Page 56 of It Will Always Be You
I love this woman, and I think I always have.
Chapter 51
It’s amazing the effect waking up with Helen tangled around me has on me. For the first time in years, I wake feeling lighter, ready to face anything that comes my way. Nothing can take this spring out of my step. Last night was worth all the waiting in the world, and I’d do it again tenfold, but I hope I never need to. With regret, I disentangle myself from her sleep-heavy limbs. She lets out a soft grunt of discontent, a frown marring her pretty face as she burrows deeper into the duvet. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, I smooth out the frown lines that should never be there before quietly getting dressed and leaving.
As much as I would love nothing more than to be there as she wakes up and have a repeat of last night, business calls. The twins are finally back with a full report and have managed to get a lead on our rat situation. The sooner we get to the bottom of this mess, the better. The last thing we need is a rat bleeding our secrets out.
Making my way into the Pit, I stop by the chest freezer to grab supplies before making my way to where the piece of shit soldier is chained up. His panicked screaming only increasesas he lays eyes on me and the ice cube in my hand. Jerking my chin at Declan, he makes quick work of stripping the fucker as Ciaran holds him. With a smirk, I shove the ice cube up his ass and take great joy in the way the whites of his eyes show. He squeals as realisation sets in.
“If I were you, I’d start talking before that melts. If you please us, we can remove it… If not, well…you’ll get a nice surprise soon enough,” I drawl, stepping back and folding my arms as I watch him squirm. He’s spitting mad, but still, he clenches his jaw as defiance bleeds form his eyes.
Turning to Ciaran, I ask, “What makes you think it’s him?”
“The fucker was caught on that server. Bren was able to track an IP and name to him, but the asshole won’t speak.”
“Even if he’s not the rat, he’s scum,” Declan spits.
“What makes you think looking into sex trafficking would float with us, you wanker? Do you not remember your oath? Family above all else!” I snarl, landing a punch. Still, he clenches his teeth, offering us nothing.
Sharing a dark look with Ciaran, he dips his chin before heading to grab supplies. Meanwhile, I roll up my sleeves as I prowl around the shrivelling peace of garbage chained to the ceiling. Declan catches my eye, and, with a subtle dip of his chin, he zeros in on black ink on the man’s stomach. In this life, ink is very rarely meaningless or random.
“What’ve you got there?” Declan mutters, advancing towards our captive, who stubbornly clenches his jaw and fixes his gaze on a spot on the wall. Clicking my tongue, I slide up behind him, resting my chin on his shoulder as I taunt him.
“Now, now, is that any way to save your skin? It’s a simple question, but maybe we need to make this even easier for you.” In a flash, Declan pulls his knife from his boot and uses it to slice the man’s shirt off. Flinching back from the blade just delivers him into my grip. Wrapping my fist around his throat, I hold him still as Declan traces the tattoo with his knife.
“Trust you fuckers to start the party without me,” Ciaran grumblesas he comes back with his hatchet slung across his shoulders.
“You took your sweet ass time,” Declan fires back. “Look at this and tell me that’s not some twisted version of the Clan’s tattoo.” Like our four-leaf clover tattoo, the Clan has their own initiation tattoo, and for this asshole to bear both ours and theirs…Fuck. With a shove, I release my hold on him to look at the ink for myself. There, in black and grey, is a badly covered Celtic cross tattoo just above his left hip. With a clang, Ciaran drops his hatchet to his side in shock.
“Well shit, looks like my twin needs to do some more digging into Jimmy here,” he mutters. Jimmy chooses that moment to start fighting his restraints again, clearly not as checked out of the conversation as we thought. Or maybe the ice cube has started to melt, and he’s feeling the effects of having barbed wire shoved up his ass.
We work him over until he’s a bleeding, scowling mess. Even when the ice cube melts and barbed wire is in his rectum, he still refuses to say anything. Getting nowhere, we shove him into the Pit with plans to come back and assess the situation once he’s had a little time to starve and dehydrate. Maybe then, he’ll be more willing to talk. Maybe a few days with barbed wire cutting into his ass will loosen his tongue. For now, I’ve more important matters to attend to.
“You heading to meet with Salvatore?” Ciaran asks as we tidy up. Glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, I debate answering him. Matt’s impending nuptials with the Don’s granddaughter is a bit of a sore spot between father and son.
“Yeah. Any idea if Matt will be joining us?”
“Not a fucking clue. That kid is testing me, out drinking every night like he has no purpose.”
“Like father, like son,” Declan chimes in, joining us in front of my car.
“As if you can talk. At least I have a kid and a missus,” Ciaran fires back, all ice and venom despite Declan meaning no harm.
“Christ, you two argue like an old married couple. Any word from the runners of their little digging mission?” The sooner we canlay Freya to rest, the better.
“Nothing good. I’m heading back over there today to see if we can’t get this sorted,” Ciaran answers me. Clapping him on the shoulder in thanks, I dip into my car and make my way to O’Neill’s HQ for today’s next order of business. Since stepping into Da’s shoes, my days here have been fewer and far in between, but any chance I can take to come back is always a godsend. Nodding at the people I pass, I make my way into my office, running my hand over what was Helen’s desk. I wonder what she’d think if she saw even this place was like a shrine to our brief time together.
I’ve barely got the contracts printed and the drinks poured when a heavy fist pounds on my door.Show time.
“Testing the strength of my door, Salvatore?” I quirk a brow as I let him in. Brushing past me, he surveys the room as if it’s beneath him before taking a seat and sniffing one of the whiskeys I’d prepared. Pinching the bridge of my nose and praying for patience, I take a seat behind my desk.
“Did young Mathew decide not to join us?” He sniffs, looking less than impressed—probably as impressed as Matt would be to be called Mathew.
“No, Matt is busy. You know how it is.” I shrug. The reality is, if I could escape this pointless meeting, I would. Even with three or so years before his granddaughter is of age to marry, Salvatore has been breathing down my neck to get things ironed out. Where they will live, who’s getting a cut, how much—it’s all so fucking tedious.
I can only hope Matt is up for the challenges that lie ahead.
Chapter 52
