Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Seamus clearly remembered standing in the dank warehouse with his kidnapper tied to a chair with two black eyes. The smell of piss and shit soiled the air because the man had lost control of his bowels as he cried like a little bitch. Patrick had placed a .45 in Seamus’s hand and gave him a choice. If he chose to pull the trigger, there would be no turning back. It was a heavy burden for a ten-year-old, but seeing the same man beg for mercy when he’d given Seamus none had sealed his fate.
It had been Seamus’s first kill, which led to several more. Unfortunately, because of a certain former associate’s actions, apparently, the killings weren’t done. It wasn’t that he took any real pleasure in taking a life. If it needed to be done then so be it.
Now he was put in a position of protecting his interests and intended to prove he was not to be fucked with.
Seamus stood on the dingy, cracked sidewalk and stared at what appeared to be an abandoned building. His mind was made up. Someone was going to get seriously hurt or die. They should have left well enough alone. But instead, he was here and someone had to pay. He pushed the intercom button and waited for a response.
“Who is it?” a gruff voice asked.
Seamus knew never to leave his actual name when it could be recorded by any number of people. Sloppiness had been the downfall of many in the underworld. “Tell Darrius that I’m here to see him and I suggest you not keep me waiting.”
He scanned the top of the door and noticed a small camera watching him. Just as he’d suspected. An operation of this nature didn’t run well without surveillance equipment.
Greeted with silence on the other end Seamus glanced at his watch to count how long they kept him waiting.
Finally, the door the door slowly opened.
A tall bald man with a mustache that practically covered most of the lower half of his face moved to allow Seamus entrance. “Come in. I didn’t realize it was you Mr. H—”
Seamus held up his hand. “Just take me to see your boss. No further conversation is necessary.”
His burly escort opened his mouth to speak but immediately closed it when Seamus shot him a warning look. The inside was almost as dank and dark as the outside. Office furniture was strown around haphazardly and worn down. A few people were silently scurrying away like rats in a subway tunnel.
The man simply nodded and led Seamus down a long dark hallway up some rickety stairs until they reached an office that stood out from the rest of the building. The door was royal blue with a gold-painted frame.
Inside, a big oak desk sat as the centerpiece, overwhelming the room. Sitting behind it in a large leather chair that almost seemed too small for his abundant frame was Darrius Johnson, who went by the moniker of Big D.
He’d started out small-time, selling drugs and doing small jobs for more dangerous criminals. Darrius eventually moved to human trafficking and small arms dealing. But the problem was, he wanted to expand and he was using Seamus’s name to do it.
Standing on either side of his desk were two men the size of linebackers, similar in appearance, dressed in all black, except one had a well-manicured beard. Protection. Darrius would definitely need it after Seamus was finished with him.
A whimper from the corner of the room caught his attention. A girl with her knees drawn to her chest rocked herself back and forth. Covered in blood it appeared as though she’d bathed in it. Her hair hung in dried bloody clumps. There was so much blood that it couldn’t have all been hers or else she would be dead by now at the sheer loss of it all.
He glanced at Darrius, whose white polo shirt was stainless. The bodyguards were also clean, so he couldn’t figure out what happened. It didn’t matter. He’d come for one thing. To settle business.
Darrius leaned back in his seat as he showed off large teeth almost as white as his shirt, probably recently capped. “If it isn’t the Irish Demon himself? Thought someone like you would be too busy rubbing elbows with all those rich snobs downtown than to visit this area again.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a cigar box. “Want one? They’re Cubans. The good stuff.”
The very fact that Darrius dared call him that old moniker to his face told Seamus that he had no idea how close to death he was. “I’m just going to get straight to the point. You’re going to stop trying to connect with my old associates. If you’re looking to get a bigger score, you do it without using my name.”