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Temperance was one of those people who kept her hands clean by assigning the dirty jobs to others. Her self-righteousness irked me like little else could.
Huffing and puffing my annoyance at her stopped me from fretting about Star and Temper’s odd belief that she was in danger as I observed the McClures’ evening entertainments.
The clock ticked slower than ever as I watched them like they were a TV show until, finally, Mrs. McClure—who didn’t appear to be in the know about her husband’s dungeon—kissed the senator’s cheek and made her way to bed.
If she knew, I’d assume that she’d never kiss that scrawny cheek without being under the threat of death.
I smiled as, like clockwork, McClure checked to make sure she’d gone upstairs then sneaked over to the bookshelf that housed a secret compartment. From it, he withdrew a Cuban—tut tut for the contraband—clipped the cap, tucked the waste into his pocket, then after packing the items away, locked the compartment. He pulled a lighter from another drawer and then retreated outside where he tossed the cap into the yard.
With a deep sigh, he started puffing on the cigar. When his head was bowed over, the gleaming flame lighting up his face in my scope, I smiled.
Stroked the trigger.
And gently squeezed.
Blood blossomed on his shirt as his body jerked in response to the high-velocity round.
Within seconds, he was slumped on the ground, the cigar no longer in his hand but tossed aside as the hollow bullet I’d chosen to cause him maximum damage, and hopefully the most agony before he died, got to work.
A puddle appeared beneath him as he bled out, and all the while, I packed up Coop and retreated.
Senator McClure was officially Dead To Me.
31
TEXT CHAT
Conor:Hey, random. But you thought the United Brotherhood was a bank, right?
Eoghan:I did.
Conor:Before Finn brought it up?
Eoghan:Yup.
Conor:Where did you come across the name?
Eoghan:Fuck, Conor, I don’t know. The amount of intel I have to wade through on the regular is ridiculous.
Conor:So, it was MI6-related?
Eoghan:All my problems are either O’Donnelly or MI6-related.
Conor:That doesn’t narrow things down for me.
Eoghan:Boohoo, buttercup.
Conor:Fuck off.
Eoghan:YOU messaged ME.
Conor:I just wondered what you might have known about them, that’s all.
**An hour later**
Eoghan:Ran a search on the thread with my handler.
Conor:It shouldn’t be cool that you have a handler.
