Page 84 of Welker

Moira made it up the steps where Mick yanked her inside, slamming the door behind her.

Moira spied Pidge, then played dumb, plastering a worried look on her face as she glanced around. “Where’s Margaret?” she demanded.

Mick laughed, uproariously. “Not here, you dumb fuck. She never was.”

A loud, flatulent noise sounded from the other room and they all turned.

“What was that, then?” Moira wanted to laugh. She knew exactly what it was as Mick and Pidge both grimaced toward the living room.

“A fat, farting dog,” Mick snarled.

“Can I kill the fucking thing, Mick. Please?” Pidge pleaded.

“No.” Mick put a stop to Pidge’s plans, which was good. If he’d given Pidge the go-ahead, Moira would have had to intervene. There was no way Moira would allow Lady Guinevere to be harmed. She was such a big marshmallow.

“We were never here, remember?” Mick continued. “Just…breathe through it.”

The smell that wafted their way was enough to make Moira’s eyes water, but…

While the assholes had their backs turned, Moira reached up under her vest and activated her recording device.

Good girl, Guinie.

That pup—and her bad-guy distracting ass-ammo—would be getting treats for life.

Mick and Pidge both brought their attention back to Moira.

“Pat her down, Pidge. Make sure she hasn’t got any more weapons, then use these to tie her up.”

Mick tossed Pidge a pair of zip-ties, and Moira barely kept the grin off her face. Seriously? Those would slow her down for approximately one point two seconds.

As Moira figured, Pidge wasn’t very thorough, concerned more with her ankles where she might be hiding a knife, and then her crotch area because…well, clearly the guy was a pervert. But once he was finished, he at least hadn’t found her wire.

Which meant it was time to get some info.

“Why all this, Mick?” Moira posed. “You trashed my house. Didn’t that prove to your club that your dick is big enough to take Tormentor’s place?”

Mick’s face soured. “It should have been, but because your nose is too big, someone above Tormentor wants you dead, and said it had to be me doing the deed.”

“Ahh. I’m stepping on someone’s toes, huh?” Moira smirked. “Does this hit, perchance, have anything to do with me shutting down your lucrative Bar Harbor gig?”

“It might,” Mick grunted as Pidge secured her wrists…in front of her, the idiot.

“You’re a smart man, Mick,” Not. “Did it occur to you that if you kill me, this anonymous boss will have evidence to put you behind bars for the rest of your life?”

Mick grunted, clearly having considered it.

Moira turned the screws a little more. “Right. So think about this, Mick. Right now, you’re only on the hook for breaking and entering Margaret’s house. Nobody can prove you trashed my place, and you haven’t murdered anybody. Yet.”

Moira let that sink in.

“Tell me, Mick. Why didn’t Tormentor cop to a plea deal and expose this man at the top when he was being charged? Had he, perhaps, committed a murder for which he could be given a life sentence should that information leak out?”

“Damn, Mick. She’s smart,” Pidge said. “I think?—”

“I don’t care what you think,” Mick snarled, cutting him off. “We get rid of this bitch, and we’re golden again.”

Moira laughed. “If you believe that, you’re delusional. You’ll eventually be found out. My SWAT team will determine my death was staged as soon as they examine the evidence.”

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