The bastard grinned from ear to ear. “Only if he gets to watch.”
I kicked. I tried to pound my head against either of the guys holding me and then the one behind me, but nothing I did gave me the leverage to break free of all three of them.
“Hey, Logan. Too bad your parents didn’t neuter you when they had the chance.”
Up until this night, I had never wanted to respond to anything or anyone in such a violent manner. I never wanted to be like my grandfather. But as Tommy bent Kayla over the kitchen table, something snapped and I knew I’d never be the same.
I watched, helpless, as she struggled and he manhandled her. He tied her hands behind her back and then he spread her legs with his boots. When he took off his belt and secured one of her legs to the table, I thought I was going to be sick.
She hadn’t done anything.
She didn’t deserve this.
The other guy unbuttoned his pants and then grabbed her by the hair.
Tommy whirled around with a smile on his face and the knife in his hand. He bobbed his chin to the guy behind me. “Pull his pants down. I’ve been thinking and I don’t think it’s too late to neuter this dog.”
This was my chance. As soon as he let go of the chokehold he had on me, I was going to annihilate every single one of these fuckers.
“On second thought, let me.” Tommy grinned.
I thrashed, but the three guys tightened their grip.
“You got him?” Tommy asked.
I saw one nod.
Tommy took the knife and dragged it up the inside of my thigh, stabbing right through the fabric of my jeans. Blood seeped into the denim as he worked his way up my thigh.
Kayla was screaming loudly now. Her gag must have fallen loose. I couldn’t see her. Couldn’t see what that asshole was doing to her, but I could hear it.
Pain tinged the fringes of my existence and my senses started to dull. But I made myself stand straight. I was not a pussy. I was going to get out of this and regardless of what I’d thought, I was going to kill Tommy Flannigan.
Before he made it all the way up my leg with the blade, the kitchen door flung open. Frank Reilly, my grandfather’s next-door neighbor and also Molly’s pub owner, was standing there with a shotgun in his hand.
Thank fuck. Thank fuck. Thank fuck.
“That’s enough, boys. It’s time for you to leave.” He pointed his rifle between Tommy and the guy who was bent over Kayla.
Blood was dripping onto the floor. From my face, from my leg, and from Kayla’s stomach. The guy who had his dick out of his pants turned around, and red footprints from Kayla’s blood were left behind.
Tommy looked at my gramps’s neighbor. “Get out of here, Frank. It’s not your business.”
Frank was a tough guy. Big. No-nonsense. He didn’t take shit from anyone.
He looked at Tommy and shrugged. “Just thought you should know, I called your old man. He’s on his way to get you. I also called Killian. He’s on his way to kill you. So you have a couple of options to choose from. No skin off my back whichever you decide.”
With that he turned and walked out.
Tommy bobbed his chin for the door. “Leave him and his whore girlfriend. Let’s get out of here—Declan’s in the car waiting.”
They let go of me and I lunged for Tommy.
He held up the knife. “Touch me and you’re dead.”
“Fuck you,” I spat once I’d pulled the towel from my mouth.
He smile was evil. “I’d watch my back if I were you, because the next time I see you around my town with another skank disgracing my sister’s name, it won’t end up as pretty as this did.”
My fists clenched at my sides and I started for him.
He held up the knife and pointed it toward Kayla. “I’m not fucking around with you.” He limped backwards out the door, slamming it as soon as he crossed the threshold.
I wanted to go after him, but Kayla was still bound and hysterical. I untied her and immediately pulled my bloody shirt off to slide it over her trembling body. I didn’t want to leave her and I didn’t want to move her.
She flung her arms around me and clung to me as we both spilled the blood that Tommy had shed.
Her cuts were superficial, but the emotional damage was anything but.
To her and me.
The day that Emily died will always remain a permanent point of reference for me. My life ever since has been “after” . . . but the run-in with Tommy was a day I’ll never forget, and it, too, became an “after.” Both marked an alternate path my life would take. Both had an impact on me. Yet that day with Tommy made me a different person.
We hadn’t called the police. Things weren’t handled that way and besides, Patrick had the Dorchester cops in his pocket. Rather, he and my grandfather roughed it out. The problem was, Patrick was already unofficially running things, so the punishment didn’t match the crime. My gramps had one foot out the door and didn’t have much of a choice but to agree to the terms. Patrick had sanctioned what Tommy had done as due retribution. As if he wouldn’t. My gramps allowed the incident to pass, but ordered no further engagement with me by either Patrick or Tommy, on any level. I also was forbidden from going anywhere near Tommy and he was forbidden from coming anywhere near me. Neither of us violated the order. We both knew better. I hadn’t been in the same room with him or Patrick since that night.
But that was about to change.
The thought of him had me seeing red. I pounded my fist so hard against the bathroom mirror that it cracked down the middle. Blood seeped between my fingers. I didn’t give a shit.
Tommy was going to be trouble with his second-in-command status. Sure, he was older now, but he was still a cokehead. What made it worse was that he was a cokehead with power. With troops. With eyes everywhere. And to boot, he was more ruthless than those before him had been. Women were his favorite targets. He was a motherfucker, a ticking time bomb, and a cold-hearted killer.
The truth was, now that my gramps had left the ranks, there was no way Tommy was going to stick to the treaty made years ago.
It was just a matter of time.
This situation might speed it up, but either way, he would be coming for me.
I’d be ready this time.
I looked at my scar one last time.
His time would come, but until then . . . he couldn’t see me with Elle.
Ever.
ELLE
“McPherson?” she gasped.
I nodded around a sip from my water bottle.
“You’re certain his last name is McPherson?” she asked again, spearing the credit card receipt that the last customer had just signed.
“Yes, Peyton,” I said exasperatedly and set my bottle down.
Cracking open a roll of quarters, she kept going. “As in Killian McPherson?”
I brought my voice down. “I’m not sure. Who is he that the name has you fifty shades of crazy?”