Page 103 of Inflict

He was going to push his Harley to the feckin’ limit to get back to her.

Connor didn’t waste time once he had hung up the phone with Evelyn. He grabbed only a file’s worth of information, a picture or two of his mother in the pile, and some other things he thought might help him get more information, should he need it. And then he was gone, not even bothering to shut the front door behind him as he left.

He had just swung his leg over his Harley when he noticed the dark sedan parked down the road. He probably wouldn’t have given it much attention as the vehicle was turned off, and the windows were dark, but something had caught his eye. Just the last few inches of the window rolling up, and a man that had been staring in his direction.

Connor slipped on his helmet, and the Harley roared to life under his handling. He toyed with the throttle before kicking off the curb and heading toward the car. He slowed, coming to a complete stop beside the driver’s window, reached over, and knocked with two knuckles.

The window rolled down.

A familiar face stared at him.

One of his father’s underlining’s.

“Where’s Sean?” Connor asked.

The man shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, lad.”

Connor knew he was lying, just by the way his gaze darted away when he spoke, but it certainly didn’t help that the man had a turned on cell phone sitting in his lap. “All right, then.”

He played with the throttle again, and reached inside his jacket with his other hand.

The fecker never even seen the knife coming. Blood painted the windshield red as Connor sliced across the man’s throat with one, smooth cut. Careful to avoid the blood dripping down the fool’s front, Connor reached in and grabbed the phone. A quick check confirmed what he believed—the last call was to his father’s cell.

Connor hit redial, but Sean didn’t pick up the first time.

He hit it again, hearing it ring and ring.

It took another two calls before Sean finally answered.

“I told you, you feckin’ useless piece of shite—”

“Where are you?” Connor interrupted his father.

Sean didn’t answer right away, but he did hear something crash in the background of the call. “Son.”

“Where—”

“You’re too late, lad. You’ve always been too late.”

The call hung up.

Connor didn’t realize his hand was shaking until he heard the phone crack from the pressure of his clenching fist. He dropped the offending device, a sickness beginning to well in his throat. He could practically taste the bile on the back of his tongue as he brought out his own phone and called the brownstone’s line.

She was just there.

She had just answered.

He needed to be sure.

Evelyn didn’t pick up the call.

Connor tried ten more times.

He already knew.

His body went numb.

Connor didn’t bother to properly park his Harley when he arrived back at the brownstone. He barely noticed the dark sky above him, and he couldn’t entirely remember the drive from Jersey to Brooklyn with all that much clarity, either.