Page 32 of Dirty Eoin

It’s then I hear the blade. I’d know the almost silent sound of a switchblade being flicked open anywhere having spent four years of my life with a madman who used one as his weapon of choice.

I exaggeratedly spit out the blood that’s been pooling in the side of my mouth before replying.

“I said. Fuck. You.”

His eyes bore into mine. He’s trying to make me back down and cower like a frightened dog.

I cower from no one.

He can do his worst. He’ll never break me.

A look crosses his face. Only fleetingly. Pride? Respect? It’s gone as quickly as it arrived.

He nods. To himself? To me? I’m not sure why. I’m not sure of the reason.

I can see the shiny silver blade out of the corner of my eye as he lifts it. He won’t cut my throat. At least not yet. This is a torture chamber first and foremost. Far below the city streets where no one can hear you scream or beg for mercy.

I won’t scream. I won’t beg either.

Hell will freeze over first.

I feel the moment the blade connects with my cheek. The initial sting as the sharp piece of metal kisses my skin almost apologetically.

Still, I stare into his eyes. I make no sound. I give nothing away. Not even when I feel the blood trickle down my face. He’s not fucking worth it. The O’Connells are not fucking worth it.

This is a battle of wills, and I will not be beaten.

Neither of us hears the elevator behind us, we’re so engrossed in our mind games.

“Da!” It’s Dylan.

I’m not sure what feeling it is that floods me. Relief that I’m to live to see another day. Regret that I didn’t get to finish what twisted shit I started with Da Duster.

A combination of both maybe.

I can see the reluctance in his gaze as he’s forced to break eye contact with me. It’s clear he wanted to keep playing our mind games too. He steps back.

“What the fuck is it, Dyl? Can’t you see I’m busy?” He moves to the side, and that’s when I take in Dylan and Eoin O’Connell.

I make eye contact with the eldest son. He frowns in silent response. No doubt at the state I’m in. I don’t want his sympathetic looks. I don’t want his pity. I don’t want his regret. I don’t want his excuses. I want out of this chair, and I want to fucking kill someone.

Preferably him.

“What the fuck, Da? Jaine!” I switch my gaze to Dylan. He’s visibly upset. Running his hands through his hair the same as his da was just doing like he doesn’t know what to say or do. Like he’s wondering how to fix this shit show he’s been confronted by.

He knows what I’ve done for his family today. The risks I’ve taken. The rewards I’m now being personally delivered in thanks. He’ll know that I’ve been pre-judged simply for turning up uninvited.

He’ll also know I’ll now want my revenge for this over and above everything else I’ve been subjected to by the O’Connells these past two years. More importantly, he’ll know that my sniper secret is to be kept just that.

A secret.

And one that’s mine alone to spill.

“Jaine?” Fergal frowns as he looks between me and his sons.

Eoin nods as he breathes in slowly then exhales. “Yes, Da. This is Jaine Jones.”

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

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