Hector stepped in at some point, careful not to touch Borden, who was panting and pissed and on a hair trigger. “He won’t be able to talk if you break his jaw, Borden.”
“I don’t give a fuck about him talking anymore,” Borden retorted. “I’m punching to kill next time –”
“No!” Bull screamed, his face swollen beyond recognition. He could hardly open his eyes, but tears continued to stream out of them as he slobbered and begged. “Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me –”
“Then fucking talk or I’ll start with your fucking eyes next!”
More piss.
More blood.
More strikes.
It was the eyeball forced out of Bull’s socket that finally cracked him.
“Terry Mulligan!” he screeched in pain, sobbing uncontrollably. “His name is Terry Mulligan.”
“What about him?” Borden demanded, wiping the blood off with an old rag Hector passed to him.
“He’s after you!”
“Why?”
Bull wheezed, trying to gulp in air. “B-because of what you did!”
Borden threw the rag down and grabbed the prick by his double chin, forcing him to look up. “Fucking get to the point! What did I do?”
“Y-you killed his boys.”
“I’ve killed a lot of fucking people! Be specific.”
“The brothers you murdered…for killing the girl.”
Borden went still. His eyes searched the maggot, finding nothing but truth in the words he spewed.
“Does he have people following him?” Hector then interjected. “What power does he have? Come on, Bull, don’t fucking make us wait all night for this shit.”
Staring at them with his one swollen eye – the other bloodied and gouged out – he shook harder and rasped, “He’s a devil. In prison for-for fifteen years. Just got released five months ago. He ran these streets once. He wants them back. He’s underworld, man. Deep underworld. You can’t find him. He’s the puppet behind the strings, and he wants New Raven back and you dead.”
Borden could feel Hector studying him, waiting for his next move. Truth was, he was taken completely off guard. The brothers he killed had a different name to Mulligan’s. There had been no familial connection.
“What do you want to do?” Hector finally asked him.
Borden exhaled slowly. “I want another chair in here so I can talk more thoroughly to our buddy Bull. We’ve got a lot of bumps to smooth in his story, and if he’s smart, he’ll keep his second eye.”
Hector snickered and went looking for another chair.
Meanwhile Borden stared into the eye of Bull and saw a fear there that even startled him. The man was more terrified of Mulligan than he was of Borden.
Ten
Emma
I spent the evening having a long hot bath, trying to comfort my aching body. More bruises crawled down my shoulder and upper arms. Bite marks around my collar bone and up my throat. I had taken a good chunk of hair out when I combed through it in the water, staring at the long strands he’d pulled out of my scalp as he fucked me. Even now, I was still bewildered that I liked the sight of it. The bruises, although easily misconstrued by a stranger’s eyes to be something far more sinister, were like little temporary trophies to me, reminding me of his pleasure. It was kind of deluded.
The man was a lunatic. I didn’t care. He was possessive and violent. I still didn’t care. He was jealous and rude, and he took what he wanted without fear or regret. And I didn’t fucking care. I fell into a light sleep with the last thought of how little I cared and how much it no longer bothered me that our relationship was built on a lot of dysfunctional crap a therapist would be bursting at the seams to dissect.
My eyes shot open at the sound of a door closing. I bolted upright in bed and looked around the room, unsure if hours had passed, or minutes. I looked at the clock on the night table. It was two in the morning and Borden’s spot on the bed was unfilled. More light noises caused my head to whip to the side and my heart to spike. I stared at the bathroom door, listening intently. I could hear clothing being torn off and dropped to the floor, and then the sound of the water from the shower head bursting.
It was Borden.
Of course.
No machete yielding man ready to murder me or anything.
I moved to the edge of the bed, straining to listen to his every movement; from the moment he stepped into the shower stall, to the glass door closing, I’d held my breath, wondering where he’d been after he’d dropped me off. I didn’t know what would compel him to go to the bathroom immediately upon coming home, and my curiosity got the better of me.
I slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door, pressing my ear against it. I could faintly hear a grunt and a curse before the silence took over. I didn’t understand my hesitation, but I swallowed it down and turned the knob. The door swung open silently, and I caught him standing in the centre of the stall under the beating water. He was naked, and furiously cleansing himself.
I was about to call out his name when I saw what was coming off of him and circling the drain. It took a few full seconds for my brain to register it.
Blood.
I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at the red. Oh, my God, there was so much red. Was he hurt?
“Borden,” I said in panic, my heart beating full force.
He turned around, narrowing his eyes at me. “What are you doing up?”
“Why are you bleeding?” I moved to him quickly, opening the shower stall door to get a better look at his red hands.
“Go back to bed, Emma,” he ordered.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m not –”
“You’re bleeding!”
“It’s not my blood.”
I froze, my wide eyes flickering up to his vacant blues. I could feel the blood in my face drain, and I imagined what I must have looked like, all pale and in shock. He didn’t want to stare into my questioning eyes. He looked away instead and resumed washing himself like nothing had happened, like I wasn’t even standing there. But I knew he was still watching me from the corner of his eye. I could tell by the stiffness in his shoulders, by the slower movements in his hands under the beating water, that he was affected.
“What happened?” I asked quietly, trying not to feel queasy at the sight of more blood flowing down the drain. He didn’t respond. “I’m not going away until you tell me, Marcus.”