Page 106 of Inflict

“It might not be as easy as you think to just … talk to him.”

Connor laughed darkly, pulling on a clean shirt before strolling back into the hallway. “Who the feck said anything about talking? Get me a gun—one with a lot of bullets to spare.”

He’d save the knives for another day.

• • •

Connor glanced up at The Morning Glory’s sign, and sent up a silent apology to the pub for what he was about to do to the place.

“You’re sure you want me to stay outside?” Killian asked.

Connor loaded the clip into the semi-automatic rifle, and balanced the gun on his shoulder. “Make sure no one sneaks out behind my back. I want all the foolish feckers inside until I’m done.”

Killian nodded once. “All right.”

“And cops. Watch for those things.”

“Nobody is calling the cops around here, Connor.”

Fair enough.

Connor headed down the steps that led into the pub’s front entrance without another word to his friend, and entered the business with the gun still sitting on his shoulder. He didn’t intend to use it unless he had to, but he fully expected that he would have to.

The Irish were stubborn like that.

As he expected, at least three active Lieutenants in the O’Neil organization had huddled themselves into a corner, pretty common for a weekday, when they weren’t particularly busy. Not to mention, the boss wasn’t around to be barking at their arses about being lazy pieces of shite. A couple of older men—mobsters from a previous era—played checkers and drank their whiskey in the corner.

No one seemed to notice Connor’s entrance.

Well, except for the pub’s owner.

The man’s gaze met Connor’s, and his shoulders deflated a bit at the sight of the gun. This probably wasn’t the first time someone had come into the place, ready to shoot it up if needed, but it couldn’t be a pleasant sight.

Connor ticked his head to the side, his silent order for the owner to scram. The man did, sliding out from the bar and heading toward the back of the pub where he could exit without being noticed.

He waited a few extra seconds, just to be safe and make sure the owner was out of the pub. After all, he liked the man, and he had fond memories of the place from when he was younger. He’d like to be invited back again someday, so respect was due.

Then, when Connor was sure the business was clear, he flipped the rifle off his shoulder, aimed at the back of the bar, and let off a good twenty rounds into bottles of spirits, glasses, and whatever else happened to be on those old shelves.

Glass shattered.

Liquor poured.

Connor faced the men he needed to speak to, resting the gun back to his shoulder like he hadn’t done a thing.

He had everybody’s attention now.

“Anybody know where Sean is?” Connor asked.

One of the three men stood, glaring like a fool at Connor. “Aye, you feckin’ shite—what are ye doing, acting like a right cunt in here?”

Connor knew the Lieutenant’s name that sassed him, but he didn’t care to use it at the moment, because the man hadn’t answered his question. “Sit down, and listen this time.”

The man didn’t sit.

The hard way it was.

Connor pulled the Eagle he’d kept holstered at his back from its hiding place, aimed, and fired off one round, watching as the bullet plowed through the man’s forehead. Actually, it kind of blew his head apart, making quite a fancy design on the wall behind him before his body fell over the table, useless once again.