Page 27

TWENTY-SEVEN

BOZO

“Now,” I begin, my fists clenched as I get down on my haunches and come level with Mike. He’s tied to a chair, and we’re back at Jer’s abandoned hotel once again. “Where is your dad?”

Mike shakes his head, his eyes barely open from the beating he took from me.

"I told you," Mike slurs, blood dripping from his split lip, "I don't know where he is. My father doesn't share that kind of information with me."

I grab his chin, forcing him to look at me. "You expect me to believe that? After what you did to Gráinne?"

Mike's eyes flicker with something—fear, maybe guilt. "That wasn't... it wasn't supposed to go down like that. I was just supposed to watch her, report back. Things got out of hand."

"Out of hand?" I snarl, my grip tightening. "You kidnapped her, you piece of shit!"

Jer places a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back slightly. "Easy," he murmurs. "We need him talking, not unconscious."

I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my rage. Jer's right, but every time I look at Mike, all I can see is Gráinne bound and terrified in that warehouse.

"Alright," Pyro says, stepping forward. "Let's try this again. Your father, the Puppetmaster, what's his endgame? What's he after?"

Mike shakes his head again, but there's hesitation in his eyes now. "I... I don't know. He keeps me in the dark about most of it."

"But you do know something," Denis presses, calling out his bullshit. "Talk."

Mike swallows hard, glancing between us. "He... he's been working on something big. Something that'll change everything in Ireland's underworld."

"What is it?" I demand.

"I don't know the details," Mike says quickly. "But I've heard him talking about a shipment. Something coming in from Eastern Europe. Weapons, maybe drugs. Whatever it is, it's valuable enough that he's willing to risk everything for it."

Jer and Denis exchange a look. "When?" Jer asks.

"Tonight," Mike says. "I think. That's why he wanted me to keep tabs on Gráinne. He knew you'd be distracted if she was in danger."

The revelation hits me like a punch to the gut. We've been played, manipulated from the start. And Gráinne got caught in the middle of it all.

"Where's the shipment coming in?" Pyro asks.

Mike shakes his head. "I don't know. I swear. My father doesn't trust me with that kind of information."

I clench my fists, frustration boiling over. We're still no closer to finding the Puppetmaster or stopping whatever he has planned.

"It’s time to cut the fucking bullshit, Mike. We know that you’re up there with your father. It’s why you took Grá," Denis asks. "Now, where’s the shipment coming in?"

Mike hesitates, fear flickering across his face. "I... I can't. If he finds out I talked..."

"You should be more worried about what we'll do if you don't," I growl. “You hurt the woman I love. You think I’ll take it easy on you if you don’t fucking speak?”

Little does he know that I’m going to kill him no matter what. He went after the wrong person.

Mike's eyes dart around us. His body trembling. “The docks,” he breathes. “They’re coming into the docks tonight at eight.”

I glance at my cell and see that’s less than two hours from now. We don’t have much time.

"The docks," I repeat, my mind already racing with plans. "Which part?"

Mike hesitates again, but a sharp look from Denis makes him continue. "There's an old warehouse there, hasn't been used in years. That's where the exchange is happening."

Jer's already on his phone, barking orders to gather our men. Denis moves to secure Mike, ensuring he can't escape.

I turn to Pyro. "What do you think? Could be a trap?"

Py nods, his expression grim. "Could be. But we can't afford to ignore this. If the Puppetmaster is bringing in something big enough to change the game, we need to stop it. If it’s that big, it’ll take out the Gallaghers and Jer. That’s not happening.”

"Agreed," I say, checking my weapon. "But Gráinne stays here, under guard. I'm not risking her again."

"Of course," Jer says, rejoining us. "I've got our best men on it. She'll be safe."

I nod, grateful. "Alright, let's move. We've got less than two hours to get set up."

As we head out, I can't shake the feeling that we're walking into something bigger than we realize. The Puppetmaster has been one step ahead of us this whole time. We can't afford any mistakes now.

The ride to the docks is tense, the weight of what's coming hanging heavy in the air. As we approach Pier 14, I see the old warehouse Mike mentioned. It's a hulking, rusted structure, perfect for clandestine meetings.

We park our vehicles at a safe distance away and proceed on foot, using the cover of darkness and the maze of shipping containers to our advantage. Our men are already in position, creating a perimeter around the area.

"Remember," Jer whispers as we near the warehouse, "we need to identify the shipment before we move in. We can't risk losing it in the chaos."

I nod, my grip tightening on my gun. The anticipation is killing me, every nerve in my body on high alert.

Suddenly, we hear the rumble of engines. Two large trucks are approaching the warehouse, followed by a sleek black car.

"That'll be the Puppetmaster," Denis murmurs.

We watch as the vehicles come to a stop. Men begin to pour out, armed and alert. And then, from the black car, a figure emerges.

Even from this distance, there's something commanding about him. This must be Damien Hammond, the Puppetmaster himself.

"Hold positions," Pyro orders over the comm. He’s leading this; everyone else is too fucking emotionally invested. "Wait for my signal."

