Page 26 of The Eraser

The men who rape, maim, and kill.

Mam was dead two weeks when I first heard my dad rape someone. Her screams gave me nightmares for months.

I was fifteen when I saw him take a man's tongue for speaking to the gardaí, a lesson learned that you do not speak out against the Houlihan Gang.

I was sixteen when I watched him put a bullet in a man's head for telling my dad that he wouldn't pay his debts. Another lesson learned. Don't borrow money from anyone. I stood there with blood and brain matter all over me and not once did I flinch.

Some days, I wonder if I was made for this world, but then I remember the things I've witnessed, the things I've endured, and I realize that yes, I do belong here. I was born from the blood of my father and the love of my mother. Together they made me. I should have been a boy, my dad tells me regularly, so I would be someone he could be proud of. But I'm a girl, and we don't have any value to men unless we lie on our backs and take what they give us, whether we want it or not. We're to bear their children and not speak out of turn. I belong for one reason only. To be someone's woman.

The only problem is, I don't want to belong. I don't want to be that woman who’s beaten down. I want this world to crumble at my feet, and for everyone who's harmed me to feel the pain they've made me feel. But it's a pipe dream. There's no way that could ever happen. But the thoughts are what keep me going. They help me through the worst times.

"Come on, let's go back to the party. The last thing we need is your dad coming to look for you," Mallory tells me as she links her arm through mine.

I discard the towel in the sink and exit the bathroom. Together, Mallory and I walk back to the huge open dining room where the party is.

As soon as I enter the room, the air around me changes. It's static, menacing, and evil. It takes my breath away, but not because I'm afraid. No, I find the feeling intoxicating. It feels like something addictive.

Raising my eyes from Mallory, I gaze around the room. My heart stutters when my eyes land on him.

He's here.

The devil himself.

Stephen Maguire.

His eyes narrow as he takes me in. It's as though he's drinking in every single thing about me, those whiskey-coloured eyes of his seeing too much. The edge of his lips twitch when I don't turn away.

I was always taught not to show fear. I'll be damned if I show the man that he scares me. It’s been six months since I’ve seen him. I can’t let him get close to me again.

He gives me a slight nod, and I see the darkness and lust swirling in his eyes.

I'm speechless. He’s making it known that he wants me. This is new. My breath shallows and heat pools between my legs as I stare at the epitome of evil.

He winks at me.

I know what that means.

Game on.

Fuck, I’m not ready for this.

ChapterEleven

STEPHEN

My phone ringsas I walk through the slew of dead bodies at my feet. Seven dead, each of them with a bullet between their eyes. This is what you get when you betray the Houlihan Gang. What you get for being a fucking cunt and skimming money from the top. When you get caught, and they always do, I'm the one who gets called in. I'm able to extract information quicker than anyone, and once I have that info, my victims die and no one ever finds their bodies. Usually I have time to play, but not today. I very rarely use a gun. I much prefer using my wood chipper. But today called for a different approach.

"Yeah?" I answer, annoyed that someone has interrupted me while I'm busy.

"What's the story?" Freddie’s thick Dublin accent comes through clearly. "We need to meet."

Freddie Kinnock is one of the only people I trust. He's been with me for a long time. We’re practically brothers at this stage.

I'm on edge. If he wants a meet, it sure isn't about football. "What's happened?"

"Not over the phone," he mutters.

Paranoid fucker.

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