Page 97 of Beautiful Scar

The bullet blasts his face into the consistency of a crushed orange. Blood sprays all over the sidewalk, drenching his friend.It’s runny and thin from the downpour. The stocky man’s corpse collapses in a heap at his friend’s feet.

“What the… what the fuck…” The skinny man staggers backward as I raise my gun toward him.

“Tim O’Malley,” I say, stalking closer. “You’re Tim O’Malley. You work for Seamus McGrath.”

“I mean, I’m, uh, who the fuck—” He doesn’t finish that sentence. I slam into him with my shoulder, knocking him to the ground, and shove the barrel of my gun into his mouth. He stares at me in total shock.

It takes a strong man to watch a friend get murdered in cold blood and still function afterward.

Tim O’Malley’s not fucking strong.

“Where is Seamus?” I snarl in his face.

He tries to speak, but it’s muffled by my gun. I grin and pull it back enough that he can cough and answer.

“I don’t know,” he says. I shove the gun back.

“I’m going to ask one more time. You know I’m hunting your boss. You’re not my first fucking stop. If you want to live, tell me where Seamus is.”

He makes another panicked noise. I pull the gun out again.

“He changes locations,” he says quickly, hands raised above his head. “That’s why I don’t know! I swear on my fucking mother’s life.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” I say, getting close to his face. “Not to a man like me. You think I won’t cut your poor mother’s wrinklyold throat? You think I won’t bleed your entire family dry to find Seamus? Tell me where he is.”

Tim’s quivering now. If he thinks I’m bluffing, he should really change his mind. I’d happily slaughter a thousand old ladies if it means catching Seamus and getting revenge for what he did to my wife.

“He’s got houses,” he moans. “A few of them. Down in the inner harbor.” His eyes go wide. “He’s obsessed with her, you know. Your wife. He talks about her all the time.”

“What did you say?” I snarl in his face, barely able to control myself.

“It’s fucking true! He’s sick for her! Always saying how she should be dead or something crazy. It’s not me, Tigran, it’s Seamus! He’s the one—” But then he stops talking. His eyes flit to the side, and something changes.

He grins broadly.

Oh, fuck.

I throw myself back. That saves my life. A shotgun explodes in the night, the muzzle flash like lightning. The pellets barely miss, scattering above me, close enough to feel hot against my skin. My shoulder and side slam to the pavement, and it fucking hurts. My ribs aren’t healed from the last goddamn time I got shot.

I roll, trying to come up for a shot on my attacker, but it’s too slow and awkward. I hear him rack another shot, and I’m fucked.

I’m caught out, and there’s no way I can escape in time.

Until Alexan appears in the pouring rain like a wraith from hell. He knocks the gun sideways as it goes off again, spraying shotten feet to my left, then grabs the man’s hair and slices his throat straight across.

Blood pours from the open wound. He gurgles in panic, drops the shotgun, and slumps down to the ground in a boneless lump of flesh.

Tim tries to scramble away. He’s no dummy. His best chance at survival just got his throat slit, so he’s thinking he better make a run for it.

Unfortunately, I’m pissed, so I just shoot him in the back of the knee.

He drops with a scream of pain.

I take a second to give Alexan an appreciative nod. He shrugs back, wiping his knife off on the dead man’s clothes.

“Time to talk,” I tell Tim, kicking him sharply in the ruined leg.

He moans, rolling from side to side in agony. “Please, stop it,” he cries, blubbering like a fucking child.

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