Page 49 of One Kill

By the time I get back to our cars, Crank has arrived and he and Flower are organizing their strategy.

Time to fuck shit up… or not. Hopefully not. Hopefully the two most important people in my life are happy, sleeping and dreaming of better evenings than the one we had tonight.

Crouching against the side of Murphy’s house, I nod to Crank and Flower, pointing to the back door with my chin while I do what anyone would expect if this is a trap—I knock at the front door.

Half expecting to get a rainfall of bullets fired at me, I step to the side just as my knuckles hit the green door twice. I’m almost disappointed when everything stays quiet. This need to kill, to make someone suffer for thinking they could take what’s mine then send me on a wild goose chase, is enough to make me want to draw blood. Lots and lots of it.

When nothing happens, I reach into my pocket to text Crank a warning but realize my phone is with Glitch while he tries to triangulate the cell signal of whoever is trying to help me. Or ambush me… but that’s a puzzle to solve later. The only thing I need to concentrate on at this point is making sure Murphy and Hallie are okay, then killing those responsible for this fucked up night.

Pulling out the pick from the inside pocket of my jacket, I push it into the lock, surprised it’s already unlocked. If that’s not a red flag, I don’t know what is. Murphy would never leave the front door open. Not a fucking chance in Hell would he leave the whole world with easy access to our daughter.

Where earlier I had doubts, I’m now fucking certain this is a trap, but it doesn’t matter, I’m still going in. The loves of my life need me and I’ll be damned if I disappoint them again.

Yes,loves. As in plural. It doesn’t take a fucking genius to realize that my feelings for Hallie are tattooed inside my DNA and my love for Murphy never stopped, it was just on pause while the universe decided when to push us back together again.

I know, right? I didn’t think I had a heart and it turns out it’s still there; hidden beneath the cobwebs and dust but still functioning.

As quick as lightning, I kick the door in then jump to the other side, crouching and making myself as small as possible while, this time, the less imposing sound of multiple silencers redecorates the entrance of the house.

These motherfuckers are going to pay for the remodeling with their blood.

When I hear the back door slam open, I take advantage of the shouts of surprise and redirection of gun fire to slip inside.

Goddammit!

One of the fuckers wasn’t stupid enough to run to the back and stayed, waiting for me to show myself. I grunt as a bullet slips by, grazing my jacket but missing me otherwise.

Pop!

The difference between me and this joker is that I don’t miss.

Stepping over the body of an Irish piece of shit, I grab his gun and take cover behind the wall that leads to the kitchen, where the back door is wide open.

“Where the fuck is she?”

I’m right here, you fucking cunts.

Just as I’m about to aim at the two men in the kitchen, I feel the cold, hard metal at the back of my head that stops me in my tracks.

“She’s right here, fellas. The bitch isn’t so scary now, is she?” This motherfucker will be the last to die. Slowly. “Drop your fucking guns, you thieving little whore.”

Oh yeah. Slowly and painfully.

The lights turn on just as I’m about to take my chances and drop kick him before putting a bullet in his balls.

I freeze. My jaw tightens with a hatred I’ve only ever reserved for one person.

Ronan fucking Callaghan in the flesh.

It’s time to be smart because this motherfucker cares about fuck all, least of all me.

“Well, don’t I feel all kinds of special.” I drop the dead guy’s silenced gun and my own Beretta, as well as the collection of knives around my thigh, before crossing my arms and staring back at Ronan, my sarcasm slapping him in the face.

“You ain’t special in the least, little girl. Now, this is how it’s going to go. I know it’s been thirteen years so I’m guessing that money is long gone.” He’d be right.

“I gave it to charity.” I shrug like it’s an obvious answer and enjoy—all too much—the deepening red tint of his pale skin matching the hue of what’s left of his ginger hair. Can’t say I’m surprised, this asshole wouldn’t spare a look, let alone a dime, to someone in need.

“Hope it was worth it.” Ronan looks over my shoulder to the dude holding me at gunpoint and narrows his eyes at him. “Where’s Riley? Text him and tell him to get his ass over here.” Oh, this is getting better by the second.

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