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@ericbrandonrp
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She pushed the thoughts and the hurt to the back of her mind. It wasn't important right now and she needed to focus. She was good at that, at hyperfixating. She had done it before. She used it as a focal point. But right now it was so much harder then she wanted it to be. It showed as her throat bobbed and her fingers tightened on her arms. She couldn't help but feel like Eric was forcing her away, like maybe so had over estimated what she meant to him...even if she knew clearer then ever what she would do for him- what he meant to her.
Luckily they were both distracted by the screen. She watched them for a moment, specifically Eric as he looked at it, taking in the details of his face.
She cleared her throat and finally moved a bit closer to look at the screen when she felt Ians eyes on her. As if she might know. Her brows drew together but she shook her head. "I dont know that name. Or that face." She admitted. "Who's Brian O'Loughlin?" She asked Eric.
“No one.” Ian cocked up an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Just the fucking dimwit who thinks he can fucking do whatever the fuck he wants.” A long pause, in which Eric was just staring at his father; waiting for him to continue.
Ian sighed. “Brain fucking O’Loughlin is the fucking equivalent to the fucking Mafia – except that he’s too fucking stupid for it. So fucking stupid, in fact, that he becomes fucking dangerous. When you don’t do what the fuck he wants, he has you fucking killed. People aren’t afraid of him ‘cause of who he is, but ‘cause of who he fucking knows.” His brow rose. Eric looked over to Alex. “Couldn’t’ve ‘xplained it be’er.” The thief shrugged his shoulders.
She blushed into the kiss letting herself melt and feel whole for just a moment. Humming in contentment then giggled softly. "This.... does not mean that I am going to take it easy on you today...." the race was still on, of course.
Eric leaned in closer again – then froze and let his shoulders sink theatrically. “Ah, fuck!” He shook his head. “An’ I thought it’s gonna work.” He chuckled and leaned forward again until their brows were resting against each other. “I’m no’ ‘fraid’f ye,” he whispered. “ ‘cause Imma win anyway.”
"I've been at this for three weeks," she replied, scrubbing diligently. "They normally would have sent Max, but he was out of town. The rest of the boys are terrified of you, so Tony sent me."
'Terrified' was an understatement - the covert digital chatroom Tony ran for his cleaners went dead silent until someone finally admitted how pants-wetting horrified they were of Ian Harris. Everyone else had chimed in, so Cat stepped up. Was she regretting her bravery now? Absolutely. But the job still needed to be done, and she still needed to accrue her bennie points to get the OK for her club. It was a catch-22 in every sense of the term.
The floor was turning out cleaner than it had been before the killing; she stripped off her gloves and tossed it into the garbage bag holding the other bloody remnants of her ministrations. Cat finally took out the aerosolized ammonia spray and gave the area a quick swipe - if any blood had the balls to remain, the chemical would ruin any testing that could be performed on it. The smell was horrible, but she wanted to be thorough.
She put everything away, zipping up her duffle bag. "I'm going to take the teeth and fingertips off, then dump the body. I'll remind Tony to move on the pig farm. Do you need anything else other than me to leave?"
While she was cleaning the floor, Ian didn’t move from his spot, just watching her the entire time. In all honesty, though he of course wouldn’t admit it to anyone – much less her – he was a bit impressed. Even if he disliked the fact they had sent an absolute rookie to do the job. Tony should know better. But for someone only doing this job for three weeks, she was good. Didn’t forget anything, thought of every single detail. The floor was squeaky clean, the body was gone (well, not quite yet, but he trusted she knew how to get rid of it for good).
His arms were crossed over his chest when she stood up, gaze following her carefully. Ignoring her question when he asked in return, “How did you learn all this?”
"You're right.....we're perfect as we are - you, me, Niamh, Tommy. Plus Jack and Poppy when they come to visit". That did not happen as often as Kit would've liked, but her eldest two were eighteen and twenty-two respectively now, they had lives of their own to be getting on with.
"We don't have any more spare bedrooms, do we? Probably a good job my bits are packing up". Not that the doctor had specifically said her 'fertile years' were over, but she'd seen the looks between him and the nurses, Kit knew what those kinds of pointed expressions meant.
"I suppose the onset of hot flashes means we might save on heating bills.....".
