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NINE

SHOTGUN

It was only meant to be six weeks, but the day after Jade got clearance to drive again, we got word that Irene had passed in her sleep. Six weeks then became six months, which turned into one year, and now here I am, fourteen months later, still living in the side apartment of Jade’s house. I pull my boots on, and open the door, making way to the back of the house.

In the beginning of our arrangement, I would ring the bell every morning until she gave me a key. But when winter rolled around, it became easier to go through the yard—less snow.

I open the sliders on the back deck and step into the kitchen. The morning chaos is in full swing just as it always is. Legend and Kaiden are fighting over some nonsense while Killian runs around the table in his diaper. Potty training has fully commenced, and the kid wants no part of it. My eyes shoot to the counter where Jade is making lunches, and filling water bottles. Her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, and she’s wearing one of those expensive pajama sets she loves so much—a pretty pink number that consists of a silk camisole that stretches tight around her chest, and matching wide-leg satin pants that ride low on her hips, and cling to her ass.

Mornings were easier in the early days of me living here. She was sleep deprived and didn’t give a single fuck about what she wore to bed. Don’t get me wrong, there were other things that I struggled with—like all the times I walked in on her pumping. I tried not to look the first few times, but then I just gave up. Jade had a fantastic set of tits. They were big, round, and by the looks of it, firm as fuck. And her nipples were always hard. There isn’t a man on this green earth that could resist staring at them.

Now I fight with my cock every morning because it’s impossible for the fucking thing not to react to the whole package. The tits… her ass, and those fucking hips that were made for a man to hold while she bounces on his cock. I fuck my hand every morning before I make my way into the kitchen, and every morning I walk to the coffee pot with my dick straining against the zipper of my jeans. It’s fucking torture, and as many times as remind myself she’s Irish’s, my cock doesn’t seem to get the message.

I want her.

But I know I’ll never have her.

Every time I fuck another woman, I imagine it’s her body my cock is buried inside of and when I cum it’s her fucking name I call out. I keep waiting for a sign from Irish, figuring it’s only a matter of time before he starts haunting me for filthy desires.

“Good morning to you too,” Jade taunts, as she bumps her hip against my side. The coffee pot nearly slips from my hand as I turn to face her. I’m hit with a smile and fingers tighten around the handle of the pot. Her body is my greatest temptation, but that smile is my undoing. “They are absolutely feral today. Six more weeks and school is out.”

“You do realize they’ll be home every day after that,” I say, placing the coffee pot back where it was.

“But I won’t have to wake up at the crack of dawn to cook three different breakfasts, or race around to make any lunches.”

She says that now, but when they’re bothering her for a snack every twenty minutes, her tune will change. It did last summer.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. They changed the time of Raiden’s T-ball practice tonight. It’s five o’clock at Marine Park.”

I sip my coffee as she turns and struts to retrieve the boys’ book bags, that ass of hers swaying from side to side with every step she takes. Biting back a curse, I tear my eyes away. “Legend has football practice at five.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m bringing it up. I figured I’ll take Raiden, and you’ll take Legend—that’s of course if you don’t have something else planned. I can probably ask one of the coaches to help.”

Jade don’t know shit about football, but because she went to one Yankee game fifteen years, she calls herself a baseball fan. It’s the reason she chose to sign Raiden up for T-Ball.

When things overlap, she prefers to take Raiden because she claims to understand the game better. I don’t have a problem with it because it’s clear Legend’s football coach has a thing for her. I’m sure the motherfucker would jump at the chance to take Legend to practice if it meant he got to ogle Jade when he picked him up.

“I’ll take him.”

“Great. One more thing, they need someone for the chains for the game. Legend is the only kid who hasn’t had a parent do them yet. I would do it but I don’t want to embarrass him or you any more than I already do.”

I laugh at that. There isn’t anything more entertaining than watching Jade cheer for her son at a football game. The woman has no idea what the fuck is going on most of the time, but when she sees Legend with the ball, she becomes a lunatic, screaming at the top of her lungs for him to run.

“I’ll do the chains.”

“You’re the best.”

“I got something tonight, so don’t count me in for dinner.”

That’s another thing that has evolved over the fourteen months of me living here. I used to skate by having dinner with them once a week, then the sports schedule threw everything into disarray. She doesn’t cook when the boys have practice or games, and we usually grab takeout together.

“Actually, Bella is coming over tonight. We’re going to order sushi. Do you want me to get your usual for when you get home?”

She and Bella have gotten close, and every once in a while, they have a girls night. It usually consists of Bella coming to the house, and them breaking open a bottle of wine. I keep offering to watch the boys so she can actually go out somewhere, but for whatever reason, she hasn’t taken me up on that offer.

“No, I’ll just grab something on the go. It’s going to be a late night.”

Her eyes snap back to me. “Oh. Okay.”

For as much as I’m around her, I can never figure what goes on inside that head of hers when she looks at me like that. I don’t believe it’s disappointment that washes over her features, but it’s something akin to it.

