Page 182 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

Sophia laughs. I’m not sure I would have been quite so brave. He turns to stare at her in brief contemplation. He’s deciding where to start. Which shiny piece of metal will he put to use first?

Decisions. Decisions.

He turns his attention back to the trolley and picks up a switchblade. Reaching forward, he slices her right across the mouth.

“Stop fucking laughing.”

She has stopped. Her laughter has turned to sobs. She’s now been disfigured for life. Not that her life will last much longer.

She turns to me.

“Jaine.” Her voice is pleading.

I stare at her. She must be as insane as he is if she thinks I’ll put a stop to this.

“Would you like me to intervene, Sophia? Would you like me to stop your husband from gutting you like a fish?”

I walk slowly toward her, then lean forward and whisper in her ear. “You showed my husband no mercy. I will show you the same. What you don’t fucking realize is that I’d gladly do the honors myself, but I’m not sure I’d do the act justice. You see, I use a different weapon when I kill. Can you keep a secret? Of course, you can because you’re not fucking going anywhere.” I smirk as I pull one of my engraved bullets from my pocket and hold it in front of her face.

Her gaze fixes on the engraving, and her eyes widen again. “You can’t be.”

I smile at her. “Oh, but I am. Sorry for thwarting your plans in Nevada and at the house. Now you know why I attended your wedding without an invitation.” I smirk.

I let all that sink in before I make the next reveal. “There’s one other little fact that you weren’t aware of. When I came to your home to pay you a visit, I was wearing a recording device. The District Attorney heard every goddamn word.” I stand upright and step back. “I hope your big brother enjoys his short-lived holiday on Rikers. I’ll give him a week at most.”

“You filthy biker bitch. I hope you rot in hell.” She sprays blood as she tries to speak, and then her eyes widen in fear because she knows she’s just antagonized her loving husband further. She turns toward Irish as he reaches for her mouth. She knows what’s coming. She clenches her teeth shut. With a shrug, he picks up a hammer, parts her lips, and smashes them. I grimace at the sight.

She screams in pain, and he uses the opportunity to grab her tongue. Then with another flick of the blade, he slices it off. Blood sprays everywhere, and she immediately starts to choke.

I smile. Blood? Dirt? A choke for a choke.

“I don’t want to hear any more from you… wife,” he hisses in her ear.

With bulging eyes, she stares at me. Begging. Pleading. She’s not asking for my forgiveness, though. Even with death imminent, it’s still all about Sophia.

Irish searches through the trolley once more. “Hold her head, Jaine.”

His tone is authoritative. With Eoin, it would get me riled, but with Irish, it has quite the opposite effect. He can tell I’m aroused by it as he smirks as I move to stand behind her.

“Hold it steady.”

I grip her head in my hands. It feels hot and wet. Is it blood, tears, or sweat?

I taste vomit—my own.

“Tilt it back for me.”

Again, I do as I’m told, and that’s when I see what he’s holding in his hand—a four-inch nail.

“Irish,” I whisper.

“Do as I ask, Jaine.” His tone remains assertive.

I nod, then close my eyes and swallow repeatedly as he prizes open her eyelid and shoves the nail straight into her eyeball.

The sound is nothing like I’ve heard before. A scream that doesn’t sound quite human, along with a squelch when the nail sinks into the jelly-like fluid of her eye. I quickly release her head, spin around, and throw up the bile from my empty stomach.

It’s too much for me, but for Padraig, I realize it’s not even scratching the surface. I turn back around and stare at him.

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