I wondered whether I should track down my favourite nephew or stuff my face first…
I decided to grab a couple of bagels from Martha in the kitchen and eat them on the go, uncertain where Kyan was at anyway and figuring I’d do a quick restock of a few of the things I’d lost when my dear Jeep had gone boom on that bridge.
I headed through the stupidly big house, chewing my buttery bagels thoughtfully as I tried to think of the tools I was in need of and saying a silent farewell to those I’d lost. Gerald had been a good knife. And poor Evangeline had only just been starting out – she’d been broken in by that savage, el burro, and now she lay shattered at the bottom of the river somewhere after he’d ridden her hard and discarded her easily.
My mind shifted to Brooklyn as I thought those words and a growl formed in my chest. A real growl. Like a dog or a bear or a beast from some fancy story about Dragons and lost princesses who fought for a throne made for one and coveted by all while falling in love and saving the world only to find themselves doomed in the end. One of those. I woulda done well in a fancy story. Instead, I was locked in an endless nightmare and that girl had become the treasure I was never destined to claim.
But I’d be damned if that fucking ex cartel prick would claim her either.
With my mood souring more with every step, I pushed out of the back door and started across the yard to the little maintenance shed I called the ‘Bloodshed’. I’d taken it for my own when I was a teenager. I’d tortured my first few victims in there, my pa watching on with hungry, proud eyes as I cut them apart and I had to admit that it was one of the few places in this monstrosity of a mansion which I had truly fond memories of from my childhood.
I’d found my calling between those four walls. Found peace for the voices in my skull within the sanctity of carnage. When the teacher from my school had first suggested to my pa that there was something wrong with me and that my violent streak needed addressing, I doubted she’d ever expected him to nurture it. But he had. It was one of the few things he’d encouraged in me which I could ever be truly grateful for.
He’d elevated me from beating the shit out of pricks at my school to cutting up men who deserved the very worst of me and letting my demons feast to their hearts’ content.
I strolled down the path to my den, pursing my lips in anticipation of a whistle before pausing as a throaty female moan coloured the air in what was undoubtably an expression of deepest sin-filled pleasure. The moans got louder and I realised I recognised the girl’s voice as my nephew’s wife, who had very clearly had an orgasm which blew her damn mind.
I chuckled to myself, pausing a moment as I waited for them to finish up, then falling endlessly still as the sound of two male groans answered her cries. Male groans I did not recognise.
Ice trickled through my veins in a deadly kind of way which set the hairs along the back of my neck rising to attention, my muscles prickling and coiling in anticipation of the kill yet again. And there was me thinking I was going to have a nice quiet visit home. Well, not nice. I hated this fucking place and every bastard in it, so there was no chance of that. But quiet.
I slipped towards the den on silent feet, the little stone structure making it all too easy with its drawn blinds and closed door. I doubted anyone inside that place had a clue that their death was stalking closer, but it was.
I loved precisely one member of my family, and that was Kyan. So if I found someone else fucking his woman, you could believe that I was going to be offering him their heads on spikes before tossing her at his feet and letting him decide if I was to sever hers too.
The door wasn’t even locked and I swung it open, my gaze taking in the sight of two of Kyan’s best friends, the men he’d referred to as brothers on more than one occasion, sandwiching his woman between them.
Lucky for them, they were still mostly dressed. Tatum was wearing a man’s shirt which fell down to her bare thighs, while the la-dee-da one, Saint, kissed her and pushed her back against the football player, who I was pretty sure was called Snake or Jake or something equally forgettable.
The space was fairly big, one side of it dedicated to my work, a bench there alongside a whole array of tools which I supposed could be mistaken for a plain old work shed considering how meticulously all of the blood had been removed from the place. On the other side of the space was a couch, TV, mini fridge, all things I’d added to the place in my youth so that I could avoid the house as often as possible.
I didn’t waste time on announcing myself, seeing more than clearly with my own eyes the state of infidelity my nephew’s woman was in and having no further need for bullshit excuses or lies to reach my ears.
I darted forward, snatching a crowbar by the name of Herbert from the workbench beside me, then grabbed the back of Saint’s shirt and ripped him away from Tatum and threw him to the floor. I whipped around with a snarl of anger, swinging the crowbar to finish the conniving bastard off.
“Stop!” Tatum screamed in fear for her sidepiece, jumping into my way, but I knocked her aside like an irksome fly, swinging for Saint with a blow that would shatter bone.
The fucker rolled aside, kicking my shin hard enough to make me stumble back a step, a stream of cursing breaking out inside my head alongside the blare of a whole lotta aggressive rap music. It was a pretty nice place to be actually, aside from the cuckolding little fuckers who were evading my kill strikes. Then again, I always had preferred a proper fight.
The footballing lad grabbed my nephew’s girl, pushing her behind him and trying to shield her half-dressed body as the t-shirt she was wearing fell down to cover her bare arse, and she gave me those wide eyes people always got when they’d gone and let themselves forget what kind of creature I really was.
“Ya think you can come into my family’s home and fuck my nephew’s bride, then live to tell the tale, do ya?” I roared as I swung the crowbar at Saint again, focusing my efforts on him first and planning on ending the other one after.
But before I could give Herbert the blood he was craving, the footballing fella leapt onto my back, locking me in a chokehold as he fought to drag me away from his little partner in crime.
“Call Kyan!” Saint barked, throwing his phone to the girl as he got to his feet once more, clearly thinking my nephew might be more lenient than me in this matter. But that was where he was wrong. Kyan mighta been working to distance himself from our family, but O’Brien blood ran in his veins, hot and thick, and he was a beast just as bloodthirsty as the rest of us.
I swung around as I fought to dislodge the big, burly limpet on my back, my muscles straining to support his weight as he hung from my neck and cut off my oxygen. I always had enjoyed a bit of choking though. There was something about brushing that close to death which always made my heart flutter like a ladybird having the time of his life in a tornado.
Saint grabbed a plank of wood from a stack by the workbench and I grinned as the game suddenly took a turn that was a whole lot more interesting.
I threw myself backwards onto the floor, crushing the big fella beneath me and hearing a nice, meaty crunch as his head hit the hard floor, forcing him to let go of me then rolling over, tossing Herbert aside and wrapping my hands around the fucker’s throat instead, squeezing until the tattoos coating my fingers bleached.