It didn’t matter how much they were trying to see the good in it; the disappointment was still there. Not that they both had actually planned on having another child – Niamh and Tommy were already a handful, and they loved them to bits. But there had still been a chance, if only a slim one. To have it taken away without a say of them in it was just cruel. It was different than deciding to not have move children.
“Well, then I want more blankets for meself,” Eric tried to joke, offering his wife a playful smirk. He reached across the car and took her hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “Le’s have brownies. The world a’ways looks be’er with brownies in yer stomach. An’ then we go home an’ we pick up Niamh an’ Tommy an’ we’re jus’ gonn’ have a noice day out with ‘em. A’righ’?”
Breathe. Ignore the smell of blood and meat and just focus on the job. Anything smart out of your mouth is just going to aggravate him further - unless this was just his default. Either way, better to keep to the body and not the hitman.
Finally, the corpse was secured in his new canvas outfit, and Cat hefted it up and onto a shoulder without protest. It looked like nothing more than an ungainly old rug, if anyone was out snooping, but she'd parked the car close enough to keep the trip short. She went to deposit her burden in the trunk of her car, closing the lid quietly before returning inside.
"If the blood on your sleeve is fresh, you can still save the shirt. I have products with me to help." A feeble olive branch, but one nonetheless. She knelt by her bag, pulling out what she needed to start on the drying blood puddled on the hardwood floor.
He hadn't moved from his spot the entire time until she returned inside, except that his hand was now resting on his brow, covering his eyes. Really, who teh fuck had Tony sent him here? She was at least trying, but that wasn't enough for Ian.
His hand dropped down as he shot her an unimpressed glance. "I'd rather burn it. I don't like anyone's blood on my clothes." Funny, for a professional killer. "Have you done this fucking job before or is this your first time?"
She smirked at the huff, unable to stop herself when he hit the bed again and she was in some sort of control, even though he could probably easily take it back by now. She knew he was fine....as fine as one could be but her nervous system still remembered what it had felt like to see him laying in a coma in that bed. Not to mention the fact that if Ian hadn't found her, she would have never known. It was the first real time she realized what that felt like instead of being on the other side of it and hypocritically, she didn't like it at all.
His frown didn't go unnoticed and she sighed, sitting up with her hands on his chest. "I suppose I'm a bit biased..." She admitted. After all thats what her father had said about her mother her entire life. Then again her mother hadn't contacted them at all which seemed far less spiteful then inviting them to a wedding...
"You're not stupid!" She scolded, biting his lip in retaliation. She smiled softer though as his hands cupped her face. "Oh yeah? From what I understand James Bond does alot of flirting at formal events. And I've seen you try and flirt." She teased.
“Oi!” The frown deepened, and although he had lifted his head to give Alex a kiss, he was now backing away again. “I can flirt!” Eric protested. Hell, he was Irish! Who on earth could flirt better than the Irish? It’s in their blood! “Me flirtin’ was ‘nough t’attract you, wasn’t it?” And that was all that mattered. He had found the love of his life in this godforsaken country, and he was ready to leave everything behind for her. If she told him to give up his job, he would do it – though he would get bored pretty quickly because it was all he was able to do. He wasn’t sure if working on a ranch was actually fulfilling for him.
“Ye wanna tell me I’m no’ some smart, suave, incredibly sexy lookin’ la’?” He lifted an eyebrow, trying to look as suave as he had just said. Hint: he didn’t.
"Well... you're my best driver...." she teased before laughing. "And....." a pause a blush, "And you are important to me."
His chest was swelling with pride – but when Wendy said he was important to her, all the playfulness vanished for a moment. She really did mean it, this wasn’t just teasing. He turned to Wendy fully now, his arms moving around her waist. “An’ ye’re important ta me,” Eric told her seriously before leaning in to pull her lips into a kiss. Yes, here in the open, where everyone could see it, but he didn’t care.
Her eyebrow raised. "Well good sir.... then I am sorry, but I must fight for custody against Oireland, and win."
“Ye makin’ fun’f me?” Eric playfully pinched her in the side, still grinning. “Am I tha’ important t’ye tha’ ye go’a foight for custody?” He shook his head. “Or is it jus’ ‘cause I’m yer best droiver?”
