Page 83 of Inflict

“I think you should see it,” Killian said with a harsh sigh. “I don’t think it was meant for me, you get me?”

Connor cussed a blue streak before muttering, “I’ll be there in twenty.”

He didn’t bother to say goodbye, instead hanging up the phone a wee bit more forcefully than was necessary. He tried to hide the irritation on his face as he headed back into the kitchen, but figured he was probably doing a miserable job at it.

Evelyn held up a bite for him to take as he rounded her side of the table, and he took it, chewing slowly. It allowed him a bit of time to think up something to say to excuse himself, without telling her something had happened. She didn’t need to be worrying about those sorts of things.

“I need to head out for a bit,” he said. “Not for long, but I’ll bring something home for lunch.”

“I can’t come?”

Connor frowned, but hid it by looking away. “Not today.”

Evelyn shrugged. “Okay. I’d like some more of that pizza like we had last night.”

“Done, love.”

She flashed him with another brilliant smile, and reached for her sketchbook across the table, already distracted on something else. Connor took that as his chance to head out, though he would much rather stay right there with her, especially if she was going to be drawing.

Before he could convince himself otherwise, Connor left the brownstone and headed for his tattoo parlor. Traffic wasn’t too bad, surprisingly, so he made it there a few minutes quicker than he had actually told Killian on the phone.

The front of The Ink Shoppe was still locked up tight, like his employees knew to leave it when they finished with their final clients. Confused, Connor unlocked the front door, and went in, closing it behind him as he called out for Killian.

Silence answered him back.

Connor walked through the whole business before he finally found his friend hanging out the back door, a cigarette stuck between his lips.

“You know you’re not supposed to be smoking in here,” Connor said.

Killian took a heavy drag. “It’s one of those mornings.”

“Are you going back to that vague shite again?”

His friend didn’t answer, instead pushing the back exit door open wide, so Connor was able to see the body lying on the wet pavement in the back alley. It took him a second or third look before he recognized the battered, dead corpse.

Danny.

The man he’d been with the night he killed the Russian’s son. One of Connor’s few friends.

Frankly, he might have overlooked Danny getting whacked, considering he played on the wrong side of the law more often than not, and hung around with some pretty delinquent individuals. In their business, death was always close behind.

He couldn’t overlook Danny’s killing, though, because he’d been left at Connor’s doorstep.

Essentially.

Connor blew out a slow breath, taking in the lack of blood around the body. “He was left here, I’d say.”

“His father is going to feckin’ lose it.”

That, too.

“Do you have an idea about who did this?” Killian asked.

Danny’s father was one of Sean’s lieutenants.

Connor paused at that thought, wondering …

He could easily blame this on the Russians, given everything, though they had yet to actually cause problems for him. Sean had only alluded to issues in that regard. None had actually touched Connor, yet.