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1
“Dispose of the two separately.”
“The two?” the man on his knees asks. These whimpered words slip through busted lips, the sound is amusing—a little whimsical—and I smile down at him. This is someone I’ve known my entire life, I grew up with the bloke, but greed is a dangerous disease and he let it consume him.
You don’t steal from a Jameson.
You don’t run from one either.
My family has a certain code we live by, and Jonathan Bryce broke every commandment.
Outside of his connection to me, he’s no one of real importance, a normal man working a boring desk job with a wife who’s pregnant and a dog who bares his teeth at him each time he walks through the door. The animal is a good judge of character. Can smell the bollocks that reek from this man’s pores while he lies to his wife about where he’s been and with whom.
He’s useless, yet many overlook the shortcoming; the flat he lives in belongs to her, while the car he drives was a gift from me on his last birthday. His employment is another gift he didn’t deserve then, and much less now as the family business isn’t worth shit under his care.
Three simple responsibilities he couldn’t provide for himself, and it stems from a gambling problem he refuses to accept.
Bryce loves football yet chooses the wrong team each bloody time, and as a mate, I’ve bailed him out more than a handful of times. Killed so he would be spared. I gave my protection because I felt bad for those he’d leave behind if a bookmaker took back a failed payment in blood.
He shared meals with the Jamesons.
He was allowed perks that weren’t his to imbibe in.
And yet, he bit the hand that feeds.
Jonathan Bryce stole from me, and all for a night of basic sex with a whore’s used pussy.
At the sight of my smirk, John pisses himself once again. Disgusting. “Please, Callum. It doesn’t have to end like this, brother. Let me work this off. Or better yet, let me just call Mum. My family’s good for it, and she’ll wire you—”
His mouth snaps shut after kissing the two large rings on my fingers, the skin further tearing from the blow. “This is your mess, mate. Not theirs.”
“Please.” It’s low. A cry. “It’s not that big of a deal. Ezra was in on it. He—”
“No.” Another plea sits heavily on his bloodied tongue, but I shake my head. He’s afraid and has every reason to be. My friendship was an honest one, no strings attached on my end, but he abused the power it came with. I let him live in my shadow, and now I’ll take away his right to breathe just the same. “You knew the consequences and took the risk anyway. Did you think someone loyal to the family, a hacker of all fucking things, wouldn’t protect himself? I’ve seen the video. I heard every word that came out of your mouth.”
His eyes drop to the ground, expression contrite. Too late. “I’m sorry.”
“Lying to me will only make this worse.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“And yet you’ve failed to give me a single reason why I should take pity, Jonathan.”
“My unborn daughter.” Bloody spittle lands on my trousers while I finger the edge of the blade in my hand. It slices the pad of my thumb, a few drops dripping down the metal and onto the handle while he watches, unmoving. Paralyzed. “She will need me.”
“How sure are you about this?” I scratch my jaw. “What are you willing to bet?”
From the corner of my eye, I see one of the cleaners with me stop a few steps to my right with a familiar briefcase in hand. I’m not the only one who notices his presence, and I chuckle at the sight of Jonathan moving closer to me. An idiot move. I’m the reaper. His executioner. Jonathan’s bloodied face tips up, his hands gripping my pant leg while tears roll down each cheek.
A true disappointment.
“She will need me.”
“You can do better than that, arsehole.”
For every action, there is an equal consequence you must accept and confront with pride. In my world, to hide, beg, or cry is a disrespect. More so than the offense that led you to your sentencing.
“I’m their sole provider. Neither would survive—”
