Every inhale is shorter than the last. Shallow. Desperate. His ribs barely move, like his body’s already given up trying. There’s a faint, sickening hitch at the end of each breath—as if his lungs are folding in on themselves.
I take another step closer, slow, deliberate. Lewis nudgesa halogen lamp towards us. Harsh white light washes over him. ‘Leave us,’ I say. James hesitates for half a second. Then they step back, not far, but far enough.
‘You sent men to my house.’ My voice is low and cold.
Rory spits again, blood colours the floor. ‘You took what was mine.’
‘She was never yours,’ I snarl. ‘But sheismine.’
‘You’re no better than me,’ he says, as I stalk towards him, twirling the baseball bat languidly. His eyes follow the motion, then flick back to meet mine. ‘I bet you fucked her.’ His lips curl, like he’s imagining it. Cunt. ‘Took her virgin pussy every which way you fucking wanted,’ he pants, grasping for his next breath.
‘Yes, I did.’ My lips lift in a cruel grin. ‘And she loved every second, you know why?’ I crouch in front of him, resting my forearms loosely on my thighs. ‘Because shewantedme to. Begged me to. Unlike you, I don’t force women to do things they don’t want to do. I don’t use them. Rape them. Sell them to the highest bidder.’
He huffs out a laugh that turns into a cough. ‘Such a fucking hero,’ he stammers slowly. ‘You should wear your underwear on the outside of your trousers. Put a fucking K on the front of them.’ He chortles, spitting up more blood.
‘You’re awfully cheerful for a man who’s about to meet his maker.’ The beating he got must have caused brain damage.
He shrugs then.
‘It’s like you wanted me to take you out. First the trafficking, then pushing the Colombian’s heroin,’ I click my tongue off the roof of my mouth.
I smash the baseball bat off the concrete in front of him, and he flinches.
So cliché.
My wife has bigger balls than this fucker.
‘I’m not pushing it for them. We’re partners. And I haven’t paid for it yet.’ He tips his head to the side and laughs again, almost hysterically, revealing two missing front teeth. Fucking Ciaran. Apparently he had a lot of fun with our friend while I was away. ‘The Colombian’s send their—’ He breaks off, coughing hard. Dark blood spills from his mouth this time, thicker, heavier. It stains his chin, his chest, the floor between us. His gaze struggles to hold mine, blinking slower now, unfocused.
His lips part, maybe for another smart remark—but nothing comes. Just a thin, rattling breath that shudders out of him. His chest barely moves. I watch as he bleeds out in front of me.
Fucking cunt wouldn’t even give me the satisfaction of killing him.
For a moment, I consider making good on my promise—shoving this baseball bat up his fucking ass, but Aoife is waiting for me.
And I choose her love over his fear.
That doesn’t stop me swinging the bat against his temple, and a sicking crunch splits the air. The sound of his skull shattering isn’t as satisfying as I anticipated.
I toss the bat to ground, surveying the mess in here. ‘Burn him, and the entire warehouse down,’ I say to James.
Then I step back out into the cold Wicklow night.
The air feels sharper.
Cleaner.
The Colombian’s are going to be livid about the heroin.
But that’s their problem for partnering with an unpredictable prick like Kavanagh. They should have taken his money upfront.
Not my fucking problem.
For the first time in weeks, I feel something close to relief. I pull my phone from my pocket. I need to hear Aoife’s voice. I tap her name as I cross the gravel to wait in the car.
It rings once. Twice. Then finally connects.
‘Aoife.’
