Page 4 of Bad Bishop

Eyeball it was, then.

Not a terrible loss. I’d seen enough of this world and hated it and everyone in it.

“Filippo was close to me as well.” Luca jammed his fists into his pockets. The blade of Achilles’s knife trekked north, sailing across my cheek and toward my left eye. “But you’ll be no use to me completely blind. I’ll take my favor some other time.”

“Your sainthood’s in the mail,” I drawled, never breaking Achilles’s stare.

“Right or left?” Achilles asked.

“Your pick.” I hitched a shoulder up. “But do it in the next five minutes. I have underground casinos to run.”

“Your next stop is the ER, shitbag.”

If I had a sense of humor, I’d laugh. Getting my eye plucked out without anesthesia wouldn’t even rank as the fiftieth worst thing that happened to me in my twenty-eight years on this planet.

“Losing an eye will have its perks.”

“Is that so?” Achilles took the bait.

“For one thing, I’ll no longer have a 20/20 vision of your Freddy Krueger face.”

Achilles’s nostrils flared, rage rolling off him like lava. “Occhio per occhio, dente per dente. Open wide, motherfucker.”

I didn’t flinch. Not when the edge of the knife poked the side of my eye, forcing its way into the socket. Not when it pried my eyeball from the depth of my skull. And not when I felt it sliding out of the hollow space. I remained still, muscles lax, posture languid, shoulders rolled back. The picture of calm and tranquil.

That was the thing about me.

I never flinched.

I. Never. Fucking. Flinch.

They called me Deathless for a reason. I enjoyed defying my own demise.

My eyeball was now sliding completely out of my body.

The room was lethally quiet, save for my labored breaths. Achilles held my eyeball between his fingers and cut the six muscles that connected it to my brain, then the sheath of optic nerve attaching it to my brain. He stepped back.

Hot, thick liquid decanted down my eye socket to my cheek. I licked it with an easy smile. Tremors ghosted my spine and arms, my body’s reaction to the shocking invasion, but I welcomed the discomfort, making it a part of me.

I was very good at enduring pain. Very good at distributing it, too. I was going to get Achilles in the next round. Touch something of his and destroy it so thoroughly he wouldn’t be able to recognize it for what it once was.

I had the patience, will, and time. The only thing I lacked was morals.

“Damn.” Enzo gave a low whistle. “Glass half full, Callaghan—you’re never gonna have a problem dressing up for Halloween.”

“He was too pretty for his own good, anyway,” Luca spat on the floor. “We did him a favor.”

“I believe this is yours.” Achilles tossed my eyeball into my lap, turning around and disposing of the knife in Enzo’s hand. I could only see shadows through my right eye, probably dueto the excessive adrenaline. Nothing a couple pints and a good blowie couldn’t fix.

“We done here?” My tone was cool, neutral.

“Make sure you get rid of the Rasputins’ bodies out of the city limits. No paper trail, Callaghan, andnofucking feds.” Achilles picked up his whiskey tumbler from a table midstride, his back to me. “Enzo, cauterize his veins so he doesn’t bleed all over Mama’s new carpets.”

Enzo patched up my eye and cut the zip ties on my wrists from behind.

“Hey, nothing personal, right, Callaghan?” He clapped my shoulder, winking. “We’re still on for that poker night next week?”

“Sure.” I curled my index and middle fingers into Igor’s eye sockets, as though his skull was a bowling ball, tucking it under my armpit. A spider crawled up from one of the sockets, hurrying up my arm, searching for an escape. “Nothing personal.”