Page 1 of One Love

Chapter One

J

“Idon’t know nothing, I swear!” I straddle this piece of shit’s shoulders as I hold him by the neck of his shirt, the tip of my knife tickling the lashes of his right eye. My entire body is revolting against every single move I make. After yesterday’s beat down by the merry men of mayhem hired by Murphy’s parents who also ripped my daughter from my arms at her father’s funeral, I’m covered in bruises and my right leg is barely supporting my weight.

Should I be here trying to coax information out of this guy? Probably not. Yet here I am because no one—not a single fucking person on this earth—can keep me from hunting down every motherfucker who had a hand in this.

Pain be damned.

“Hmmm, I don’t believe you.” I press the knife closer, the tip now kissing his iris as his body goes eerily still. One of my eyes is almost completely shut so I have to concentrate to make sure I don’t stab him in the wrong place.

“Dude, she’s not kidding. The more you lie to her, the longer this will take.” I can’t see Crank behind me but I know he’sslouched in a chair acting bored as usual. “End result will still be the same, though. Dead and not buried.”

The guy’s eyes dart left then right until they land on mine, begging me to stop without saying a damn word.

“Where the fuck is Ronan?” I wait a fraction of a second, giving this asshole the opportunity to sing like a bird but he takes too long. Bye bye, birdie…I’m bored.

My fist around the hilt, I push the knife deep enough to have him screaming like a bitch in heat but not deep enough to cause permanent damage. Yet.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! You’re fucking crazy, you psycho bitch!”

“Yada yada yada. I wish you all would get more creative with your insults.” I push the knife deeper as he begins convulsing and thrashing beneath me. So much so, my grip on him starts to slip and the smell of ammonia hits my nostrils.

Fucking hell, I hate it when these assholes can’t keep their bladders under control.

“I don’t know—“ I don’t have time for him to keep spewing lies. Also, I don’t want him to actually shit himself. That smell will follow me around for days.

Twisting the knife, I’m prepared for the clear liquid of the lens to start leaking out of his eyes, his screams like music to my ears.

The first time I did this, I was expecting blood and when I only got this clear liquid, I researched the fuck out of it. Turns out, the retina can heal pretty quickly from a scratch but once you make it to the lens and that starts oozing, then permanent damage and infections set in.

Comes in handy when you want to maim and not necessarily kill. Here, though? This guy’s a goner no matter what. I would have let him walk away but he called my daughter a whore and well…fuck that. I’ve killed for less.

“Next stop is your brain. Nice and slow.” In the background, my phone rings. Knowing I’d have my hands full, I gave it to Crank when we first got here.

“Yeah, Boss.” I grin through the throbbing pain in my lip as Crank’s voice goes from bored to high alert in the span of two minutes.

“I think you’ve got about five seconds to talk.” I try speaking around this asshole’s screams but he’s just going on and on about the pain. Fucking hell, where did they get this guy?

“Gotta bolt!” Crank calls out as the chair he was occupying screeches back from his weight.

“Time’s up.” I’m about to stab him completely through his eye socket when he cries out.

“He’s hiding out in his bunker. No one knows where it is. He’s there with his family.”

I nod, the information barely helpful, making me feel like I’ve wasted my fucking time.

Again.

“Night night.” I stab the knife into his brain matter, over and over again, relieving my frustration in the process.

It’s not his fault, he’s just a soldier and didn’t play a part in Murphy’s death not even two weeks ago, but he works for the Irish mob and they will all pay for the blood on their hands.

After slaughtering every piece of shit who had a hand in killing Murphy, putting my daughter and me through Hell, at this point, I’m just picking off Irish mob lackeys, one by one. If I don’t get the answers I want, they die. Also, even if they do give me answers…they die.

To this day, I still can’t bring myself to go to Murph’s house where it all went down. It’s too much. Too soon. Too painful.

“Clean it up.” My order isn’t aimed at anyone in particular but I know my Reapers will take care of this problem. George or Jimmy or whatever the fuck this guy’s name is…was, slumpsdown on the concrete floor as a pool of blood and internal juices surround his head like an evil halo. I look down at him, the permanent scowl I’ve sported on my face the last couple of weeks not wavering an iota as I wipe the blade of my knife and put it away.

---