Her smile softened and she pushed one of the tufts of hair off his forehead. Eric didn't know of course. Those few months when she had gotten back had been more then hard. Not that excused it but she had known it was over when she needed to be taken care of. Not a lot of men could do that. Not when they were used to high achievment.
She pecked his lips back before giving him a shove back down on the bed, 'making' him rest. "He did what he had to do to be happy." She admitted with a little smile at him. "And eventually I got to be too."
He was right of course. They were living a better life...even with her brain the way it was, even with Eric probably going to at least have a limp for the rest of his life. They knew that they would have someone that would stuck with them. That mattered.
She sighed. "Not like that he can't. Sometimes its still...hard. Its easier when its you and I- when its people who didn't know before. There's less...pity. Thats what I'm most worried about I guess." She wrinkled her nose in thought. "I hate *that* look. You know the one I mean." She leaned down and pecked his lips again, dark hair falling in wave curtains around them. "Neither can I. It will be easier with you there. Well unless they think I paid you to be there. You could easily pass for an escort." She teased.
A huff escaped his lips when Alex pushed him back onto the bed. And here he had thought bedrest was no longer necessary; the wounds had healed, he could walk again – albeit a bit wonky – and so far there was no real aftermath. Well, except for the occasional pain in his back. He splayed out his arms, frowning. He did what he had to do to be happy? For real? That didn’t change that her ex-fiancé was a grade A asshole Eric just wanted to beat the shit out of. If anything the like had happened while and Alex were together, he wouldn’t have just sat at home waiting for good news; he would have moved heaven and hell to save her. He certainly wouldn’t have run into some other blond tart’s arms.
“Ye mean the one ye’re givin’ me sometoimes when I’m too stupid ta walk?” Eric teased back, capturing Alex’s lips with his again. Hands moving up to gently cup her face. “I won’t be lookin’ loike an escort – I’mma look loike James Bond.” The thief giggled. “Wearin’ a suit an’ all. Y’know, the lil bow tie an’ all tha’.” Minus the gun. He wasn’t Ian, after all.
Her spine practically froze at the absolute nonchalance of his tone. He really could, couldn't he? Just pop, and down she'd go. Her heart went into overdrive while she tried to think of something to say to lessen her potential mortality rate.
"I know, sir," she replied after a moment. "But the professionals weren't available. I do a neat job and I'll be out of here in a few minutes." To keep herself calm, she simply continued taping, wrapping around the corpse's torso a few times. The neck would be next and last, and then she'd start on the bloody floor - if she made it threw the next few minutes.
"Where's Santa's fucking Little Helper when you need him?" Max. The man who was usually always there to do the job; Ian actually hadn't seen or heard from him in a long time, he realised now. Odd. Should he be worried? Not that he cared much about any other human beings than himself, but over the years he had grown quite fond of the cleaner.
He frowned as he was watching the woman. "What the fuck are you doing?" He pointed at the body. "Do the fucking neck. The feet and the neck. And I hope you have another fucking canvas with you because you are bathing him in his own fucking blood again now and spread it. Do I have to fucking do this myself?"
"If I knew a pig farmer," she sighed. "I just have deep bodies of water and cement blocks to work with." Which was so utterly stereotypical it made her sick. But she managed, it was just another tick in Tony's 'asshole' column.
Cat started wrapping the corpse in the thick canvas. "Short version? I wanna open a club, but I could only afford one in the di Antonio family's turf, so I'm trying to earn brownie points. Tony Napoli's a smarmy jerk - can you believe he said he'd 'consider' shit if I fucked him? I'd rather choke."
She dipped into her bag again to remove a roll of duct tape, crouching to start wrapping the corpse's ankles to secure the bottom. "I've been doing this a few weeks now. Not exactly the experience I was expectin' in Britain, but it could always be worse." Cat lifted her head to shoot Ian a cheeky grin, then remembered who he was and quickly turned her attention back to her work.
"I didn't fucking ask..." He froze on the spot. Staring at the woman in front of him. She wasn't even a professional? Who the fuck had they sent him? Really, he felt the need to reach into his coat and pull out his gun and just put a bullet in her head as well. Two bodies. He could deal with them - there had been worse. Ian didn't trust people easily - actually, he only trusted two in the entire world - and he trusted this woman even less.
