13 Rounds (5 page)

Stepping back from the punching bag, I place my left hand on top of it. I glance at myself in the mirror, and snarl. Anger builds inside of me like a volcano ready to erupt. I’m trying my best to hold it back, but a huge part of me wants remove my gloves and chuck them at the fucking mirror.

Instead, I take a note from Hadlee’s book and take deep breaths.

Control your temper.

God damn it! I just want her out of my head for five minutes.

My thoughts shift when I hear footsteps. I immediately drop into my fighting stance, ready to knock someone the fuck out. I relax when I see Murph waddling toward me. He’s pulling up his pants. “Damn it, Murph. Man you ever heard of a belt.”

He laughs then rubs his big, beautiful bald head. “You know I hate those fucking things.”

I tilt my head up at him. “Whatever man. You scared the shit out of me.” I walk toward him. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” I inquire. I know Joe always locks the door when he leaves.

Murph smiles brightly. “Joe. You know that old bastard loves me.”

“Haha. And you love to remind me.” I start unlacing my gloves. “Seriously, man. Why are you here?” I take off my right glove then my left.

“We need to talk,” he says in a low voice.

To me, those words are frightening. Not that much scares me, but in my experience they never mean anything good. I raise an eyebrow. “About?”

“I found Teagan.”

A wave of relief washes through me. I feel like finally something good has happened in the world of Sean Reilly. “Good,” I comment. “If you see her again, tell her to call me. I’ve been trying to get a hold of her.”

“No man.” The smile falls from Murph’s face. “You don’t understand.”

My heart stops beating. My hands start shaking so I ball them into fists at my sides. I grit my teeth. I strain to get the words out, “What do you mean I don’t understand?” There’s a rasp of insanity in my voice that I’ve never heard before. “Did that fucker Emril do something to her?” I storm over to Murph and grip his right bicep. “I swear to God I will cut him.”

Cut him.

Slaughter him.

Murder him.

“No man!” Murph shouts in frustration. “Just listen. It wasn’t Emerson.” I find it kind of funny that Murph can remember how to pronounce my sister’s husband’s name and I can’t. “I already went to see him. He’s at the hospital with her.”

“The fuck’s she doing at the hospital?” I’m breathing heavy. I can feel the rage spike inside of me. My jaw is clenched so tightly I swear I can feel my teeth cracking. I start yelling, “What the fuck is she doing at the hospital?”

Murph shakes his head. “I’m fucking dead man.”

I’m so angry and frustrated that I can’t handle it. “Fucking spit it out O’Fallon!”

Murph launches into his story about running some errand for Connie and when he gets to the part about Tee passed out in some basement I don’t even give him the chance to finish. I’m out the door and booking to my car with one thing on my mind.

Connor Doyle is a fucking dead man.

Epilogue

Connie sat in his office at his desk.

Leaning back in his reclining chair, with his arms tucked behind his head, he spun around to face the 60’ inch flat screen television hanging on his wall. He shook his head when he glanced at the score of the Cavs game. They were down 32 points. If they didn’t pick it up in the next quarter he’d lose the 5k that he put down on them to win.

The one thing he hated more than being betrayed by someone he trusted was losing money.

Turning back a round, he picked up a stack of paperwork on his desk and started thumbing through it. Lease documents, bank statements, tax information, etc. Sometimes he hated keeping track of all of his investments and wished he could hire someone to do the job, but Connie always maintained the theory that only person he could trust with his finances was himself.

A knock at the door, caused him to sit up straight and set the paperwork aside. “Come in,” he yelled as he scooted his chair backwards. He kept a gun in a holder, hidden beneath his desk and put his hand on it, ready to whip it out if he needed to. He knew that a number of people wanted him dead and he didn’t want to give any one of his enemies the opportunity to be able to blind-side him.

Aidan strolled through the door, a serious look on his face. He stood, a few feet away from the desk and Connie eyed him up and down. He was tense, limbs locked in place. That and the look on his face told Connie that something was off. “Is there a problem, Aidan?” Connie asked.

Aidan remained silent for a moment. He opened his mouth then closed it, uncertain of how to respond. When he finally spoke up, all he could get out was, “Yes.”

With his left hand, Connie pulled himself closer to his desk and urged Aidan to go on with his eyes. “Well,” he made a hand gesture, “what is it?”

His henchman took a deep breath. “The girl is gone.”

Shock slammed into Connie like a brick wall. He narrowed his eyes, glaring through slits. “What do you mean, gone?” There was chilling tone in his voice. He repeated himself, “What do you mean gone?”

“She’s…she’s,” Aidan stumbled with his words. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I went to check on her and she was gone.”

Connie’s blood boiled. He could feel the veins in his neck popping. “Weren’t you supposed to go check on her yesterday?” His voice took on a deep rasp. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this angry.

Aidan straightened his stance and looked him in the eye. “Yes,” he paused, “but I was running errands for you. So I sent someone else to check on her.”

“Who?” Connie choked out. He felt his rage slowly beginning to strangle him. His breaths came out short and close together. “WHO?” he shrieked.

Aidan’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “O’Fallon.”

Connie’s whole body began shaking. He closed his eyes for a second and let out an insane cackle. He was on the brink of a mental break. “Fucking O’Fallon. You sent fucking O’ Fallon.”

Aidan shrugged. “He was the only one that was available.”

“You idiot!” Connie shook his head. “You fucking moron!” It was that moment, that Connie felt the thread holding his sanity together snap. And in one swift motion he yanked his gun out from the holder beneath his desk and shot Aidan in chest.

Aidan’s face went white. He wore shock on his features like a tight-fitting mask. Then he hit his knees and slumped over, his face planted into the hard-wood floor.

Gun still in hand, Connie walked out from around his desk and stopped at Aidan’s body. He kicked him gently in the side, his eyes centered on Aidan’s right hand. When his fingers twitched, Connie moved toward the open door. He didn’t want to kill Aidan. Maybe just puncture a lung to teach him a lesson for acting so foolishly. On top of that, he couldn’t kill him. He needed his Intel for anything police or fed related.

On a rampage, he stormed through the meeting room, shoving his gun in the back of his pants. A few new recruits for the brotherhood sat around bullshitting and pointed at a young one with black hair, “You!” he pointed at the boy. “Call an ambulance.”

The kid pulled his phone from his pocket and Connie watched as he dialed 911. He waited until the boy started giving the address before he started for the exit. He only had one thing on his mind.

Find fucking O’Fallon and decorate the sidewalk with the fragments of his brain.

Author Bio:
Lauren Hammond is an Amazon best-selling author and Literary Agent. In her spare time, she reads, writes, and can be found in her local bookstore browsing the YA section.