Page 6 of Massacre

“Unarmed my ass,” he scoffed. “You were holding a smoking gun!”

I shrugged. “So was everyone else.”

Declan rolled his eyes, muttering something in Gaeilge under his breath that probably wasn’t flattering. I wasn’t good at learnin’ like Reggie was. I barely comprehended English most days, but I knew a few of the words from the old country.

Apparently, so did Declan.

Dec sighed, fished a tissue out of his pocket, and tossed it my way—generous, considering he’d just redecorated my face for free. I dabbed at my nose and gritted my teeth as I glared at the fucker, knowing damn well before I left this fucking town, I was gonna get his ass back.

Cousin or not, the Irish always repaid their debts.

The cell was cold, the air stale, and I could taste regret and resentment with every breath. Outside, the night pressed in around the precinct, making the fluorescent bulbs overhead feel all the more harsh. I could hear the shuffle of shoes, the soft click of a distant typewriter, and somewhere, the low hum of a vending machine trying its best to sound alive. Declan stalked off to do his paperwork, leaving me to stew alone in the blue-lit dungeon.

Leaning back against the wall, I let my mind wander, tracing the cracks in the ceiling, replaying every poor decision that led me to this particular point in time. Guilt gnawed at my insides, but pride kept my mouth shut. There was a time when I thought family meant loyalty, but tonight, it felt more like a scar—visible and permanent. I closed my eyes, listening to the rhythmic tap of Declan’s pen, wishing I was anywhere but here, anywhere but trapped in this fluorescent limbo.

But the world didn’t wait for regrets.

Not in my family, and not in this town.

Closing my eyes, I tried to get some rest because I knew once word got out about what I’d done, there would be hell to pay and not the good kind, either. My body already tightened at the thought of Morpheus showing up. Bad enough King was going to rip my ass a new one, but fuck me, how in the hell was I going to explain to Reaper that I single-handedly started a war he had been trying to prevent?

Chapter Two

Massacre

Sometime later, the clinking of keys woke me, and I opened my eyes to see Declan glaring back at me.

“Get up. Your attorney is here,” Declan said, opening the cell door.

“Funny.” I smirked. “I don’t remember calling for one. Oh, that’s right. Because you still haven’t let me have my damn phone call!”

“Shut up and follow me before I gag you.”

Doing as I was told; I followed Declan into the interview room to find a very fucking familiar face scowling back at me. Blinking a few times, I quickly turned to run back to my cell when Sheriff Asshole grabbed me by my collar and then shoved me into a chair.

“Don’t make me cuff you again.”

I gulped and stared at the man glaring at me from across the table.

If this was some sort of sick, twisted joke, it wasn’t funny.

“Hello, Mr. Buchanon,” the angry man sneered. “We need to have a talk.”

“I don’t wanna.”

He snarled, “Too damn bad.”

I swallowed hard as Sheriff O’Rourke looked from me to the man boring holes in my head. “Is there a problem here?”

“No, Sheriff. I just need to speak with my client in private, if you don’t mind.”

Declan scowled but said nothing, leaving the interview room, shutting the door behind him.

The second the door was shut, I braced myself for impact.

“You stupid motherfucker!” Reaper slammed his hands down on the table as he leaned close. “Give me one motherfucking reason not to gut your ass.”

“Because your wife loves me?”