Page 43 of Killian

“They have. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Tell me, what do you have planned today?”

“I think I’ll go out for a bit. Then focus back on our task,” she muses, almost to herself.

Fuck, I miss her already.

“Dinner, tonight. Seven o’clock.” I don’t even ask. It’s a demand, and she knows it.

Still, she teases, “As long as you’re cooking.”

“Don’t I always? I hate to cut this short, but apparently someone doesn’t know how to follow directions,” I say as the man screams out, making Conor laugh maniacally.

“Hope it was a worthy offense. I’ll see you later.” She hangs up.

Slipping my phone into my pocket, I stare at the clock on the wall.

“O’Malley, do you know what time it is?”

“Nine a.m.,” he gasps.

“Do you know what that means?” I say as I pick up a pair of surgical gloves, slipping them on. I grab a knife from the table. “It means your precious wife is gone. Her family was taking her off life support this morning. Do you know what that means?”

He shakes his head, fear filling his eyes.

“It means playtime is over and it’s time for you to pay for your sins.”

“Wait, I might know something that you could use,” he pleads.

“And what’s that?” I deadpan.

“You’ve been having problems, right?” he asks as he pants. “I’ve heard it’s some chick behind it all.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, they said you let her in. We both know bitches aren’t loyal.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, O’Malley. My girl? She’s as loyal as it gets.” I nod toward Conor, telling him it’s time.

Conor pries his mouth open. The man tries to jerk out of his hold but fails.

“Sit still,” I demand. I grab ahold of the man’s tongue and cut it out without fanfare. His eyes widen as the stench of piss fills the air.

“Fucking pig,” I say in disgust. “Time for a field trip.”

Conor and I remove him from the hook. Conor holds the man up while I retie his hands behind his back. We march him toward the set of stairs at the far end of the warehouse.

“You pushed her down a flight of stairs, didn’t you?” I ask as the man tries to crumple to the ground. Conor and I hold him upright. “I’ll see you in hell, O’Malley,” I say before throwing him down the steps. We watch as he tumbles down, landing with his neck at an odd angle.

“Is it wrong that I kind of wish he would have lived through that and I could have snapped his neck?” Conor says wistfully.

“Next time.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he says as we walk down the steps. “You know he made up that story about a chick to get under your skin, right?”

“I do.” I nod. “He only said something because he heard me on the phone. You got this?” I nod toward the heap of pitiful human.

“Cleanup crew should be here anytime. I’ll meet you at the pub,” he says as I make my way to the door.

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