Page 112 of Inflict

Killian smirked. “I didn’t say you’re not fecked up in the head a bit. I just said you’re not that kind of fecked up.”

• • •

Connor surveyed all the beautiful things in the trunk of the car, momentarily distracted by a row of knives, rather than the guns and vests. He pulled out a particular blade that was unlike any he had ever used before, though he knew exactly what it was called.

A Jagdkommando fixed blade knife. Three stainless steel, sharp-edged blades melded together to create one feckin’ terrifying knife. It was said to be so lethal, that a victim would bleed out in mere minutes, and should they even manage to get to a surgeon, the damage would always be too great to correct.

“Ye like that, mate?” Brian asked.

Connor nodded, sliding the pad of his thumb down one of the three edges. “It’s a nice knife.”

“Ye can have it. Not many know what to do with it.”

Connor didn’t think it would be too hard to figure out. It wasn’t meant to be pretty or make nice cuts. It was meant to kill.

“Although, ye might wanna grab a gun or two, lad, as that knife won’t help you a whole lot in the grand scheme of things,” Brian added.

Killian scoffed from behind Connor. “Don’t underestimate him, mate.”

“Aye, well, whatever.” Brian grabbed a folder sitting atop the row of guns in the trunk. He opened it, showcasing a set of photographs of a rundown house on what looked to be land that may have been used for farming at one point. “Here she is.”

“It looks like shite,” Connor noted.

“Apparently, hasn’t been lived in for years, and nobody’s used the cottage for any sort of grazing in … well, nobody even knows when the last person was there. But someone did notice a man walking around the outside yesterday evening, and—”

“There’s a car,” Connor interrupted, tapping the black sedan in the corner.

“Aye.”

“So, the house is—”

“‘Tis a cottage, mate,” the man said.

Connor looked at the house on the picture. “Bit big for that, no?”

Brian rolled his eyes upward, tapping his forehead with two fingers as though he was calling Connor an idiot without even saying a word. “Lad, listen to me, don’t get stuck in ye foolish American mouth. It’s a feckin’ cottage—‘round those parts, those dwellings only get used on occasion, and that’s a cottage. All right?”

Connor glanced back at Killian, who looked to be two seconds away from rolling over and laughing right there on the wet ground. He didn’t know too much about Brian, except he was a distant cousin of Killian’s, and apparently had a feckin’ attitude that could use correcting. Connor held back from being the person to correct it, but only because this was his one chance.

Brian had access to guns, money, and a way to get them the feck out of Ireland when all was said and done. He didn’t ask much in return, only for a favor to be put on the books at some point, should he need to call one in.

“All right, so the cottage,” Connor said, holding his tongue the best he could.

“Aye, what about it?”

“Where’s the closest neighbor?”

“A while away on either side, except toward the east, as that’s the cliffs leading to the water. Stay away from the cliffs.”

“We’re not planning on sightseeing or taking a swim.”

“Either way, you can get lost easily at night when ye aren’t used to the landscape.” Brian flipped through a few of the photographs. “Killian’s got me number. Call me phone when you’re done—I’ll have the jet on standby. Ye can ditch this car if ye need to, it don’t matter. As for the cottage, it’s rural, and there isn’t a lot of traffic, so we had to be careful not to get noticed. Whoever is inside hasn’t gone into town for supplies, but he’s not been here long.”

Brian handed over the keys. “If ye get going now, you might make it off the rock before the morning, depending on how everything goes. I’d have given ye a lad or two, but we try to keep this sort of shite quiet around these parts. Burn whatever ye leave behind, we’ll take care of the rest when the time comes. What is in this place that ye want so bad, lad?”

His heart.

His life.