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“This!”
“What the fuck is this?” Carmine asked, pulling him away from the house and shoving him into the backyard. He stumbled but caught himself before he fell, and hesitated for a second before he took off sprinting through the yard.
For a brief moment, Carmine remained frozen in utter disbelief. He had just let go of the guy. How fucking stupid could he be?
Adrenaline kicked in again. Carmine aimed with his finger on the trigger, a hair away from pulling it, but lowered the gun and took off after him instead. Carmine managed to catch him, tackling him in the grass at the edge of the yard. Panicked, the man swung, trying to fight Carmine off, and his fist connected with the right side of his jaw. Pain ripped through his cheek, sending him over the edge.
If he wanted a fight, Carmine was going to give him one.
He pulled his arm back that clutched the gun, slamming him straight in the face with it. A lifetime worth of aggression came pounding from his fists, disappointment and anger, shame and heartbreak. Carmine didn’t know the man, but that mattered not—he took his pain out on him, battering him with pent-up hostility he needed to let go of.
After he was beat down, Carmine pulled him across the yard and forced him on his knees right outside Corrado’s back door.
“Stay there, motherfucker,” he spat, giving him a swift kick in the side out of frustration. His jaw ached and he was out of breath, blood splattered on his hands.
“I’m certainly glad you decided not to shoot him.”
The voice caught Carmine off guard. He looked up, seeing Corrado standing motionless at the back door, watching them. “Fuck, how long have you been there?”
“Long enough.”
“And you couldn’t help me?” he spat, annoyed that Corrado had just watched.
“You seemed to have it handled,” he said. “Besides, it was quite entertaining.”
Carmine glared at him. “Entertaining? There’s nothing entertaining about this!”
“I disagree.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” Carmine said, reaching into his waistband for the guy’s gun. He cursed yet again when he came up empty-handed and glanced around, realizing it had fallen out during their scuffle. He found it a few feet away and picked it up, handing it to Corrado when he stepped outside. “He could’ve killed me.”
Corrado laughed dryly. “You’re exaggerating. You had him, no problem.”
“You couldn’t have fucking known that.”
“Yes, I could. He didn’t do his homework if he parked in front of your house.”
“How do you . . . ?” Carmine stopped, narrowing his eyes when it struck him. “Wait, you knew he was there?”
“Of course I did,” he replied. “He wasn’t sly, Carmine. Even you noticed him.”
“Son of a bitch,” he grumbled, aggravated. “I did all of that for nothing?”
“I wouldn’t say it was for nothing,” Corrado replied, smiling with amusement. “Like I said, it was entertaining.”
Carmine shook his head as the guy knelt there, crying with his head down. “Who is this Oisin Quinn asshole, anyway?”
“Is that his name?” Corrado asked as he took the guy’s driver’s license. “I’m assuming the Irish sent him. Is that right?”
The guy whimpered. “Please! I’m sorry, just . . . please!”
“Don’t beg,” Corrado said. “Tell me who sent you.”
“I don’t know,” he cried. “They paid me.”
“Who paid you?”
“A guy, he said it would be easy!”
