Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
James fought back a shudder. He could shout that he wasn’t his old man until he was hoarse, but the proof was in his actions. He picked up a set of pliers. “These don’t look like much. Most houses on this street have a set or two.” He stepped up close to Joe, letting him get a look at the rusted metal. “My old man didn’t take good care of his tools, but he loved the shit out of them. Would you like to see what he taught me?”
Joe’s entire body went tense, his gaze glued to the pliers. “Look, man, you really need to talk to Ricky. I was just following orders.”
“His orders.” James turned the pliers, picking a piece of something he really didn’t want to think about off the tip and flicking it at the other man. “You should be following mine.”
“We didn’t think you were going to step up.” The words were barely more than a whisper. “Ricky talks a good game, and he gets shit done.”
Shit that didn’t do the Hallorans a single bit of good. But this man didn’t see that—and neither did the others who followed his little brother. All they saw were the actions. Not the consequences. He couldn’t say that aloud, though. The second he tried to reason with these men was the moment he lost them completely. They’d proven time and time again that they didn’t respect anything but brutal violence.
Love or fear. That’s the only way.
Love would never be enough. It didn’t matter what he did, or how well he took care of the people in their territory, or how much their legal businesses had increased in the last few months since he’d taken the reins. Nothing mattered but becoming a monster even the monsters feared. It was the only way to keep them in line.
Fine. He’d give Joe his goddamn fear. “Who runs the Hallorans, Joe?” Despite trying to muscle every single emotion down to where he could lock it away for what he needed to do next, he sounded so goddamn tired.
The man in the chair started to sweat. “You do, boss.”
Too little, too late. He moved closer, his feet feeling like they weighed a thousand pounds. “Me, Joe. Not my brother. You learned that lesson a little too late.” He forced the man’s fingers apart. “But you won’t forget it again.”
An hour later it was done.
James walked out of the room, his skin feeling too tight. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He stopped next to where Michael leaned against the wall, a toothpick in his mouth. “Get him cleaned up and home. He can figure out how to splint the fingers himself.” The words were foul in his mouth, and he had to resist the urge to spit.
“Sure thing, boss.” Michael pushed off and took two steps before he stopped. “You did the right thing.”
That’s what he was afraid of.
Once upon a time there’d been a right and a wrong and a clear line between them. Now everything was upside-down and backward. He lived in a reality where torturing a man was the right thing to do—the lesser of two evils—and he’d never hated himself as much as he did in that moment. But there was no getting off this runaway train—the doors had closed and they’d left the station. The only thing to do was ride it out to its conclusion and hope there were enough people left standing to make the whole thing worthwhile.
He wanted to talk to Carrigan. Just being around her was enough to hold all the shit he didn’t want to deal with at bay, but he couldn’t bring himself to call her with another man’s blood on his hands and his cries for mercy still ringing in James’s ears. No, he’d shower, go down to the weight room, and then shower again.
Maybe if he punished his body enough, he’d be able to bear the new stain on his soul.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cillian sat across from his father and oldest brother, waiting for the guillotine blade to fall. He damn well knew that they’d been waiting these last four months for him to pull himself out of his spiral and step into the slot they’d created for him. The family bookkeeper had been making noises about retiring for over a year now, and it was finally time for Cillian to go through the necessary training to bring him up to speed so he could take over.
Once upon a time, he hadn’t cared about the future. He’d known where his place would be, and he’d been content with that—as long as he got to experience as much as he possibly could before he was forced to take up the mantle of family responsibility. It was never something he railed against like his brother Teague, because he actually liked the work he’d be doing.