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The Russian spits at his feet, blood spurting all over Scotty’s polished dress shoes.
Scotty grips the man's jaw and snaps his head up. “I’m going to kill you.” He stuffs the cloth into his mouth, then plugs his nose. “Then bring you back to life.” He dumps the water over the man's head. “Then kill you again.” The pitcher empties, and he tosses it to the ground. “Over, and over, and over. Until I get my answers.”
I cross my arms. “He’s not lying, man. He’s the Frogman. I’m sure you’ve heard of him?”
The Russian's eyes widen when he recognizes the name. Scotty, the Navy SEAL, is obsessed with waterboarding; getting off on drowning someone until they’re on the brink of death, only to pull them from the angels calling to them.
I wouldn’t want my death to come by Scotty’s hands, and neither does this man.
“Fine!” he screams through a fit of coughs. “I’ll talk! Just stop, please.”
Scotty shoots me a smug smirk, crosses his arms, and walks in circles around the tied up man. “Were you a hired kill?”
“Yes.”
“Who hired you?” I ask.
“Amelia Cullen.”
Ian’s mother.
“Why?”
“No idea. She only gave us a name, address, and time. The stupid bitch fucked up, though. Got her own son killed.”
“And the car accident? There’s still a mark on her after all this time?”
He shrugs. “I saw her with you and decided to have a little fun.”
“Why were you at the wedding?”
“I’ve been following her since I realized she was linked to the Irish. Seeing how protective you were over her?” He lets out a strangled laugh. “Well, it was just the tip of the iceberg. It was her time to go. So I went to her house.”
My heart breaks. I don’t want to tell Sammy this truth. How am I going to break the news to her that Ian’s mother is responsible for his death? Will she even believe me, and if she does, will she forgive me for being the one to uncover that truth?
I don’t show any emotion, just reach for the gun tucked behind the waistband of my jeans, point and pull the trigger.
“Oh my God. There’s chicken shit on the counter!”
I freeze in my spot, standing at the entrance of Sammy’s kitchen. A younger version of her stands in only an oversized t-shirt, wet dark hair dangling in front of her face as she stares at what I can only imagine is chicken shit.
What the fuck did I get myself into? She hasn’t noticed me yet. I can sneak back out and pretend like I’m not here. Run for the hills and make up an excuse and never come back.
When I came by this morning to relieve Finn, I hadn’t thought of the fact her children would be here. Alive, taking up space. I take my socks and shoes off, leaving them next to the others piled there.
“Have you seen Violet?”
I whip my head around to see a little boy wandering in. He’s at least clothed appropriately in basketball shorts and a t-shirt. He stops, eyes narrowing at me. “Batman!” he screams.
I raise a hand. “No.”
Nails clank on the tile floor and there he is, the muscular Doberman Pinscher. My arch nemesis. I jump up onto a bar height stool by the island. Bruce comes right for me, snarling as I claim higher ground and hop onto the counter.
“What the fuck?” Sammy Junior screeches, neck craning to glare at me. “Eww! Why aren’t you wearing underwear?! I can see your nuts.”
Oh shit. I ran home to shower and get out of my suit, threw on an old pair of gym shorts and a tee and hurried on over. Did I forget boxers?Fuck.I glance down at the dog and use a hand to cover my jewels. I raise a hand in a fist, then say the word I’d heard Sammy say all those weeks ago. “Batman . . .Sitzen.”
“No, Bruce. NotSitzen. Eat this fucker’s balls.”
