Spend a long weekend in New Orleans with a bloke, and you learn pretty quick what he likes to drink. A pint of black stuff with an Irish Catholic whiskey chaser. Between my insider info and March’s mad computer infiltration skills, we were able to come up with a strategy to get inside without tipping Declan off.
And that’s exactly what I’m about to do.
Trailing the lanky delivery boy, I wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. Dusk comes early this time of year, so it’s easy to hide in a narrow alleyway. I pull out my pistol and crack him across the head at the opportune moment. He’s out cold in a second flat. Dragging his limp body into the shadows, I stash him behind the dumpster, making sure his feet are tucked away tightly. He’ll wake up with a nasty headache, but that’s more than most people can say when they cross paths with me. Consider yourself lucky, buddy.
I steal the black cap off his head that reads “Quality Liquor” and place it over my blonde bob wig. Then I pick up the brown canvas delivery bag, impressed the glass bottle of Jameson didn’t shatter. I thought for sure it cracked when it hit the ground.
Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I peek out of the alleyway.
Coast clear.
I emerge onto the sidewalk and stroll down the street like I belong there with my gun snugly secured in the back of my waistband.
Making it to the entrance of the building, I push through the double doors into a lobby with a sky-high ceiling, adorned with overgrown greenery on every open level. It's an impressive place to hide out. I’ll give Declan that.
“Delivery for 8121,” I tell front-desk security.
The woman with jet-black hair pulled back in a bun glances at my hat, and without a second thought, picks up the phone and calls Declan. She confirms the delivery, and then sends me on my merry way.
Easy. As. Pie.
“Scott not working tonight?” she calls as I push the button on the elevator.
“Nah, said he has a killer migraine. I’m doing a favor for Joe.” I drop the liquor store owner’s name, avoiding eye contact with her as I speak.
“Too bad. Tell him I said feel better.”
“Will do.” I step into the elevator and keep my head down, using the brim of the baseball cap to shield my face from the camera.
I ride up to the eighth floor knowing exactly where I have to go. March was able to get a 3-D rendering of the building, so I memorized all its ins and outs. Speaking of outs, I have a car parked right out back for a quick and easy getaway. The emergency exit will set off the alarm, but I’ll be long gone before the first of Boston’s finest even has a chance to respond.
I stand in front of the door that reads number 8121, preparing myself. For what, I'm unsure. Another kill? That’s the easy part. I’m numb to that aspect of my job. It’s all business, all clinical, and it’s not like these people are saints. They are capable of horrible, wretched things that corrode society. So, I’m doing the world a small favor if you ask me. And Declan is just another name on that filthy list.
That’s what I tell myself over and over as I pull the silencer out of the pocket of my leather jacket. Covertly, I screw it onto the barrel of my gun.
My main focus is to get into that apartment. I can't just knock him off right in the hallway. It’ll create too much chaos. I have no idea who the girl is with him. I don’t know if she's young or old or capable of holding her own or not. She’s the only variable I'm unsure of. Ronan hasn’t divulged any information about her besides her name.Aisling,whatever kind of name that is. Truth be told, I’ve been trying to distance myself from him. Using the job as an excuse to keep our encounters brief. It’s worked thus far, but who knows what’s going to happen when this is all done. I’m in his city now. Completely accessible. There’s a possibility he may never let me leave. I’ll have to worry about that when the time comes, because right now, I have a job staring me straight in the face.
I knock, and then wait. When the door creaks open, my heart gallops. I fight to keep my head down and not look directly into his eyes, but my want betrays my will, and I tilt my face up.
Time freezes for a fraction of a second as our gazes meet. The gallop in my chest becomes an all-out stakes’ race as I pull my pistol and point it right at Declan’s nose. He tries to slam the door in my face, but I use the barrel as a door jam and force my way inside. I get him right where I want him. Ambushed and unarmed, and all I have to do is pull the trigger and it’ll be done. I squeeze, witnessing the rat panic in his shrinking cage. He backtracks into a sparse living room space with only a couch and tableside lamp. I follow, taking quick, calculated steps toward him.
Pull the damn trigger!my subconscious screams, but I’m hesitating.Why are you hesitating!
I close my eyes and squeeze the trigger, but the gun is suddenly knocked from my hand. When I open my eyes, I find Declan holding up the table lamp about to crack it over my head. I react instinctually, crossing my hands above myself in an attempt to shield the blow. It works well enough; the corner of the lamp barely grazes my temple. In a quick turnaround, I knee him in the groin, and he goes down with a grunt. I go for my gun, but Declan snatches my ankle and pulls my feet right out from underneath me. I hit the ground hard, slamming my funny bone right into the hardwood. I howl like an injured dog. That is the fucking smartest of smarts.Grrrr.I kick at Declan as he drags me closer to him. I know if he gets a good grip on me, I’ll be done. He’s big, he’s strong, and he knows exactlyhow to utilize his strength. I spent enough hours between the sheets with him to know exactly how he operates. If I end up underneath him, it’s game over.
With a swift, swinging kick, I hit him right in the wrist, forcing him to loosen his hold, I crawl away frantically and attempt to grab for my gun. I jump for it, the grip centimeters away from my fingertips.
I’m jerked back again, and this time, I end up beneath him, the very last place I want to be. He tries to overpower me, wrapping his tattooed hands around my throat.
I squirm fitfully as the air evaporates from my lungs. Staring straight into his murderous, green eyes, panic starts to spread like a deadly disease. Those aren't the eyes that I know. Or the eyes I thought I knew. In the past, he never looked at me with such venom. But then again, I never tried to kill him.
Locking my right leg around his and hooking it to my body, I rapidly use both hands to disjoint his elbow and roll him over. Then I start to attack, punching him in quick succession until I draw blood from his face.
My upper-hand doesn’t last long as he shoves me off him and sends me flying across the floor. I crash into a wall, hitting my head. Disoriented, I hastily try to get my bearings. He comes for me and I scramble, getting to my feet as swiftly as possible, but I’m not fast enough. Declan slams me, my head hitting the wall harder this time. My vision goes blurry as he wraps hands around my neck again, squeezing. Lifting me clear off the ground, he strangles me even as I kick furiously at his knees and thighs.
The malice in his gaze is so fucking frightening, it’s like he doesn’t even see me. Like he doesn't see anything except death.My death.Who is this man? He’s completely hollow.
“Dec–” I try to rip at his fingers as my oxygen supply runs thin. His grip is like iron, though. It’s impenetrable. I try to disjoint his elbows next, but they are locked tighter than a deadbolt. His whole body is as solid asconcrete, the veins in his neck, forehead, and arms rising and rippling as he strips my lifeforce away.
