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When I find Paul, I’ll kill him. Without a feckin’ doubt, I’ll make him scream. Orla shouldn’t be the one ta fix his mess. He should be steppin’ up and takin’ responsibility fer the things he’s done. He won’t, though. Arseholes, like him, hide behind women. I’m the one who’s goin’ ta ensure he steps up ta the front of the line.
When we finally pull up ta the house, it’s already dark out. The night sky is filled with small, blinkin’ stars that end up remindin’ me of my girl. The full moon is also high and shinin’ down on us.
“Are ye ready fer this?” Monster asks when we come ta a stop.
I take in the property. It’s not goin’ta be easy ta scale these feckin’ high walls, but I’m not walkin’ away. I have ta get Orla back fer Aine.
“Aye,” I tell him and wait fer his orders.
“Then we best get on with it,” Monster announces.
We all park our bikes silently, needin’ ta stay quiet to ensure the arseholes inside don’t know we’re comin’. The element of surprise is on our side.
These men aren’t mafia, and they aren’t linked ta any other criminal organisations. It makes them even more dangerous because when ye’re not protected by a larger criminal outfit, ye have to step up security, ye have ta have plenty of weapons, and ye can’t afford ta have any morals.
We move towards the gate quietly. There are lights on in the house, which means someone’s home. The bastard must have Orla locked up inside. I don’t know if she’s been hurt or not, but I’ll gladly torture the arsehole anyway.
With every step we take, we have ta make sure there aren’t any guards approachin’ us. My chest tightens with anxiety as we edge closer. I’m puttin’ myself and my brothers in danger fer a woman who walked out on me, havin’ cheated, and never told me I had a child. I’m beginnin’ ta wonder if it’s worth it.
“Front door, back, and sides,” Monster doles out the orders with accompanyin’ hand signals, and I know I’m meant ta follow him ta the front door.
The main entrance looks like it could belong to a castle and not someone’s everyday home.
“I’m not sure this is the right move,” I suddenly announce just before we break down the door.
“Why?” Monster asks, and I know he’s frustrated with me.
I’m annoyed at myself, but as much as I want ta save Aine’s ma, somethin’ still isn’t sittin’ right with me.
Orla and I went through some shite together when we were young. We both can be stubborn, but I know she’s not the type ta stay quiet if her life is bein’ threatened. So if she thought she was headin’ into danger, I’m pretty sure she would have told me back at the clubhouse. Which is why us bein’ here feels wrong.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I finally tell Monster, who’s starin’ at me as if I’ve lost my feckin’ mind.
He nods, and soon his booted foot is slammin’ into the door. The hinges give way just a bit with his first kick, but with the second, along with my help, they’re ripped from their attachment screws and the door of the three storey mansion is now lyin’ in the entrance hall of a dangerous feckin’ criminal.
I hear heavy footsteps of guards runnin’ towards us accompanied by the tinklin’ sound of sprayin’ glass from the back patio doors as our men gain entry at the rear.
We’re now bombarded with men in black suits and crisp white shirts. It reminds me of the years I spent workin’ with Da fer the mafia. They were always well-dressed feckin’ criminals. I want ta chuckle when I think of Smooth Criminal, but I refrain when I realise we’re sorely outnumbered.
I lift my gun and start firing at the bastards tryin’ ta take us out, and soon, they’re the ones fallin’. Gunshots ring in my ears as I drop ta the ground. Monster is behind me as we scoot our arses across the floor, headin’ towards the rest of our men who entered from the rear of the premises. The plan is for our teams ta take out the enemy from the front and back, so we’ll meet in the middle and find the bastard who’s holdin’ Orla hostage.
When we get ta the lounge, in all its opulent splendour, we push ta our feet. Racer and Hades are already here, aimin’ their guns at a smug arsehole in a fancy suit.
“What are you doing here?” He speaks with an accent I recognise immediately. His Italian lilt is obvious.
“Where the feckin’ hell is she?” I ask, ignorin’ his question.
I don’t know this man, never seen him before, and I don’t intend on makin’ friends with him while we’re here.
“Who are you talking about?” He answers my question with one of his own as he walks across the room to a drinks cabinet.
