Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

BEING A BITCH IS A FULL-TIME JOB

TARA

Joey: I'm gonna check on Molloy and head home.

Me: Hurry up. You know how Tadhg gets when there's pizza for dinner.

Joey: Tell the little gobshite to leave me a piece, or I'll break a hurley over that fat head of his.

Me: Tadhg doesn't have a fat head, Joseph.

Joey: Ma's C-section scar begs to differ.

Me: I'll give you a C-section on your head if you don't show up for dinner.

Joey: Yes, Ma.

Me: Don't roll your eyes at me.

Joey: Jesus Christ, Tara. How do you do it?

Me: And don't be flipping me the middle finger either. You're my twin—I know you're sticking your tongue out at me right now.

Joey: I am. Fuck you.

Me: You love me.

Joey: I do.

Me: Me too.

Joey: See you later. Love you.

Me: Love you too.

I glanced at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall and smiled, noticing it was just after nine. Perfect timing.

"Anyway," I turned my attention back to him, the man trembling in the chair, "where were we, love?"

"Please, I'll give you whatever you want. Money? Is that it? There's a safe. Take it." He was drenched in sweat, his eyes wide, reflecting pure terror.

I leaned casually against the fireplace, picking up a framed photograph. A petite Asian woman with dark hair smiled back at me, holding a toddler in her arms. "Nice family," I commented, tilting the frame slightly.

"What's her name?" I asked, moving closer. He didn't answer, but the silent tears rolling down his cheeks were answer enough. "Don't cry, love," I cooed, brushing a thumb across his cheek, wiping away the wetness. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not yet."

"She asked you a question, you piece of shite," Malachy's voice growled from the corner of the room, dark and threatening. "Answer it."

"Malachy, don't be so quick to insult," Ciaran smirked before smashing his fist into the bastard's face with a sickening thud. His head snapped to the side, blood splattering onto the chair.

"That's better," he muttered, grabbing a fistful of the man's hair, yanking his head back violently. "Now, answer the fucking question."

"Meera," Mark choked out, his face a mess of blood and tears. "Her name's Meera."

"And the boy?" I pressed, my voice lilting almost sweetly. "He can't be more than two, right?"

"Yan," he spat, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "He's my son."

"Yan," I repeated softly. "Cute name." I placed the picture back on the mantel, looking back at him with a smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"I wasn't aware filthy parasites like you could reproduce," Malachy added, twirling his Glock lazily between his fingers, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. "Must've missed that lesson in biology."

Ciaran snorted. "When did you ever attend biology?" He disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with two bottles of beer. He tossed one on the coffee table and cracked the other open, taking a long swig.