"Tony can go fuck himself, I want a fucking professional for this fucking job, not some fucking amateur wannabe trying to play the fucking game with the big fucking guys." His brow rose. "I could fucking kill you, you know that?" And Tony as well while he was at it.
"I've seen worse."
Catherine Evans was regretting, a little, having taken the call from Tony, but trying to make nice with the mob meant doing shitty jobs. The messy ones left to see who could handle the 'wet work' of business.
This man had a reputation that would make a reaper hesitate. Cat had to remind herself she was there to help him, to be polite. The stories she'd heard about Ian Harris . . . if even half were true . . .
She set her duffle down and unzipped it, putting her hair back in a tail before tugging on black nitrile gloves. "Honestly, dude looks better dead. And now he'll be fish food, instead of a useless scumbag."
She rolled out a painter's dropcloth near the body, rolling the limp corpse onto it. "I'll be done in a few, you don't gotta stick around if you got business elsewhere, Mr Harris."
"Wouldn't pigs be more suitable for the job?" An eyebrow was cocked up, though his gaze and attention were on something else entirely: his left sleeve. More precisely, the red spot on his left sleeve. That prick had actually dared losing blood on his shirt! Now he had to get rid of it. He hated the thought.
A disgusted grimace was briefly crossing his features before Ian finally looked up again. "I'm fine." His shirt was not. "Why did they send you, though? I haven't seen yer face before."
open ||
"I jus'--it...happened." Yes, well, twenty-three stab wounds plus a bullet to the head normally didn't just happen. In Ian Harris' mind, though, they did. In some way. He looked down at the bloody mess on the floor, an eyebrow rising. "Put some detergent on it and it'll be squeaky fuckin' clean."
It wasn't lost on Alex that Eric avoided the question about his past and his previous marriage but for now she let it go as he turned on his side to look at her. A hand came up and traced his jaw line for a long moment. "Yeha I think I'll pass on another massacre being linked to me. Thanks for the thought though. So romantic." she teased.
"I suppose it depends on what you mean by stupid?" Her features scrunched up in thought, nose wrinkling. "I don't know why unless its to prove that he made the right choice...or embarrass me. Hurt me more? All of the above maybe?" She tried to sound casual about it but she wasn't exactly known for her acting skills.
"Well, he's feckin' stupid for le'in' ye go, tha's for sure." Eric pushed himself up on his elbows, catching Alex's lips in a quick kiss. Thankfully, though, her ex-fiancé was that stupid - because otherwise Eric would have never met her. They would have never got together. A huge part would be missing in his life.
"He can't hurt ye, though, can he?" he asked quietly, frowning. His hand moved up, fingertips gently tracing her cheek bone. "I can't imagine havin' never met ye."
"I did no such thing...." she teased before slapping his own arse. "Unless it also including my ownership of yours."
"Sorry, me arse a'ready belongs ta Oireland." Eric grinned from ear to ear, wrapping both his arms around her now. "Even go' a seal on it." The black Shamrock tattoo. He had been drunk when he got it...
All in all, they were in there for just over forty-five minutes. To his credit Eric stayed right next to her, holding her hand throughout, even when blood was being drawn (from the oppostie arm). Kit knew he hated witnessing that so, she looked at his eyes which were the perfect distraction from the fleeting sting of the needle , especially as he stared right back into hers.....those bloody things could make her forget anything and everything!
When they were back outside and walking towards the car, she took a deep breath. "So, only a few days to wait for the results. But at least we know I'm not pregnant. Thank god the one conclusive test they can do right away " Kit surmised. Not that she'd entertained that particular scenario for a second. Well, maybe a couple of seconds but, not seriously......she couldn't work out if she was sad or not.
"Shall we go get a coffee or something before we drive back? I could do with a few moments".
Eric was staying by his wife's side the entire time, fighting against the urge to stand up and leave. This wasn't about him, though, this was about Kit. She needed the support, and he would gladly give it to her, no matter the cost. Still, when they finally left, he couldn't help but suck in a deep breath as if breathing in fresh air for the first time in days.
"There was a toime when I'd've been devasta'ed tha' ye're no' pregnant." He bit down on his bottom lip. "I mean...I don't wanna say I'm happy ye're no', I jus'..." Eric frowned. "I think we're pre'y happy with the two rascals we have." He looked up and into Kit's eyes, searching for understanding. "Righ'?"