…to the point at times I surprise myself.
There’s nothing like the crack of bone. The way flesh breaks apart when confronted with a blade. The writhe of agony even strong men do when caught up in so much pain they can’t take it.
I’ve got a table of fun instruments laid out for the Russian pissants. We’re only getting started with the pliers and their fingernails when my phone buzzes.
Normally, I’d ignore it, but the name on the screen is the person I’ve been meaning to talk to. It’s not every day my baby sister calls me.
“Finish them,” I grunt. “The fingers and toes. I’llbe back.”
I step outside as screams erupt, and I plug a finger in my ear.
“What’d I do now?”
“Who says you did anything?” she answers, tone warm with amusement. “Maybe I just wanted to check in on my favorite brother.”
“You mean your only brother.”
“Winning by default is still winning, jerkface.”
“You might be the only sister who calls her brother just to insult him.”
“That’s not the only reason I’m calling,” she laughs lightly. “I haven’t heard from you in over two weeks. Figured maybe I should make sure you’re not in jail or bleeding out in an alley somewhere.”
“Appreciate the concern, little sis.”
“Is that screaming I hear in the background?”
I throw a glance over my shoulder then motion for one of the buttonmen to pull shut the garage door.
“It’s the TV. Some action flick playing.”
“Uh huh, sure. How’s life in the big bad city? You keeping out of trouble?”
I rub my hand across my jaw, watching the buttonman drag shut the door. “Trying to.”
“That’s not a yes.”
“It’s not a no either.”
She makes a sound that’s low and growly. “You’re a headache, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told many times. Often by you.”
We spend the next couple minutes catching up. Mostly on Maeve’s end as she tells me about her practice in California. She’s a psychologist specializing in childhood trauma. An interesting career choice considering our family history.
“And Allen?” I ask. “Is he being a good boy? Treating you right?”
She groans. “Killian, I swear to god?—”
“Yes or no answer, stinky butt.”
“Almost thirty years and you refuse to let that pet name die, huh?” she counters, sighing heavily. “To answer your question: Yes, my husband is treating me right. As a matter of fact, he still remembers the threat you made at our wedding, and that was two years ago.”
“Good. Hope he never forgets it.”
“You have him thinking you’d actually break his kneecaps if he ever messes up.”
“Don’t doubt that I would, Maeve.”
