"Are you done?" E-Z asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I look around at my handy work. My job was to make it look like there had been a scuffle and that Bones had killed Orla and then got in a shootout and fight with the nephews. I even planted a few love letters from Orla. Ryan had found them in her things talking about double-crossing her husband and how she can’t wait to spend her life with the man she really loves. Conveniently, she had written them, but not given them to Donovan yet. It’s a bonus that she didn’t mention his name either. That makes it much easier to lay it all at Bones’s feet. It will look like she was sleeping with Bones. All of which, by the way, is laughable. Orla was the most cold-hearted woman I’d ever met. I don’t for a minute think she has ever loved anyone but herself.
"Yeah, when are your men coming?" I ask. I watch him look up at the pricey clock on the wall.
"They should be here any minute."
"And you trust them?" I ask, knowing I've already asked that question at least a hundred times since he got them involved.
"Killian, relax. I’ve told you before, there’s only one man I trust more than them, and that's you," he mutters with a shrug. A knock on the door has us both freezing in place, my hand instantly going to my gun. After the initial knock, there’s a beat of silence and then two more knocks. After a few seconds of silence there’s two more knocks before ending with more silence and four more knocks. That’s the signal E-Z had given them, and we nod at one another when we hear it. He walks over to the door, one hand on his gun. I keep mine ready to draw, too. You can never be too cautious. Life has more than taught me that. Too bad I didn’t listen when planning the heist. When E-Z opens the door, there are two heavily tattooed men standing there. I don’t intimidate easily, but I can admit I’d hate to be on the bad side of either of these men.
They're holding up a large, rolled-up rug while the other is carrying a black satchel over his shoulder too.
"Did anyone see you?" E-Z asks, closing the door behind them.
I watch them carefully. I know I’m probably driving E-Z insane, but I can’t help it. Everything relies on the Bratva believing all this. One witness to the contrary, and we will have a full-blown war on our hands.
"You're not dealing with amateurs like this ass-clown," one of them grunts out as they drop the rug to the floor with a heavy thud.
E-Z walks over, clapping hands and pounding backs in hello. I can tell these men aren't just anyone. E-Z, even with his nickname, doesn't bring just anyone into his circle of trust.
They start to unroll the rug, and I'm surprised to see that Bones is breathing. His body is clearly laboring to inhale, but he’s alive just the same. I would've thought they already killed him. I'm relieved to see otherwise, so that will give us time to get what we need out of him. They set him up in a chair, taping him to it. He's unconscious, which is not surprising by the look of his face. He's got a swollen mouth, bleeding out of the corner, and one eye is swollen shut. Dark bruises make a jumbled mess of his face. I selfishly wish I could have inflicted them myself.
I motion to E-Z to wake him up with that concoction he carries in his pocket. It’s kind of like smelling salts but definitely more powerful. As if to prove my point, Bones rouses almost instantly. His good eye darts around the room pausing as he takes in the dead bodies. He pulls against his bindings. I can see on his face that he knows death has come calling. It’s almost enough to make me smile. E-Z begins filming with his phone.
I take great care not to step into the sight of the camera. I don’t want anything out there that might come back and bite me in the ass later. E-Z will use it and manipulate my voice later. I start by punching Bones in the mouth. I probably shouldn’t have, but I needed to. The man moans in pain as his head lolls to the side. It would have been more satisfying if he had any fight left in him, but I’ll take what I can get.
"Wake up, asshole. I want you to look me in the eyes when I end your life," I rumble.
"Fuck off," Bones growls out, straining against the ropes on his hands and ankles.
"Did you really think you could get away with working with Orla and her nephews to fuck over the O'Leary family?" I ask. I’m leading the conversation, but just thinking about their treachery brings my anger to the forefront so quickly that it’s like a bitter taste in my mouth. This fucker had me put away while he was out living the high life. What I’m going to do to him will be like a vacation compared to how I thought about killing him each night in my jail cell. Bones only grunts in response to my questions—which annoys me to no end. I need more from him. I need it on video. "You had to know you'd be hunted down for betraying us. Did you think because you were doing what Orla wanted it would protect you? We’re the O’Leary’s, motherfucker. Retribution rains down on you like a hurricane when you double-cross us."