We watch as the men begin unloading crates from the trucks. Whatever's in there, it's heavy. They struggle with each box.

And then, unexpectedly, Damien Hammond turns and looks directly at our hiding spot. A chill runs down my spine. Somehow, he knows we're here.

"We've been made," I say on a rumble. How the fuck did that cunt know we’re here?

"Shit!" Jer hisses. "How the hell did he spot us?"

Before anyone can respond, gunfire erupts. Bullets ping off the metal containers around us, forcing us to duck for cover.

"So much for the element of surprise," Pyro growls. "Everyone move! Do not let those trucks leave! We want Hammond contained."

We spring into action, returning fire as we advance on the warehouse. The night air fills with the deafening sound of gunshots and cries of pain as the bullets hit intended targets.

I see Damien Hammond retreating toward his car, surrounded by a protective circle of men. Rage surges through me. This is the bastard behind it all, the one who put Gráinne in danger.

"He’s leaving!" I shout to Jer, already sprinting toward Hammond's position.

Bullets whiz past me as I weave between the shipping containers. I can hear Jer cursing behind me, followed by heavy footsteps.

My focus narrows to a single point: Damien Hammond.

As I round the corner of a container, I come face to face with one of Hammond's men. Without hesitation, I fire, dropping him before he can raise his weapon.

Hammond is almost at his car now. I put on a burst of speed, desperation fueling my movements. He’s not getting away. Fuck no. I won’t let him.

"Hammond!" I roar.

He turns, his eyes meeting mine. For a moment, time seems to slow. I see the cold calculation in his gaze, the slight smirk on his face. This is a man used to being in control, to always being one step ahead.

But not this time.

I raise my gun, ready to end this once and for all. But before I can pull the trigger, something heavy slams into me from the side. I go down hard, my weapon skittering away across the concrete.

As I struggle to my feet, I see one of Hammond's men advancing on me, his fist already swinging. I dodge the blow, countering with a vicious uppercut that sends him staggering back.

I hear the sound of a gunshot fill the air and it’s followed by Jer’s maniacal laughter. “Did you really think you could escape, Hammond?”

I breathe a sigh of relief. He has him cornered. I know that Jer’s men will be at his side, making sure Jer’s secured and that cunt doesn’t escape.

Hammond’s man advances on me again, but this time I’m ready for him. I slide my hand into the back of my jeans, my fingers closing around the other gun I have. Within seconds, I fire off a shot and the fucker crashes to the ground, a bullet hole in his chest.

I don't waste another second, sprinting toward where I last saw Hammond and Jer. As I round the corner, I see Jer has Hammond on his knees, gun pressed to the back of his head. Hammond's men lie motionless on the ground nearby.

It’s over. Everyone is gathered around the cunt, watching him. He’s not as cocky as he was mere moments ago.

"It's over, Damien," Jer growls. "Your little empire ends here."

Hammond chuckles, a sound that sends chills down my spine. Even now, facing death, he seems unnervingly calm. "You think this is the end? You have no idea what I have created."

I approach cautiously, my gun trained on Hammond. "Really? The Revenant is done, finished. There’s no one of importance left. Dragomir, gone. Antoine, gone. étienne, gone. Marcel, gone. Not to mention, your son. Mike.” His eyes flash with anger and pain. Good. “You shouldn’t have gone after Gráinne.”

Hammond's eyes flick to me, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Ah, the protective boyfriend. How touching. Tell me, how is dear Gráinne? I hope Mike didn't rough her up too badly."

Rage surges through me. Before I know it, I'm in front of Hammond, my fist connecting with his jaw. He sprawls backwards, blood spurting from his split lip.

"Enough," Jer says sharply, pulling me back. "We need him talking, not unconscious."

Hammond spits blood, his eyes gleaming with malice. "You want to know what's in those crates? Power. The kind of power that will reshape this country. Weapons, yes, but more than that. Technology. Information. Everything needed to control not just the underworld, but the government itself."

"You're insane," I growl.

"Am I?" Hammond laughs. "Look around you. The world is changing. Those who control the flow of information control everything. And I was so close?—"

Suddenly, the night is split by the wail of sirens. Police. Somehow, they've found us.

"Fuck," Jer curses. "We need to move. Now."

I look at Hammond, still kneeling before us. We can't let him go, not after everything he's done.

Jer nods to his men. "Throw him into the back of the van. It’s time to get the hell out of here."

"This isn't over," Hammond hisses as Jer shoves him toward one of our waiting vehicles.

"You're right," I growl, leaning in close. "It's not. Because I'm coming for you. For what you did to Gráinne. For all of it."

Fear flickers in Hammond's eyes for the first time. Good. He should be afraid.

The sound of sirens grows closer as I climb onto my bike. I finally feel relieved. This is it. This is the end. Fuck.

Everyone is gathered at the abandoned hotel. It’s hours later and we’ve been waiting on Denis to arrive.

“I had Melissa and some of my men go through the crates,” he tells us as he enters the room. “Those fuckers had some intel that was stolen from NASA, not to mention every fucking name of a crooked cop, federal agent, judge, and politician in the world. Someone has been doing their homework.”

