Children of Vice (Children of Vice 1)

“Mr. Downey…I’m not very fond of people who waste my time. So I do hope you have more to say to me now than you did ten minutes ago,” I said as he shook on the ground, his skin color slowly matching that of a smurf.

“I’ve always wanted to know, if you cut off a man’s hand when he’s going into hypothermia, will he bleed less? My brother is a doctor. You’d think I could ask him these things, but he’d get all pissy and accuse me of wanting to know for all the wrong reasons. Grey, please end my curiosity.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, holding on to a butcher knife.

“A butcher knife, Grey? Feeling nostalgic?” I asked him.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, pulling out Downey’s arm. “You know I never continued the family business, but put a knife in my hand and a butcher’s son is still a butcher’s son.”

“I’m sure your parents are proud. Go on—”

“No! Please! No! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you,” Downey found the voice to beg.

“Well, get on with it then!” Grey hollered, the knife moving to the man’s throat.

“My name is Eamon Downey. I was sent by the Finnegan brothers.”

Pushing off the wall, I walked up to him. Kneeling in front of him, Grey released him and stepped back, leaving the butcher knife on the ground.

“I knew all of that already, Mr. Downey. I do not give a fuck about you or your name. My question was: what are they planning? Why did they send you?”

“Because…because…they wanted me to tell you, to lie and name some families that were turning on you.”

“When it’s really the Finnegan brothers who have betrayed me.” Did they really believe I’d allow them to determine who were my enemies and allies? Did I look like a dog?

“And—”

“And?”

Silence.

I grabbed the knife and brought it down onto his wrist. He screamed, trembling as he gripped onto his wrist in agony. “I’m glad you found your voice again, Mr. Downey. I’ll give you a second to compose yourself.”

“…s…sis…” He panted, weeping as the blood continued to flow from his wrist.

“Your second is up, now finish your speaking before I start to get violent…and believe me, you don’t want to see me violent.”

“They…he…they…”

“Mr. Downey.”

“Alliance.” He used all his strength to say.

“An alliance of what?” I asked calmly, spinning the knife in my hand.

“Your…your…sis—”

“Sister? They want my sister?”

“It’s all—that’s all I know,” he spoke quickly, his adrenaline pumping. Grabbing onto my arm with his good hand, he held on like a man on the edge. “I swear. I swear. Spare me! Please! Please!”

Reaching down, I peeled his bloody fingers off of me. “God forgives. The Pope forgives. I am neither God nor the Pope.”

“You can use me…I’ll do anything you ask! I’ll be a spy for you.”

“A spy that flips sides is not a spy, he’s a traitor. I have no use for traitors,” I told him, taking the butcher knife and hammering it down between his head and shoulders. His blood splattered onto my suit.

Rising to my feet, I held my arm out. “Where is Dona?” I asked.