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When we return to Oracle, Seamus and Liam take Carmen and her kids to Seamus’s office, but I head downstairs and let myself into the basement room.
Connor nods to me and slides out of the room, Paddy following him closely. They’re heading up to where Carmen will no doubt be being questioned by Seamus.
Niall has already changed into the white T-shirt he prefers to work in. Something about being easy to bleach clean. I lean against the wall beside the door, my arms crossed over my chest, my eyes narrow as I watch Grant Clatham struggle against the cuffs holding him to the bloodstained table.
Niall picks up his gardening shears and glances over, offering them to me. I shake my head.
I don’t need to torture the bastard. I’m happy to watch. As long as I’m the one who finishes him off, I’ll be a contented man. Grant screams when Niall starts removing his toes. Blood-curdling screams punctuated with panting.
“Why?” Grant finally manages to force out between his screams. Niall glances over at his face from beside his feet.
“Why did ye used to hurt Fiona?” Niall rebuts. Grant’s face screws up.
“Because she deserved it,” he pants out. Like fuck she did. I press my fingers tightly into my ribs so I don’t stride over there and end his miserable excuse for an existence prematurely.
“How d’ye figure that?” Niall asks, his eyebrows shooting up. Grant glares at him.
“She wouldn’t do what I told her to,” he replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He starts laughing maniacally. “If she had only done as she was told, I wouldn’t have had to punish her. But she always was a naughty girl.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood as he laughs his way through explanations of how he used to torture my lass. He barely even stops laughing to scream when Niall hurts him.
Finally, his laughter dies down, and his head lolls around. The blood loss from the gunshot and the shears are finally getting to him. His eyes dart around the room, unfocused – until they land on me. There is a flash of recognition in his eyes, his face screwing up in an angry sneer.
“You!” he spits out at me. Niall glances over, his eyebrows rising again.
“You touched my Fi-Fi,” Grant screams. “You made her impure. You took her previous virginity.”
Niall is standing stock still, the shears dangling at his side as he stares at Grant in horrified fascination.
“Jaysus feck,” Niall mutters at last. “He’s fecking insane.”
I ignore Niall, stepping closer to this miserable excuse for a human being, my arms uncrossing as my fingers flex at my sides. A bullet is too good for this bastard. I pick up a knife off the table near Niall’s locker, testing the weight in my hand, turning back to Grant Clatham, who is still yelling at me for daring to touch Fiona.
“Ye won’t ever be able to hurt Fiona again,” I hiss as I step up to the table, my eyes barely a foot from Grant’s. His face contorts with fury.
“I’d like to see you try and stop me,” he hisses back.
Jesus fuck. Niall’s right. Heisinsane. My hand darts out, dragging the knife across his throat. He gurgles wetly, his eyes widening and his pupils dilating as the last of his life drains out of him.
“Well, thank feck for that,” Niall mutters beside me. “I thought he’d never shut up.”
Stepping away from the lifeless body of Fiona’s psychotic brother, I move across the room to drop the knife back on the bench I picked it up from.
“D’ye need help moving him?” I ask the Reaper, who snorts.
“No,” he replies drily. “Ye head up to Fitzy’s office. See what they were able to find out from Carmen. I’ll get rid of this piece of shite.”
Nodding, I clap Niall on the shoulder, shucking my blood-covered shirt and grabbing one of his white T-shirts from his locker, tugging it over my head as I go upstairs.
When I step into Seamus’s office, Carmen’s kids have stopped crying. They’re drinking hot cocoa, by the smell of things, sitting quietly while Carmen fusses over them. I raise my eyebrows at Seamus, seated at his desk, but he shakes his head.
“We were waiting for you, Ronan,” he informs me.
Paddy and Connor are silent sentinels on either side of the door. Carmen looks around wildly at the sound of Seamus’s voice.
Her eyes flicker over me, and she swallows roughly, clearly afraid. With one last glance at her kids, she stands, shuffling across the room to seat herself on one of the chairs in front of Seamus’s desk, looking like a shell of the confident woman I know from the stage. I cross to stand beside Seamus so I can see her face.
“Talk,” Seamus orders her. Carmen pales, swallowing again as her eyes dart to my face, fixing on Seamus’s desk.
