The Aftermath (The Hurricane, #2)(52)

“How do you know I didn’t sleep last night?” I asked.

“Wife, remember?” she said, holding up her hand and wiggling he ring finger. Knowing she was right, I changed quickly, wrapped my hands, and taking the time to kiss Em gently on the forehead, went to the bag and unleashed hell. I pounded on it relentlessly, not bothering with combinations, just hooking and jabbing repeatedly, with power that came only from hours of discipline and dedication.

At the speed I was punching, there was no way I should be able to hit the same mark every time but I was, because every spot on the bag I hit was one of Frank’s vital organs. In normal training, Danny would time me on each apparatus then move me on. Strengthen my arms and toughen my knuckles but work on my core as well. There was no stopping me now though. I heard Kieran and the other guys talking quietly as they ate their lunch. No one else trained, they just sat and waited with me.

“I can’t take this anymore,” I heard Kieran say. “I’ll go toe to toe with him if that’s what he needs.”

“Sit down, Kier. Let him work this out himself.”

The sun had long set when my punches finally slowed. The once grayish-white wraps were soaked with blood where my knuckles had split, and I could barely lift my arms. Slumping down, I leaned my back against the ring and, raising my knees up, rested my hands over the top as I looked for my girl. Already out of her chair, she knelt down in front of me and started to carefully undo my wraps. When they were off, she kissed the back of each set of bloodied knuckles before cupping my cheek with her tiny hand.

“Let’s go home now,” she told me. Danny, Kieran, Liam, Tommy, and Earnshaw all sat waiting for me. Not only had they been there today but they waited while I vented my rage in case I needed them. That was family for you.





Chapter 19



Bruises fade, torn skin scabs and heals, but hate festers. When left unchecked, it festers deep in the pit of your soul. My hatred for Frank had been festering for a long f*cking time. There are many things in this world I’d do for Em but I didn’t think that letting go of that hate would be one of them.

This arsehole had wronged my girl in the worst f*cking way. I could maybe have lived with justice. Maybe. But when there was no justice, all I had was f*cking vengeance. My brand of vengeance might even kill. Only I wasn’t sure that death would be justice either. All I knew was that I had to be the one to deliver it.

For the most part, I pretended that things were going back to normal. Em had gone back to school which I f*cking hated. I’d grown used to having her with me when I trained, and like I told her before, I was needy. I trained like an absolute f*cking demon. God help Rico Temple if I got to him before Frank because no motherf*cker wanted to be the vessel for my rage at the moment.

There wasn’t enough training that Danny could throw my way that would curb my appetite for violence. I was hungry for it in the worst possible way. Danny had that look in his eyes that said he was worried I was going into the ring half-cocked again. But this time anger hadn’t made me stupid. It motivated me to shape my body into the most lethal killing machine I could so that, when the time was right, I’d be ready. Frank had already sealed his fate. He just didn’t know it.

Just over a week since the trial had gone by. I was nine hours into training, when Danny had hung his head in despair and sent me on a run. No matter what he threw at me, it wasn’t enough to slow me down. It wasn’t so much that I was pushing myself too hard, but what fueled me that pissed him off. Kieran arrived just as I was leaving but Danny barked at him to get his arse into the office before I could do little more than say hi. The only thing I struggled with, the only pull on my conscience, was that voice in the back of my mind telling me that Em wouldn’t want me to follow through with this. That voice was probably the reason why I found myself outside St. Paul’s. The church was empty but Father Pat was tidying up hymn books as I let the door close behind me with a bang.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Cormac. Do you have to sneak up on an old man like that?” he said.

“Sorry, Father. D’you have a minute to talk about some stuff?” I asked him.

“Does this talk come before or after you’ve lost your temper?” he asked.

“Both,” I replied immediately.

“Ah. It’s permission and forgiveness you’ll be wanting then. You best come into the back for a cup of tea. Bolt those doors behind you would you? I thought they were locked already. That’s why you scared me.” He didn’t wait for a reply but shuffled into the vestry to boil the kettle. After bolting the door, I joined him.

“Well then,” he said, as I sat down and fiddled with my cross absentmindedly. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Did you hear? Frank, Emily’s stepfather, got away with everything.”

“Aye, I heard. Terrible business it was. How’s your lovely lady doing?”

“She’s doing her best to move on. The therapy’s helping with that. She’s a lot sadder than she used to be. More cautious. But every day that goes by, she seems better.”

“And you?” he asked me.

“I’m struggling with something, but if I talk to you ’bout it, you can’t go to Danny or Em, right?” I asked him.

“Well, technically this isn’t confession, son, but if you’re telling me in confidence, it stays between us.”