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“Don’t fuck around, Orin. Put a bullet in his fucking head and be done with it,” Finnan snarled, slamming back the rest of his drink.
Turning to face the man, I saw he was sweating. Good. He was fucked ten ways from Sunday right now. Keeping the gun in place with one hand, I tore the shirt from his body with the other, looking for the tattoo of his clan. Every single bastard had one—somewhere. And there his was—on the right side of his ribs.
“Fuck,” I hissed. “Fiach.”
Finnan’s brows rose in question. “What the fuck are clan Fiach up to now?”
“Maybe Sweeney’s finally decided to make a move against you?” Keir said, crouching down to check the bodies at his feet for tattoos, too.
“It’s been almost three months. What the fuck took him so long?” Finnan asked in a bored drawl. He approached the man giving my Glock a blow job. “What the fuck is your boss up to?”
Given he had a gun in his mouth, he was reluctant to talk.
“Put him out of his goddamned misery,” Finnan spat, returning to the bar once more.
The Fiach member started to scream around the metal in his mouth, and I knew his tongue was going to be the first thing to go tonight.
“Where are you going?” Keir called after me as I headed to the basement door.
“To take care of business.”
I shut out his words of concern and pulled open the door. Shoving the man in front of me, I pushed him in the back and sent him sprawling down the stairs. He landed in a heap, moving slowly to get back onto his feet. I stalked forward, letting him see more fully the monster he’d just set loose.
“I’m sorry,” he said, hands up in front of him. “I’m sorry I touched her. I’m sorry I even looked at her. I’m—”
“It’s too late for that.” My voice was a violent rumble like thunder threatening on the horizon. “You touched what belonged to me. And for that, you’ll pay with your blood, your pain and, eventually, your life.”
Grabbing him by the arm, I shoved him farther into the room. His foot got caught, and he fell backward, his arms pinwheeling as he tried to find his equilibrium again. Before he could, I shoved him back into the lone chair in the center of the room. Taking the first set of cuffs dangling from the back, I restrained his legs first, then his arms.
There was a workbench on the adjacent wall, and I found what I wanted in the first drawer. I drew the knife out slowly, heightening his fear until it saturated the walls. I wondered how much more this room could witness before it spilled its secrets. It had seen every single bloody deed I had ever committed. It was my priest and confessional. It was my damnation.
Walking back to the guy, I hacked away at his pants until he was naked from the waist down. If he wanted to use his dick as a weapon, I was going to make sure I took it off him.
“Please,” he whimpered. “Please.”
“Fallon said the same thing to you. Were you going to stop?”
Pressing his lips together, he shook his head. “Is this about her? I’ll do whatever you want to make it up to her. I didn’t know she was yours.”
“Liar. I told you she was mine, but you didn’t stop.”
His eyes widened as he replayed what had gone down between us, and I saw the moment it dawned with crystal clear clarity when he realized I was right. He had told me I could have her after, but I didn’t share.
“I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. “It’s too late for that. We all make choices. Good. Bad. Neutral. You just made the wrong one today when you went into that room and found that girl.” I stepped forward menacingly. “And now, you’ll pay the ultimate price for that decision.”
Grabbing him by the jaw, I forced his mouth open and then dragged out his tongue. The blade sank into his flesh, the tissue and sinew giving up its fight with the sharpened metal. He screamed, or tried to scream, but there was too much blood filling his mouth. It dribbled down his chin, and I watched him choke as it rushed down the back of his throat, too.
Discarding his tongue, I turned my attention to his limp dick, slicing it off in one quick motion. More blood flowed, dripping down onto the floor as he began to bleed out. Taking the tip of the blade, I set my sights on the clan tattoo on his ribcage and began to carve it out of his skin. Some killers kept hair. Others, an item of clothing or a photograph of their work. For me, it was a tattoo.
Once the inked skin had been cut out, I laid it out on the workbench so I could preserve it later. The guy’s muffled screams had turned into nothing but moans now, but I still hated the sound. It triggered something in me that I didn’t want to necessarily forget, but I didn’t want to relive every damn day either.
Which made me think about Fallon.
How she must be scared right now. How she must be reliving that shit again after tonight.
I needed to get back to her, and for the first time, I wanted to make my enemy’s death a quick one rather than the long, drawn-out process it normally was. I fixed my artic gaze back to the Fiach Clan member.
