Page 70 of One Love

“You sure you wanna join me for this? It fucking stinks in there right now.” My thoughts are rife with confusion when itcomes to this man, but I have a job to do and I know Dmitry isn’t going anywhere.

“Yup, thought it might. That’s why I brought these.” He reaches behind him and pulls out two neck tubes with skull designs on them. The kind that go over your head, sit around your neck, and can be pulled up and over your mouth and nose. They’re pretty cool, actually—not that I’ll ever admit it to him.

“You do know th—“

“Yeah, I know they won’t actually block out the smell. The masks I ordered haven’t arrived yet and I figured he doesn’t have much time left. And to be honest, these are awesome.” He shoves one over his head, pulling it up over his mouth and nose, and yeah, my libido is fighting for control.

The image of him in a black T-shirt, swirling tattoos snaking down his muscled arm, pale-green eyes peeking over the top of the material…I’m not sure I can let this man go.

“Fine.” I roll my eyes, something that has become more frequent over the last five days. My daughter is a sassy little thing and she’s teaching me bad habits.

I hold my hand out for the other neck tube, only for him to shove it over my head for me, positioning it in place so the bottom half of my face looks like a skull too. There’s a heat in his gaze that tells me he likes this introduction to masks just as much as I do.

Shaking my head, I turn and push through the warehouse door with Dmitry hot on my tail. We walk through the corridor, past Marco’s office—well, the office used by the head of whichever crew is using the space at the time. In this instance, it’s me. As we walk through one more set of heavy metal doors, the stench hits me.

Ronan is in the corner of the room, tied up in a barrel full of his own shit, piss, and a fair amount of blood. I’ve been visiting daily since we finally caught him, gifting him with a few slicesacross his skin, asking a few more questions, then leaving him to watch his grandson, Petey, suffer within his intricate bindings where he dangles from the ceiling. Devon insisted on using his rope skills, and I’ve gotta say, they’re impressive. Petey hasn’t been able to move an inch in the five days he’s been here.

I’ve been kind enough, allowing them both the occasional sip of water to keep them alive a little longer because I don’t need them to die just yet. Ultimately, they’re going to die, but Ronan put me through too much for this to be over quickly. Not to mention his admissions on day one left my nerves a little bare.

Medieval torture is something Dmitry discovered I have a not-so-secret passion for, which is why he bought me the barrel. It’s the kind of thing that was often used for drunkards as a punishment, but they would only tend to spend up to twenty-four hours inside them, somewhere for the whole town to see to add to their shame. Well…Ronan’s grandson just so happened to be lucky enough to not die at the Gallaghers’, so we have our humiliating audience too.

The fact that Dmitry even thought to do this, in the middle of everything else going on, makes it obvious to me that I’m being a douche with all this confusion shit. I’ve realized I’m one of those people who thinks I need to push everyone away to keep them safe, and as of right now, I’m powerless to stop it.

Somehow, I don’t think Dmitry will let me. I just kinda hope he sticks with me and doesn’t get bored of me pushing him away. It’s like a disease, I know it’s happening, yet I can’t control myself.

“By the way, thank you for the gift.” I pause once we’re inside the torture room, turning and inclining my head to Dmitry. I watch his eyes crinkle and I know beneath the mask, that dangerous smile that makes my knees buckle is hiding there.

“Welcome.”

Both Petey and Ronan have their eyes closed, and for a brief second I think they might be dead, but thankfully, as we get closer, I can hear their ragged breaths as their bodies slowly fail on them. At this point, my Reapers have bets going on which one of the two will die first and when. I wasn’t allowed to have a vote because I’m in control of their lives and Shoo didn’t want me to cheat by killing one so I could win.

The unmistakablewooshof a knife sounds past my ear before it implants itself at the top of the barrel with a loud thud, making Ronan jump, groaning even in his weak state. Then another one flies past, landing perfectly centered in a piece of the rope tied around Petey’s hanging body. He stirs, one eye opening slowly as he groans too.

“Woke them up for ya.” He sounds so proud of himself and I can’t help the smirk, thankfully hidden by the mask.

“Thanks, Dmitry.” I almost want to say, ‘Good boy,’ but I refrain. Ronan doesn’t deserve a show while he stews in his own crap.

“Good afternoon, Ronan. How are you today?” I take out a dagger and slowly drag it across his forehead. Immediately, blood begins dripping down his face and into his eyes, causing him to scrunch them closed before he attempts to spit at me.

It doesn’t work. He’s too dehydrated to produce enough saliva, and I let out a short, sharp, laugh at his pathetic effort.

“Kill…me.” It’s all Ronan’s said for the last two days, with the flies buzzing around him, walking over his fresh and old cuts, eating the shit he’s sitting in. There are even maggots that are beginning to chew at his flesh.

To be honest, I know he won’t last much longer. His words are breathy when he manages them, and he had a seizure when I came to see him yesterday. Thankfully, I got answers to most of my questions in the first couple of days.

The greedy bastard actually thought I’d keep him alive if he told me everything, which just proves how disloyal this cunt is. Therefore, giving me more reason to make sure he doesn’t walk this Earth anymore.

I know Murphy’s parents were responsible for what happened to my own parents all those years ago. They didn’t want their son having a baby with the spawn of mob scum, so they orchestrated the whole goddamn thing. My parents hadn’t just stolen that money I found, the money I believed for all these years was the reason they died, no. The Gallaghers planned everything down to the last detail. Well, except for the whole me getting away thing. But this is why they told Murphy I was dead. Why every record that exists for Jordyn O’Neill says I’m dead.

Then, when they found out I was back on the scene, they paid the Irish an obscene amount of money to try again. Murphy was never supposed to die, I was. Found that out two days ago. Ronan Callahan, the canary that just keeps on singing.

Hearing that pissed me right off, but I’ve spent so long being angry, looking for revenge, coming up with reasons that I can’t have or do what I want, so I’m glad the Gallaghers died quickly.

I’ve taken a page from Fizz’s book and decided it was for the best. I’m not going to let their quick deaths bother me. Those people didn’t deserve to spend another second in my presence, in my daughter’s presence.

All this means I’m going to need to get creative to legally keep Hallie, but Glitch and Dmitry said they’re working on it so I’m trusting them to have my back—another reason I feel like a douche for doubting what’s going on with me and Dmitry.

The speaker in the corner of the room continues to play white noise, the last sound this pair of fucknuts will ever hear.

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