Page 80 of His to Keep
“We have ta burn the car out. Can’t have anyone finding our DNA. When they find ya, they’ll have ta identify ya by dental records.” His voice took a jeering tone but hinted truth.
“You’re such a looser,” grunted the shorter man who crossed his arms over his broad chest.
Carl sighed with the weight of his own retribution weighing on his chest. The shorter guy flicked out his leg, booting Carl on the shin. “Bet ya thought ya were Carl fuckin’ big balls?”
“No…I…just wanted to stick it to the McGraths,” Carl stuttered like a naughty school kid waiting for punishment.
“Well, you’re a dumb fuck and ya messed with the wrong crowd.” The taller man pulled out a gun from inside his jacket.
“Who are you?” Carl snivelled.
The third man who stood on the periphery, stepped closer. “I’m your worst fuckin’ nightmare, Carl.” He ripped off his mask and revealed his face.
Carl’s pale cheeks reddened to a shade of plum. “Marcus. You son of a bitch. Why aren’t you dead?”
Marcus chuckled with an unfriendly hum. “You know how much of a fucking waste of skin you are, Carl? You couldn’t even shoot to kill. The bullet perforated the skin just above my hip. It was a tiny wound that bled like a fucker. I’m only here to make sure everything goes to plan. This time your little secret society can’t help. You are miles away from home and no one will miss you, Carl.”
Drawing back, Marcus inhaled and tucked in his chin, then, he threw the crown of his head into Carl’s nose. The crack of bone misted Carl’s eyes and his ragged sob echoed in the stillness of the desolate barn. A trickle of blood ran into his gaping mouth.
The sliding metal door was wide open. Carl flicked his head towards the dark night sky, noting the tiny sparkles, far-off in another world. Each majestic little star would keep secrets hidden for eternity. Inside the barn, the smell of death permeated the steel walls and clung to the atmosphere with an unfriendly stench.
“Please, I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll stay away from you, and from Lana,” he protested.
Marcus pounced forward, wincing like the pain of his stitched wound burned. “Don’t even say her name. Don’t speak of her, don’t think about her, don’t even pretend she exists. When Lana goes to sleep, she dreams of me.” Marcus prodded Carl’s chest with his forefinger. “And when she screams, it’s my name she calls.” His nostrils flared, and his breathing became furious.
Spinning around, he bit out, “Ciaran. You’re up. Payback time.”
The shorter man reached around his back and pulled up his jacket. When his hands returned, Carl swallowed hard. He held a black gun with a silencer attachment at the end of the barrel.
Ciaran leant into Carl’s crimson face. “Ya can’t give me back my wife, can ya, Carl?”
Carl’s eyes bugged. The man squeezed his cheeks with a firm grip. “Look me in the face, ya gobshite!” he growled. “Look into the eyes of the man whose gonna snuff out your insignificant life. A life for a life, that’s the fuckin’ rules!”
“No, please, let’s talk about this,” Carl pleaded.
Ciaran Simpson held the gun at Carl’s face and hacked up saliva. The slimy spittle landed on Carl’s face, clinging to his eyebrow.
“Your time for talkin’ is over. The minute ya strangled my Jaqueline, was the exact minute I put a price on your greasy head.”
He drew back and pressed the tip of the gun to Carl’s lips. “Open up,” he sneered.
Carl clenched his jaw and shook his head frantically. The cold tip nudged his teeth and the sensation rattled in his skull.
“Ya strangled my wife, took Marcus’s woman and tried to murder him. Do ya accept the charges?” The tall man barked from the side like this was his sentencing and Ciaran was the jury.
Carl’s eyelids almost slipped behind his eyes. He mumbled inaudible words as he kept his mouth clamped shut. The cold steel traced the seam of his lips.
“Do ya accept the charges?” the tall man asked again with eerie restraint.
Carl nodded. His face was now ghostly pale. His bright red flustered cheeks drained as he realised there was no way out now.
The gun clattered along his teeth like the keys of a piano before the short man pulled it away. Ciaran stepped back.
In a short stride, the tall man aimed the gun directly between Carl’s legs and squeezed the trigger. A hair-raising scream preceded the deafening bang.
Crimson blood oozed from Carl’s groin, pooling beneath the chair. Between erratic pants he whimpered and begged.
“Shut da fucker up, Mal.” Ciaran nodded to the gunman.
