Page 13 of Reckless

“I’ve let this go on long enough but when we get married you better smile.” I push off the wall coming up behind Margret’s father. His dislike towards me I was willing to brush under the carpet. But his negative attitude towards Margret wasn’t something I was willing to push aside.

“I won’t have my wife treated poorly.”

Rubbing a long white shaggy beard he glances at me from the corner of his eye. “She’s not your wife yet young Michael. I knew your father, he was a decent man.”

I snort. “All he had was a push-bike. He wasn’t much of a man.” We both stop walking now.

“The content of a man’s pockets isn’t the value of his worth. Boy.” I grin at the word boy. He was taunting me. “Empty pockets won’t get you far in this life. Old man. You know that.” I walk away before I lash out and hurt him. I just hope some of my warning sinks in.

***

Richard has the man stripped and tied to the tree that had only a few weeks ago held Craig, who survived his overnight stay here. He was lucky to survive. I wouldn’t give this man the luxury of breathing in the morning.

He’s smart, he doesn’t start crying and pleading when he sees me. There is a look of defeat in the part of his eye I can see around the swelling.

“Make it quick.” The garbled words fall from his lips along with a dribble of blood.

My shirt still had his blood on it and I had every intention of soaking the rest of the white shirt with his blood.

“No. This will be slow.” My fist impacts with the side of his face, the swollen skin breaks on impact and I pull back only to strike him again. Bones break, my skin splits and it’s satisfying. I hit him, I hit my father, I hit Margret’s father. I hit Mr. Malone, I hit everyone who hurt me, I hit every dark thing that turned me into this man. His face caves on the left and it doesn’t slow me down. Adrenaline keeps me punching. I’m aware of Richard moving closer, I’m aware of the bark of the tree cutting into my fists.

“Mr O’Reagan, it’s best you don’t damage yourself too much.” I move from the mangled face and take my last few swipes at his mid-section before stopping. Richard hands me a knife and through the mangled flesh I run it across the man’s throat. I have no idea if he was dead or alive before slitting him open.

***

“Father would be proud.” I meet Tom’s eye in the mirror. His words carry no merit. He is here on my command. He is here just to support me on my wedding day.

“I don’t give one fuck about Father,” I tell him softly and he shrugs.

“I know.” He helps me into my jacket. I allow it.

“Does she know what you do?”

“Does it matter?” I fire back at his stupid question.

“I suppose not.”

I stop fixing my tie. “You’re meant to help me get ready for my wedding. Not depress me.”

He nods and turns to a large flat package that I noticed the moment we entered the room. It’s wrapped in brown paper.

“This is for you.” I don’t like accepting anything from anyone. Everything has a price. He pushes it towards me and I take it.

“What is it?” I ask and for the first time my brother smiles.

“Just open it, Mike.” Something spikes inside me. I hate that nickname. It’s a happy time that I’d rather bury than relive on my wedding day. Tearing open the brown paper I let it fall to the ground.

What I hold has mixed emotions swimming through me. One word in Irish is carved into a piece of wood. It was something our father had made.

“Chlann,” I say, the Irish word for family. Our father told us family came first no matter what and we often took it to an extreme. Like now. Tom didn’t have to be here, but he was because I was family.

My fingers trace the words carved into the wood. “Thank you.” It was a meaningful wedding present. “I’ll hang it up over the dining table,” I say.

The door opens and Richard raises both eyebrows. “We better get moving.” I nod while standing before placing the plaque back on the seat it had originally sat on. There is a lull in the room, one that I don’t want to face so we leave.

“What’s her name?” Tom asks while we are in the car.

“Margret.”

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