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She sucks her bottom lip. “Two thousand.”
“Orla,” I scold, shaking my head. “Catch yerself on!”
No wonder he sent me here.
“I don’t have it, but I can get it to ya next week.”
I know what that means—she’ll likely whore herself out. I don’t want that.
“Ach, don’tcha be concernin’ yerself with that. I’ll sort it.”
“Thank you, Punky. Ye were always a good man.”
She wouldn’t think that if she knew what I did to her father.
She stands, but I grip her bony arm—hard. “This is yer only warning, Orla. I don’t give second chances. Understood?”
Her head bobbles as she nods jerkily.
“Get off that shite. It’ll kill ya.”
It pains me to see that it already has.
Orla is just a walking zombie with her emaciated face covered in scabs and sunken eyes which lost their spark long ago. All she cares about is her next fix.
There are different types of addicts—functioning addicts you’d never guess were hooked, and addicts like Orla, who society discarded long ago. These people exist because of Sean. He doesn’t care who he sells to, or how often. They are just walking pound signs to him.
“I’m gonna check on ye, and so help me God, if y’ve gone back on yer word, I promise ya, A’ll do what I came here for.”
My threat isn’t empty, and Orla knows it.
Digging into my pocket for my wallet, I pull out a wad of twenties. Orla eyes the money like a hungry wolf.
“This is to get ye home. Not to waste on smack.”
She nods and snatches the money from my hand.
In case she’s in doubt, I warn, “I’ll know if yer lyin’ ’cause who do ya think yer buyin’ the gear off? The Kellys. Don’tcha be forgettin’ it.”
“Ye wouldn’t hurt me, Punky,” she says, and her confidence reveals she doesn’t know me at all.
I lunge forward, and a cry leaves her when I twist her arm behind her back. “Don’t mistake me for the hero, Orla,” I warn, leveling her with a scowl. “’Cause I’m not. Fuck with me, and I swear, y’ll be just as dead as yer da.”
Her eyes widen when she realizes what I mean by that comment. I won’t elaborate, but she can guess.
I let her go, shoving her away. “Away now, before I change my mind.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice and runs from the room, not turning back. I can only hope my warning wasn’t in vain, because I meant what I said—if I see her again, I’ll kill her. That’s why I needed to be harsh.
The money she owes, I’ll pay it. If I come up empty-handed, Sean will know I let her go.
Grabbing my bag, I peer around at the boggin’ surroundings, wondering how many of these shitholes Sean uses. Darcy gave me a list of houses such as this. I could always check them out. I don’t want to think Babydoll calls a place such as this home, but she’s got to be somewhere.
My heart sinks at the thought.
Walking to my truck, I jump in and drive to the factory. This pretense of playing happy families is an insult to anyone with half a brain. But Sean needs this public display to fortify his position and to warn off any potential rivals.
I’m not sure who’s left. I’ve killed them all. Liam isn’t a worthy opponent because if he steps foot into Northern Ireland, I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him regardless, and broadcast it for all to see—just like I did with his dad, Brody.