I take one more sip of my coffee before dropping the mug in the sink.

“You boys ready to head out?”

“I call the front seat!” Legend says.

“When am I going to be big enough to sit in the front with you Uncle Shotty?”

I tousle his hair. “Don’t rush it, kid.”

Turning my attention to Killian, I lift him up. “I’ll see you later, buddy. You be good for your mom okay?”

“Mmm kay!” I kiss his cheek then set him back on the floor. As soon as his feet touch the ground, he takes off, his diaper hanging off his butt. Of all the boys, I think he’s going to be the one that drives us to drink.

When he disappears into the living room with his bagel, I turn my attention back to Jade.

“I’ll see you later.”

She gives me that smile again. It’s a little dimmer than before, but nonetheless still beautiful. “Later, Shotgun.”

I crack my fingers, rolling my neck slowly as my fingers tighten around the meat hook in my hand. With the three mercenaries, I nailed them to a beam and let them hang there for hours. Then, every hour on the hour, I took a piece of them, just like they took pieces from Irish.

Fingers.

Limbs… whatever I felt like taking at the moment.

One bitched and moaned so much, I took his tongue out.

But each lost both their eyes, and I did it with the rustiest pair of pliers I could find.

The carnage was plentiful, and they begged for mercy.

But there was none to be found.

Killing them, disposing the bodies, making everyone who was paying attention aware that no one fucks with the Kings —that’s the shit I get hard on.

But this one is extra special.

After word got out that the first mercenary was taken out, Fatmir vanished. No one, not even Mondestino, could get eyes on him. But when the third mercenary was nailed to the beam, bleeding out like the pig he was, he squealed, revealing that Fatmir had fled to Albania.

It’s taken six months to lure him back to the states, and much to my dismay, I can thank Mondestino for that.

I stalk towards the oil drum in the center of the room, watching intently as the flames dance from the top of it. Guido nudges me, offering me a pair of metal tongs. I take them from him, catching the meat hook with the prongs, and lower it into the fire, getting the hook nice and hot.

I want to smell his flesh burning as I hang him.

“You’re making a mistake,” Fatmir spits, struggling against Biggie and Jersey who have him pinned to the concrete wall.

“Did I say you could fucking speak?” Biggie growls. “One more fucking word out of you, and I’ll cut your tongue out just like we did with that other cunt.”

“Mondestino set this all up,” Fatmir sneers. “But you know that, don’t you? You know it and you still suck his cock.”

Biggie slams Fatmir’s head against the wall, wedging his thick forearm against the base of his throat.

“You about ready, Shotgun? Cuz if not, I’m going to blow this motherfucker’s head off.”

Fitting the flame-retardant gloves to my hands, I remove the hook from the flame. Sweat drips into my eyes, and I blink it away, turning to where Fatmir fights to breathe.

“Turn him around and put him on his knees,” I order.

Keeping his arm around Fatmir’s neck, Biggie spins him around, then Jersey kicks him in the back of the knees. His legs buckle, and Biggie goes down with him, never removing his arm from his neck. Fatmir braces his hands flat against the wall as he kicks his legs, using all his strength to fight Biggie’s hold, but he fails miserably.

In one fluid motion, I rear my hand back before driving the hook into the back of his neck. His flesh sizzles. Fatmir screams in agony as Biggie quickly releases him. Blood spurts everywhere as I twist the hook through the muscle and tissue beneath his skin. Guido steps to my side handing me a long, thick chain. I thread it through the hook, and signal for Jersey to flip the switch. The chain starts to move, and inch by inch Fatmir is pulled off the floor. His arms flail and he kicks his legs, screaming in his native tongue.

He begs.

He pleads.

He bleeds .

When he’s fully suspended in the air, Guido kills the motor on the lift.

Fatmir’s movements slow as blood pools on the concrete basement of Monty’s Pork Store. The prospects are going to have a hell of a time cleaning this shit up, but I’ve got zero regrets. I walk to the other end of the basement and grab one of the milk crates. Bringing it back to where Fatmir hangs, I flip it over and climb on top of it, pulling the KA-Bar knife from my leather holster.

“Open your eyes,” I growl.

“Fuck you,” he croaks.

“Open your fucking eyes before I nail them open.”

“I said… fuck you.”

My jaw clenches as my hand wraps around the back of his neck. Pulling him down an inch, I lean closer, my breath hot against his ear. “You killed my brother. Left three children without a father. Now your penance is death, but you’re going to die wondering if when I leave here, I go to your home, take your wife from your bed and do the same to her. Sweet dreams, motherfucker.”

A gurgling noise sounds from the back of his throat, and it’s the last sound he makes before I drive the knife through his throat. I wait for his body to fall limp against the hook before I jump off the crate and slide the knife back into my holster.

Then my eyes lock with Biggie’s.

“It’s done, brother. Go home. We got it from here.”

Home.

Where Irish’s wife and children wait for me.