Page 92 of Priestly Sins

My knee hits bone—I don’t know whose— as I roll him to his back, pinning him below me. All my rage comes through my fists as I wail on him.

“Get…”

“What…”

“You…”

“Fecking…”

“Deserve…”

The chill that rushes through the room clears my mind just enough that when I hear the wordSTOPbellowed, I do.

How is Sean here already?

I’ve lost time. No clue how long it’s been, but the leprechaun doesn’t look good. I bet I don’t either, covered in his blood. I slide off, pulling my hand down my face, and fighting to clear my head.

I see the knife, but have no time to react as it hits me.

Feck!

Forty-Two

Sean

“Are you okay?”

Sirona shakes her head no, but keeps mumbling yes over and over again. Her keening wail comes just as Killian groans and topples over, clutching his chest.

“Killian!” Sirona’s shriek shakes me out of my daze and I move to the assailant and look down. He smiles with a mouth full of blood, before he coughs more up over his face.

Hal fucking Staunchley!

My first reaction is childish, but I go with it, because he deserves it. A swift kick to the ribs buys me a few seconds as he folds into himself gasping for breath.

I grab the closest chair I can in our kitchen and then the first things my hands land on in the junk drawer, kitchen twine and an extension cord.

I prop Staunchley up in the chair and pull the extension cord up around his ribs and cinch it tightly as I tie him to the chair. His wrists are next and get the kitchen twine.

“Pull too much, Staunchley, and you’ll commit suicide. That twine will slice through your skin easily and through your veins faster still. You’ll bleed out and I won’t get the pleasure of killing you myself. Don’t disappoint me now, okay?”

The mocking in my tone is new even to me. It’s cold and callous and chills the air in the room.

“Baby?” —I flip to Sirona— “Check on Killian, would you?”

“Hagrid, go to your room.”

The dog lopes off, limping and whining as he goes, but he obeys.

My first blow is an uppercut to the jaw. Staunchley’s head flies backward and his neck audibly cracks with the force of the jolt.

“Why are you here?”

“You selfish prick.” His speech is gurgled with blood and whistles with the beating he’s taken. He’s missing teeth since the last time I saw him. “It’s always about you, isn’t it?”

“Try again. Or my next shot is to the groin.”

The first sign of fear crosses Staunchley’s face, although it’s brief. The bloody mask he wears is doing the work of concealing his emotions.