I still don’t want to give him any time to regroup, because I’ve seen guys fight through more injuries than this. He’s heaving raspy breaths while blood fills his mouth, but he’s not down for the count. There’s a four-inch Gerber in the side pocket of my pants.
As soon as I have it in my hand, I sink the blade into his left knee. From the side in, right in the little declivity behind the kneecap that gives me the perfect, soft entry point. He doesn’t scream this time, which irritates me. I give the knife a little wiggle, seeing what I can stir up inside the joint. That pulls a much more satisfying noise out of his lying, scheming mouth.
Now that I know he’s at least not running anywhere, I right the chair and then haul his quivering body into it. He slumpsto the side, but when I try to pull him back up, he lunges at me with his good hand.
Asshole.
I slap him across the face. Not gently, like my father did to me, but hard enough to disorient him. I really don’t have the energy to tie him up, but I also don’t want to play catfight with him all night, either.
I need him to answer my questions, and then I need him dead.
“Tell me about the contract,” I hiss.
Eamon blinks at me, blood running in his eyes. I give him a minute to get his bearings again, and I can tell when he really comes back to himself because the motherfucker grins.
“What contract?”
“The contract on me. The Aryan Brotherhood coming for me. Is it real? Did you make it up? Tell me the truth or I’ll take your other kneecap.”
Of course, Eamon has to be as obnoxious as possible, right up until the end. He laughs, like he genuinely finds this all hilarious, and I have to resist the urge to cave his fucking face in with my fist.
“I knew you were stupid, Savage. I didn’t really think you were that stupid. Apparently, I overestimated you.”
My eyes narrow, and I watch him take one wet, rattling breath after another while he continues to grin at me.
“You lied. Why?”
None of this makes any sense to me, but I’m not an unhinged, abusive loser with a god complex.
“You were in the way. The golden child heir, blah blah blah. I needed you gone. As soon as I realized you’d rather be spending time playing fucked-up house with your little sister,” I growl and put my hand around his throat, but it doesn’t stop him. “I figured it would be easy to distract you long enoughto show your father how fucking worthless you are. You don’t deserve the title of lieutenant, Savage. The only reason you have it is because of your blood. And if he knew who you really were, he’d have killed you himself a long time ago.”
“You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” I whisper, tightening my grip on his throat enough to make him struggle for air.
He can sexually assault a man barely out of high school, and he thinks it makes him strong. But me loving the shit out of Micah makes me a weak little queer in his eyes.
I’ve hated the Banna for a long time, but I think this is the first time I truly realize howstupidwe all are. It’s not just a shitty lifestyle. It’s fucking dumb.
Eamon gasps when I release his neck. Sudden nausea and disgust hits me that I’m even dealing with this guy. Micah was right. I shouldn’t have let myself be the one to kill him. He’s not worth sacrificing any more of my karma for.
It’s not like I have a choice, though. I have to protect Micah, and that’s more important than my own worthless, ragged morality.
Eamon keeps breathing deeply, and as soon as he licks his lips I realize he’s about to start talking again. It’s probably a good thing. I have other questions for him. I need to know more about the Aryans and whatever else he’s fucked up for his own purposes. I should wring every last bit of information out of him that I can.
“Tell me, Savage. Does Micah’s pussy taste as good as I—” His words are cut off when I pull the knife out of his kneecap and then jam it into the base of his skull.
It takes a while for him to die. I wanted it to be quiet, even though I’m confident no one here would call the cops, which is why I didn’t shoot him. Or maybe I just wanted to watch the light slowly fade from his eyes.
The important thing is that he can’t fucking talk. He just makes gurgling sounds and works his jaw with a blank expression, as the capillaries burst in his eyes and pink foam collects at the corner of his mouth.
When he’s finally gone, the first thing I feel is a curl of satisfaction. Bone-deep satisfaction that hasn’t entered my body in a very long time. Of course, it’s quickly followed by shame. This is just one more thing I did to let Micah down, and one more dirty secret I’ll have to keep from him forever.
At least it’s done.
I guess.
Micah
I’m exhausted, because it was a long shift and then the forty minutes I spent taking care of Tadhg afterward was mind-numbingly draining.
