I nod to Boner. With grim determination, his jaw locked, Boner removes his gun.
“Fucking silence it,” I snap. Without his silencer, the gunshot could be heard for fucking miles. It’s a rookie mistake, and he’ll answer for that. His eyes snap to mine in wide-eyed surprise. He knows he fucked up.
Swallowing hard, he puts the silencer in place.
Tully stands to the left, prepared to mete out further punishment if I give the order. Boner sets his face to steel and cocks his pistol. Bile rises in my throat and my stomach clenches. I swallow hard, surprised by my reaction. I don’t feel remorse when I make a kill or witness one. Retribution is one of the most basic tenets of my brotherhood, an iron-clad law we don’t compromise on. Then why now?
“You made your choice,” Boner says to the man, as if to convince himself why he’s carrying out this sentence. He goes to pull the trigger and a hawk screeches outside. Boner misses, his shot wedging into the ceiling.
“Get out of the way,” I order Boner. You finish a kill with one bullet, or you fucked up. I’m out of patience. Without a backward glance, I reach for my gun, silencer in place, kneel before our hostage, and pull the trigger. My shot’s certain, my mark is clear. Blood blooms on the side of his temple, and he falls to the ground.
“Need to cleanse my palate,” Nolan says as we finish up cleaning the room and prepare to leave. I raise a brow at him.
“Oh?”
“Let’s go to the club,” Boner says.
I want to go home to Caitlin, but I need to reconnect with my men, and as Nolan says, cleanse my palate. I don’t want to go back to her with the memory of vacant eyes and pools of blood. Not now. Not yet.
Why does this bother me so? I’m the first to take the assignment of a hit, and I don’t waffle in the face of what needs to be done.
“This weekend, you’ll come with me to St. Albert’s,” I tell Boner. He hangs his head and a muscle twitches in his jaw, but he doesn’t say a word. He fucked up, and it’s my job to mete out punishment. In our line of work, punishment for fucking up a job could be anything from physical labor, to a beating, to menial labor. I’ve chosen something in between. The weekend is his time to party with his friends, and he spends every waking minute at the club. He’ll forfeit his weekend off to assist me at St. Albert’s.
The men around me sober. Though Boner’s like a brother to me, our ranking is clear as day. Stepping into the role of Clan Chief is a gradual process, one task to another, until my duties mirror my father’s, as his duties mirrored his father’s. When I rise to the role of Chief, we’ll stand side by side on equal footing until he defers full leadership to me. The men below me know better than to talk back. Though I consider these men my brothers, the uncompromising hierarchy of power holds us together. The structure of The Clan is unchanged since its founding in the 1960s, and anyone who can’t abide by our laws and principles isn’t welcome among us. We know this. We were taught this from the cradle, the rules reinforced at St. Albert’s.
“I’m sorry, Keenan,” Boner says. I nod. Apology accepted.
“Come with me to the club, brother?” Boner asks tentatively. He wants to make amends. He wants us on good footing again. I want to go back to Caitlin. I long to see her sweet, innocent eyes looking up at me, to hear her gentle voice, to run my hands through her midnight length of silky hair. I swallow hard, surprised at the strength of my desire for her. But what I want isn’t as important as bringing Boner back into the fold, for him to know he may’ve fucked up and I noticed, but he’s still my brother.
“Aye,” I tell him, earning a hoot from Tully and a fist pump from Nolan. My brother’s eyes light up like Christmas candles, and I can’t help but smile. I’m stern with him, I know, but I love the son of a bitch.
I look over the room. I called my men and ordered it cleaned thoroughly, the floor immaculate, the body disposed of. Tomorrow, word will get out unofficially about what happened tonight. Some will cross themselves and wish for deliverance, but most will nod their heads. We’ve sixty years of experience in Ballyhock, and those who know us know we’re fair, we’re just, but we’re exacting. You don’t borrow money from The Clan you can’t repay.
Still, I wonder what Caitlin would say. Why does it bother me that I fear her response? I shake my head, physically casting off the niggling fears I carry, when our ride arrives.