fast, sometimes they weren’t. “How’s Fallon goin’ with the whole killing-a-guy thing? Ye spend the most time with ’im, well, you and Vail, but I can’t exactly ask him about it, can I?”
I frowned at a young kid on a bike who stopped a few yards in front of the SUV. I might not have noticed him, but he was only wearing a thin black hoodie, rather than the right clothes for the winter weather. He stared at us. He couldn’t have been more than ten, but I knew a scout when I saw one. The moment he took off, pedaling north while reaching into the pocket of his pants, I groaned.
“Scout,” I snapped, but Cillian was already on it, hitting the ignition and taking off after the kid, who took a sharp left turn into a narrow alleyway.
I cursed and jumped out of the SUV before it stopped, taking off on foot as fast as I could. The boy had little control of his bike and it wobbled as he pedaled, but he was smart enough to kick over trash cans as he went, giving me obstacles I really didn’t want while still being sore from the impact of the bomb. I dodged each can, though, my muscles burning and body aching, and it wasn’t hard to catch him. He was too young, too inexperienced at being the watch, and as he reached the end of the alleyway I grabbed the back of his hoodie. The bike kept going while he fell backward onto his ass on the ground.
The kid grunted and turned, his hoodie twisting in my hold. “Let me go, asshole!” He struggled, and I held him tighter.
“Watch your mouth, kid.” I pointed at him, and he glared. “Who were you trying to call?”
“No one.” His glare deepened and made a dirt smudge on his forehead more evident.
“I’m not going to hurt you, you’re a little boy.”
“I’m twelve.” He puffed up his chest and clearly thought he was a grown-up.
Ah, older than I’d guessed. Cillian came up behind me, and I held out my arm to stop him from grabbing the kid and shaking him.
Cillian’s face was red and irritation flashed across his expression. “Ye got ten seconds or I’m going to take ye to meet Mr. Killough. Ye know who he is?” He bared his teeth in a mean smile.
The kid grimaced. “Yeah, I know who that Irish dick is.”
Cillian glanced at me in disbelief, and I shook my head. “Who do ye work for?”
He spat on the ground near Cillian’s feet, and I groaned when Cillian shoved me out of the way and grabbed the kid’s face in one hand, squeezing until he had the boy’s attention.
“Cillian, Sloan said no children, not even disrespectful little shits who deserve it,” I warned. Cillian grunted and focused on the kid, and then thankfully his grip let up. I doubted there would even be bruises.
