Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Where I would accept my fate and face it with dignity, he simply cannot. When I remove the cloth from between his teeth, a slurry of curse words flies from his mouth along with some spittle. It only makes it easier to slip the dental gag into position without a fight.
Once the task is complete I take a moment to sit back and admire my handiwork. Farrell taught me that I should always take pride in my work. I’m not often a proud man. I feel I do my job and I do it exceedingly well. But in this instance, I glimpse a small taste of the pride I was reared to believe I should feel.
“I usually do this bit after,” I explain to Donny as I retrieve the pliers from the tray beside me. “But I thought this might give us a few moments to chat. A warm up if you will.”
“Fuck you,” Donovan slurs around the metal.
I extend the pliers into his mouth and grip hold of a front tooth first. “This may hurt a wee bit.”
The tooth comes out with some wiggling and a fair amount of squealing on Donovan’s part.
“For a lad who likes to hurt women, ye sure do scream a bit,” I note.
His reply is muffled by the swelling and blood pooling in his mouth. My work continues without a pause, the tension leaving my body when his screams finally die down. That’s the adrenaline kicking in. But it won’t do him a fat lot of good for what I have in store.
The room is quiet save for the moaning of the pliers as I work, and I’ve had some time to piece my thoughts together.
“Does it interest ye to know, Donny, that before you or Blaine ever laid a hand on her, she was mine?”
He meets my gaze, and there’s humor behind his. He’s mocking me with his eyes. In all the time I’ve known the lad, I’ve only ever received mocking glances from him. It’s of little consequence to me. He won’t be laughing when I’m through with him.
“I saw her first that night,” I confess. “Before anybody else.”
He mumbles something indecipherable again, and I shake my head to silence him.
“A mouse in a field full of vultures.”
I wasn’t one of them. My lack of social skills and my position within the organization wouldn’t allow me such a conquest back then. Things are different now.
Only I’m not.
When all of Donny’s teeth have been collected, I stuff the cloth back into his mouth to soak up the blood. I clean up my own hands and set the dirty tools aside while I seek out my next one. I pause over the scalpel again, my usual companion. There’s something soothing and beautiful about a cleanly cut line. Donovan won’t be getting any such mercy from me.
Most men within the syndicate prefer the solid and steady weight of a revolver. A speedy way to do someone in while maintaining your distance. Killing is a messy business either way, but I prefer the knife. Ending a life is generally not something I do without consideration. Killing is personal, and so the act itself should also be.
My purpose in life has only ever been to kill. It was the sole reason for my existence as a wee lad. To learn how to kill. They taught me well. There is not anything else on this earth I can do so efficiently. Conversation, understanding others, making decisions. These are not things I am well versed in. But killing, I can do. Without question. Without hesitance. Without a shadow of doubt in my soul.
I was born to take life.
There is an endless amount of rage burning inside of me. I only ever have to tap into it, drawing off small amounts to complete each task I’m given. It is nothing more than a business transaction. A dot of the i or slash of the t. I don’t particularly feel much of anything when I dim a human light.
Few things can invoke strong emotions in me. I do not like emotion. I do not understand it. Attempts to understand it only result in frustration. For this reason, I stay away from anything that provokes emotions I don’t understand. But death, that is something that I understand.
I’ve been called a sociopath. A monster. But I don’t fancy myself one. I’m simply a man doing a job that needs to be done. If it wasn’t me doing it, someone else would be. The men that I kill, they’ve all had it coming. They knew what they were getting themselves into. They’ve either done Niall wrong or threatened the syndicate in some way. And threats have to be eliminated, just like vermin.
One of the few moral codes I still abide by. I will protect my brethren at all costs.