Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“He in the trunk?” The Butcher asked.
“Yes.” I waved my hand at her.
“You’re going to need to get yourself cleaned up,” she said. “Everything you need is with Ivan.”
I had blood on my hands as well as my shirt.
I turned toward Ivan who held out a duffel bag.
“Here you go, son,” Ivan said.
I wasn’t in the mood for Ivan’s playful mood.
“We need to take Niamh in,” I said. I was done playing this game.
The Butcher went to the back of the car and opened the trunk. “Nice,” she said. “You did this?”
“Do you see me with a fucking partner?” I asked, irritated.
Niamh was back in town, and I had to get back to her.
“Have you gotten her pregnant yet?” Ivan asked.
I had intended to wait to see if that first time we were together would take care of it, but it hadn’t. Also, it would seem Niamh had a little more power over me than I realized. There were only so many times I could deny her, but the moment she looked at me with those eyes, almost pleading, and said “please,” I couldn’t say fucking no. I’d never had a woman say please, or even beg me.
Niamh wasn’t trying to take from me. It was the strangest feeling, kind of heady as well. Niamh wanted me for me. There was no second play. But, she wanted the lie.
The Peter who was a personal trainer, who worked at a gym, who was helping a friend, and on paper, looked to be a nice guy.
I was not.
It’s all a lie, as the dead body in the trunk of the car could attest. It wasn’t even my greatest work. Death didn’t bother me. Nor did torture. I’d experienced my fair share on both counts, being tortured and torturing. I’d become quite good at it as well. Kind of like an unknown art, one I did enjoy exploring.
“No, but did you see how close that fucker had gotten?”
“To the trunk of his car?” Ivan asked.
“For fuck’s sake, if I had been one moment later, he’d have already gotten to Niamh.”
“We’re taking care of the rest. This sneaky little bastard was already on my radar. If it makes you feel any better, he never takes his target on the first try. He tends to wait, kind of like a hunt. He’d have watched her, and trust me, he’s not subtle about it. You’d have gotten to him,” The Butcher said.
“And that is supposed to make me feel fucking good?” I was losing my temper.
The Butcher shrugged her shoulders and then got to work dealing with it.
I turned my attention back to Ivan who was waiting for my dirty clothes.
We were going to do this outside in the secluded open. I knew it didn’t make sense. It was a secluded spot out in the open.
There were wipes, and a change of clothes, and some other shit. I was angry as I wiped my hands, cleaning off the blood.
The Butcher, the sick fuck she was, hummed to herself.
“You know you’re going to push too far,” I said, looking at Ivan. “It has already been a couple of months with the bounty hunters. One finally made it into town.”
“So you better get back to town and do as I instructed.” Ivan glanced down at his wristwatch. “Time is ticking.”
I’d never wanted to punch Ivan more than I did in that moment. I liked Ivan. More often, I understood his reasoning but when it came to this situation, I was at a fucking loss. I didn’t get it.
The other women for the other Brigadiers were in different positions. They weren’t lied to, manipulated, or forced to carry a child. Niamh was being put in those positions.
I was changed and Ivan took my dirty clothes along with the duffel bag.
“You know, maybe you should start asking why this is bothering you,” Ivan said.
I glared at him. “I know exactly why it’s bothering me, and so do you.”
Ivan laughed. “No, no, there is something more to this and you know it, but we can play the pretend game if that makes you feel a little better.”
None of this made me feel any better.
“This is not a game.”
“Oh, but it is. You see, our very life and existence are a game. Once you realize that, maybe it will be time for you to play.”
I wasn’t a child.
“Some of us get bad rough hands,” Ivan said. “Some of us get shittier-than-shit rough hands. Rarely is there a silver lining. Then there are some that don’t deserve the … crap they’ve been dealt, and even though day in day out, they are worn down, stomped down so much that for most people that would make them a shell of their former self, there are a rare few that lose the spark that makes them different. It makes them good. Then there are some that persevere no matter what life throws them, one shit hand after another, and all you can do is travel that bouncy ride to the bitter end.”