All the guards except for one are tied up, mouths gagged. They look scared shitless. I don't look at them too long. This is a job. It’s nothing personal. The one not tied up is standing there acting like nothing is happening while his colleagues urge him to help, trying to get his attention. They might as well be flies out on a hot summer day, annoying, but nothing to pay attention to.
I look over to see Donovan with Killian's gun in his hand. He's pointing it at one of the guards, but instead of looking menacing, he looks ridiculous with rubber gloves on. It’s not the kind of gloves you would wear to this shit-show. Hell, he’s not even wearing driving gloves. Instead, he has on these rubber-like, bright yellow things that go all the way up to his elbows. It’s the kind maids would use to wash dishes or maybe scrub toilets. I don’t even bother hiding the fact that it makes me roll my eyes. Donovan is an idiot. I watch as he shoots the two guards in the head. Bam. Bam. The guard that’s sold his buddies out doesn’t even flinch or spare them a glance. I think I’m the only one that watches as they go limp in their restraints.
Donovan adds some of the dead guys' blood to the gun as the nephews untie them. They drag their bodies into a position that looks more like how they would fall. It's not the best work, but it'll do. Donovan uses the clean glove to place the dead man's weapon in his limp hand, aiming it at Killian and firing, making Killian moan as the bullet makes a sick thumping noise into his abdomen, but he doesn't wake up. It's almost a fucking relief to hear him make a sound. I was starting to think they overdosed him on whatever they used to drug him. It’s evident they used some heavy shit for him only to moan out in pain with a gunshot wound.
I'm holding the paintings as I watch Killian start to bleed out.
"How are they supposed to believe Killian shot the guards?" I ask, staring the nephews down. Donovan filled me in, but clearly, there were things planned without me. He is a weasel through and through. If he's thinking about taking my cut, I'll wring his scrawny neck.
The nephews and Donovan laugh—not that here’s anything funny about this shit. "Because that one is going to testify to it." He points at the guard standing there, still unfazed that his buddies are dead.
"They aren't going to believe Killian shot two guards and then let one survive." I should've been the one planning this shit. There are too many loopholes in this plan. Things I wasn't aware of. Learning of them on the fly doesn't help my suspicions at all.
"He agreed to get shot in a non-deadly spot in exchange for five million," Donovan answers with a shrug.
I'm instantly on edge. This was supposed to be our payout, and everyone needs a cut now. I'm greedy as hell and have no issues admitting it. This was my last job, and Donovan keeps offering it up for silence. This guy turned on his brothers, people he worked with day in and day out for a cut. I might be a bad guy, but I have a conscious—albeit a small one. I wouldn't betray any of my brothers in my club, at least not for a measly five million. It would have to be four times…well, maybe three times that, depending on the guy. Donovan? I might do it for free at this point.
I wasn't planning on getting my hands dirty, but I volunteer to shoot the guard. All three men look at me strangely.
"If we all have blood on our hands, there's no point in any of us snitching." The nephews give each other a side-eyed glance, and Donovan shrugs. I walk over to Killian who's still bleeding and moaning in pain.
"Give me the old lady gloves," I tell Donovan as he slips them off and hands them over. Once I have them on, he hands me the gun.
I pick up Killian's hand and place the gun in it. I use his finger, but pull the trigger without a second thought. The bullet catches the guard in the leg, sending him to the floor, writhing in pain as his pant leg soaks up the blood.
"What the fuck? I said a graze, not a full on fucking gunshot wound! I didn't agree to this!" he screams.
"If it was a graze, you'd get arrested on the spot. The cops need to believe it's real. Don't worry,” I shrug. “As long as the cops get here in the next two hours, there won't be an issue with you bleeding out.”