AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It-it was, and I am beyond g-grateful,” he stuttered.
This was the part of her job that never got any easier, but the message they had to send was crystal clear. Double-crossing Layne’s family resulted in swift and severe punishment. A few years ago, she might have let it bother her, but now? Layne had become numb to ridding the world of a little evil on occasion.
“I wish I could say this will hurt me more than it will hurt you.” Layne dug around in her pocket, pulled out a silver lighter, and tossed it to the bulky man to the right of the traitor. “Let it burn,” she ordered as she slid off the edge of the desk onto her feet.
“W-wait! No! It’s a big misunderstanding! I can fix this! I can make it right!” George shouted at her while the two men began to forcibly restrain him to the office chair at the wrists and feet. As for Layne? She had given her command, and her two lackeys were following it. There was nothing left for her to do. She hopped off the edge of the desk and made her exit.
Moments later, her associates joined her outside the quaint office building while she leaned back against the side of George’s freshly washed Benz and stared. Within minutes, smoke was beginning to seep out of the building, followed by flames licking at the curtains in the windows.
Such a shame, Layne thought. One less scumbag lawyer in the world.
CHAPTER THREE
This morning’s unexpected meeting hadn’t changed that she still had been looking forward to this much-needed day to herself. It was a day where booze of any type was a requirement, not just thanks to George’s demise.
Every year on this particular day was reserved for mind-numbing drinking until all the feelings folded in on themselves. All of this meant she was going to spend her evening at McGregor’s Pub until the owner, Sean, ceremoniously kicked her out.
The dive joint resided in the heart of the O’Reilly territory making it a safe getaway for all the associates and underlings that worked for them. Layne assisted the bar with keeping the books clear of any red flags, and in return, there was a no-questions-asked policy when there were business discussions taking place.
McGregor’s was said to be one of the oldest bars in Manhattan, established in 1854. The exterior had a green sign above the door with its name written in a Gaelic-styled font, the façade was black with massive glass windows on either side of the two black doors of the entrance. To the right of the door flew the Irish flag, and to the left was the proud Star-Spangled Banner.
Once inside, the ragged and run-down charm was plastered from floor to ceiling. The walls had nearly no bare space due to the plethora of framed photos taken of patrons over the years. The front half of the establishment had a handful of wooden tables to the left, a narrow walkway in the center, and a well-used wooden bar to the right. Past the bar, into the back half of the pub was a second room that held a few more tables and allowed for more privacy and discretion.
Part of the innate appeal of McGregor’s was that it also did not install any televisions, didn’t have WiFi, was dimly lit, and was thoroughly stuck in its ways.
Sitting at the bar as far back from the doors as possible, Layne stared into the depths of the dark ruby liquid in her pint glass that most people mistook for a thick black beer.Her sparkling emerald-colored eyes were locked on the heady stout as the reflections of the lights above shifted into a daydream of memories.One memory in particular ravaged her brain.
“Layney, which snack would you like? I have chocolate chip cookies or vanilla pudding,” both were homemade by her mother, Shannon, who had a knack for finding her way around in the kitchen.
Her mother was to thank for the green eyes Layne inherited. Shannon had been a very attractive and classy woman. Even knowing what Scott did for a living, she brought out the best in him where she could. Everything Layne’s brain could recall about her mother was the epitome of pure innocence and overwhelming love.
She could remember her mom standing there by the kitchen counter ready to dish up whichever snack a then five-year-old Layne desired.
“I want the peanut butter cookies you always buy.”
“Honey, we don’t have any more. You have to wait until I go to the store to get some.”
“But I want some now!”Even back then, that trademark temper and hard-headedness flared up.Of course, her mom knew the best way to do damage control before the waterworks started pouring out of little Layne’s eyes.
Shannon drew in a calming breath and placed her hands lightly on Layne’s shoulders as she lovingly looked at her daughter. “How about this? I will go to the store and pick up cookies, but you need to go upstairs to your room and have it spotless by the time I get back. Sound like a fair deal?”
Little Layne sniffled and was quick to nod her head. Her mother came in closer and wrapped her arms around Layne, drawing her into a warm embrace, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
That moment likely only lasted a second or two, but in Layne’s mind, it had lasted for an eternity.
“Sweetheart,” the voice was no longer the delicate and feminine one of her mother. Instead, it was deeper and raspy. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Layne snapped out of her head and was back there sitting at the bar in McGregor’s. She blinked a few times and noticed the owner and current bartender, Sean, was staring at her from behind the bar. He must have been in his seventies and was the one trying to flag her attention.
Slowly her lips curved into a weakly held smile, “Sorry, it’s been a long week.”
“I gotta go in the back and fix a tap line. Shout if you need something, eh?”
Layne nodded. “Got it,” as she lifted her glass to her lips and took a hefty sip to help diminish the pain of the past, the pain that started fifteen years ago today.
The gruff and shaggy-haired man made his way into the back, disappearing from sight.
It was a quiet Tuesday night there inside the pub. The music playing from the speakers in the ceiling was only at a volume loud enough to blend into background noise, a few businessmen were at the circular four-top in the back corner with their ties hanging loose around their necks while they talked shop amongst themselves, and the ceiling fan’s pull chain lightly tapped against the bare light bulb as the fan blades slowly spun round and round. It may not have been a fancy spot, but nobody bothered her here.
