Grey eyes snap to whoever is off camera, his smirk morphing into a scowl. The name rolls off AJ’s tongue as if he were spitting out venom. “Walsh.” His glare could sauter a man in two. “Be a dear and release my binds. I would very much like to strangle you.”
Moore grunts, calling AJ every single name in the book, even going as far as inventing a few of his own.
There is not an ounce of fear behind that steely gaze, just unbridled, unyielding hatred.
I catch the slightest glimpse of movement behind AJ’s back; he’s working his restraints with nimble fingers, somethingthat has, so far, gone unnoticed by his captors.
“You can’t kill me,” Walsh taunts, still not in range of the camera. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“You’re nothing, David,” AJ responds calmly, his eyes never leaving Walsh’s. “A festering case of crotch rot that refuses to go away. And I’m the cure.” A large, toothy smile spreads across his face, just as Walsh’s masked minion pistol whips him across his blood stained face. AJ’s head snaps to the side, but he quickly recovers, the smile never leaving his lips as he turns back to face Walsh, spitting blood in his direction. “That tickled.”
The door to the office flies open, a nervous garda stands in the doorway with a folder. “Boss,” he shoves the folder in Moore’s direction, distracting me momentarily. I turn back to the screen just as Moore snatches the folder and begins to review its contents with a furrowed brow.
Fuck, I missed something. Can’t be anything too important. Name calling mostly, AJ keeps goading Walsh to buy himself time. Just as I refocus on the screen, AJ snaps free of his binds, springing to his feet like a predator that has broken free of its cage.
There is a struggle between AJ and the masked man who pistol whipped him. Ok, I’m being generous. The idiot makes a swing for AJ and is quickly disarmed and cracked over the head with his own weapon.
AJ turns the gun on who I can only assume is David Walsh.
I hear the distinctive click of the safety being released as a pair of legs, part of a torso, and an armed hand appear on screen.
“You’re dead, Quinn! Dead!”
“You first,” AJ responds coolly, his finger tightening onthe trigger only for it to click empty when he attempts to fire. Something flashes in AJ’s eyes—not quite fear, not quite anger. Whatever whirlwind he’s feeling has him launching himself at David Walsh, knocking over the camera, and leaving me to guess what the hell is happening, judging by the sound of flesh hitting flesh and grunts of exertion.
A shot sounds, sending my stomach sinking to my rectum.
The screen goes black, leaving me with the same nausea and unease as Moore must have felt when he first watched this.
There has been no sign of Aiden Quinn since his abduction.
If he got away, if he managed to overpower David Walsh and escape, he would run home to Katie because she is the only thing on this earth that man loves more than himself.
I turn slowly, eyeing the folder in Moore’s hand just as he snaps it shut with a twinkle of hope in his eyes. “We have an address,” he all but barrels through the doorway, screaming orders for every free garda to follow him to the location.
I’ve never witnessed a precinct clear out as rapidly as a burst dam releases water.
I’m left standing there, dumbfounded. What the hell do I do? I’m not a garda anymore; I handed in my badge. But fuck me if I’m not invested in this case.
Pulling out my phone, I quickly dial my boss and hope to God that he knows what to make of this shitshow. “Craig!” I exclaim as soon as he picks up. It all comes out as stuttered, nonsensical rambling that he seems to be able to decipher. I imagine he has had to get used to unintelligible rantings from having three kids at home.
“Fuck, is he dead?” Craig asks, interrupting my panicked monologue.
“I don’t know, man,” I reply, feeling a wave of dread wash over me. “What do I do? Do I go? Do I not go?” I glimpsed the address right as Moore snapped it shut; I know exactly where the warehouse is located.
Craig knows AJ, as does Jay. I wouldn’t go as far as to say they’re friends, but much like my wife, the lads have history with him. They’ll want to know what happened.
“Go; find out what you can. I’ll keep Éabha busy in the office for the time being.” How the hell he manages to always keep his calm in situations like this is beyond me. “Just be careful; Walsh might still be there.”
I hang up, unsure if I even said anything or just nodded my head, assuming he could see it through the phone, and run out the door.
43
ÉABHA
Damn Craig. Damn that stupidly annoying, coming from a good place, cum-sucking bastard.
He has made my hit list!