I let out a low whistle. "Jesus Christ. No wonder Hammond thought he could control everything."

"That kind of information..." Jer shakes his head, looking stunned. "It's beyond valuable. It's fucking dangerous."

Pyro leans forward, his expression grim. "What are we going to do with it? We can't just sit on this kind of intel."

"We can’t use it," Denis suggests, his eyes glinting with rage. "Think about it. With this information, we could have everyone in our pocket. Politicians, judges, cops... We'd have every fucking corrupt asshole after us, not to mention every criminal wanting that information."

"So we destroy it," Pyro says firmly. "We don’t need it.”

Jer looks at him, seemingly impressed. "I agree. It would be too fucking much heat on us."

"By destroying it, we're making sure no one else can use it either," Denis says. “No one else gets it.”

Jer nods. "Alright. We destroy it. All of it. But first, we have to deal with Hammond and his fucking son. They crossed a line coming after my family."

I grin, a vicious satisfaction coursing through me. "I like the way you think."

"So, who gets the honor of killing him?" Pyro asks.

I feel my fists clench involuntarily. "Me."

Jer nods, understanding in his eyes. "I get my shot first, then he’s all yours."

I nod, a grim smile on my face. "Fair enough."

We make our way down to the basement where Hammond is being held. The air grows thicker, heavier with each step. This is it—the moment we've been working toward for months.

As we enter the room, I see Hammond tied to a chair, bruised and bloodied but still defiant. His son, Mike, is in a similar state nearby, fear evident in his eyes.

Jer approaches Hammond slowly, his presence filling the room. "You know, Damien," he says conversationally, "I've been in this game a long time. Seen all kinds of men come and go. But you? You're something else."

Hammond spits blood, glaring up at Jer. "Is this the part where you try to break me? Save your breath."

Jer chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. "Break you? No, Damien. I'm going to destroy you."

Without warning, Jer's fist connects with Hammond's face, the crack of bone echoing in the small room. Hammond's head snaps back, a groan escaping his lips.

"That's for coming after my family," Jer growls.

He continues his assault, each blow punctuated by a reason. For the lives ruined, for the chaos caused, for thinking he could play God with people's lives.

By the time Jer steps back, Hammond is barely conscious, his face a mess of blood and bruises. Mike is sobbing quietly in the corner, unable to look away.

Jer turns to me, wiping blood from his knuckles. "He's all yours now."

I step forward, my heart pounding. This is the man responsible for Gráinne's suffering, for the fear and pain she endured. I want him to suffer, to feel even a fraction of what she felt.

"You know," I say, my voice low and dangerous, "I've been thinking about this moment for a long time. Imagining all the ways I could make you pay for what you did."

Hammond's eyes flutter open, focusing on me with difficulty. "Do... your worst," he manages to slur.

I lean in close, my voice barely above a whisper. "My worst? No, Damien. I'm going to do to you exactly what you did to Gráinne. I'm going to make you feel helpless, terrified, unsure if you'll live to see another day."

I straighten up, looking at Jer. "We're going to need some supplies."

Jer smiles, and within minutes, there’s an assortment of knives at my disposal. I pick up the sharpest and begin to stab shallow holes over Hammond’s body. Not enough to kill him, but enough to hurt like a motherfucker.

Hours pass, and the fucker’s almost dead. He’s been slowly bleeding out as I’ve stabbed him. “You shouldn’t have touched her,” I growl as I slide the knife into his stomach. “You should never have gone after her.”

When it's finally over, I turn to Mike, who flinches away from my gaze. "Your turn," I say, my voice flat and emotionless.

Mike's eyes widen in terror. "Please," he whimpers. "I didn't... I never wanted?—"

"Shut up," I snap, cutting him off. "You had your chance to make this right. You could have helped Gráinne. You could have told us the truth from the start. But you didn't."

I step closer, looming over him. "You kidnapped her. Terrorized her. And for what? To impress Daddy?"

Mike shakes his head frantically, tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please, I'll do anything..."

"Anything?" I echo, a cruel smile twisting my lips. "Alright then. Tell me everything. Every detail about your father's operation. Every name, every contact, every dirty little secret. And maybe, just maybe, I'll make it quick."

For the next hour, Mike spills his guts. He tells us about hidden bank accounts, secret allies, contingency plans we hadn't even considered. By the time he's done, he's a sobbing mess, but we have more information than we ever hoped for.

I look at Jer, raising an eyebrow. He nods, a silent understanding passing between us.

"Thank you, Mike," I say, my voice deceptively gentle. "You've been very helpful."

Relief washes over Mike's face, quickly replaced by confusion as I raise my gun.

"Wait! But you said?—"

The gunshot drowns out the rest of his words. Mike slumps in his chair, a neat hole in his forehead.

"I said maybe," I mutter, turning away from the body.

Jer claps a hand on my shoulder. "It's done," he says quietly. "It's over."

I nod, suddenly feeling the weight of everything we've been through. "Yeah. It's over."

Now it’s time to go home to Grá and let her know that she’s safe. This shit won’t ever touch her again.