Chapter Ten: No Such Thing as Bad Publicity
Eve glanced around the primarily empty bar, paranoia setting in. The Saints didn't need any publicity, and Eve just didn't need to be in public. Murphy waved the bartender over for another round, handing him a few dollars for a tip before he walked away to fill their glasses. "Thank ya." He muttered as the man set the glasses on the solid oak and went about his buisiness. Eve took the cool glass in her hand, studying it momentarily, before putting it to her lips and taking a long drink. The three of them sat in silence, time passing slowly, but peacefully. "Aye, it's a bit quiet tonight, eh Connor?" Connor merely nodded and took a drink from his own glass. Murphy sighed and reached for his cigarettes before him on the bar. He took one and put it between his lips, taking his lighter and putting a flame to the tobacco. "Ahhh." He inhaled the smoke deeply, exhaling only seconds later, filling the room with a smoky haze.
"Murph, what do ya suppose we should do now?" Eve turned from her thoughts to him, seeking a personal opinion. "Because the more I think about it, the more I realize that I can't turn back. The entire thing has just become increasingly more complicated thanks to Connor noticing me, but at the same time it takes a weight off my shoulders." Murphy stared drunkenly at Eve, waiting for her to speak. "I don't think that we should go in, you're both so mentally unprepared for the worst of what could happen.I really want to try and make it as easy for you both as possible." Murphy and Connor looked to each other, trying to stifle their drunken laughter.
"Lass, apparently ya don't realize who you're talkin' to." Connor mused. "As if we've ever been fully prepared for any of the hits we've done. It takes away from the excitement, don't ya think?" Connor took another gulp of his drink and set down an empty glass. "Bartender, another round, if ya could." The bartender trudged heavily over, eyeing the clock, the hands ticking to nearly three.
"Last one, lads and lass, and then we're closin' for the night." Connor nodded and handed the man a few dollars, adding to his tips for the night. He took the empty glasses and replaced them with new ones, full of Jameson. "Appreciate the tips, gents." The bartender trudged away again, preoccupied with his closing tasks.
"Connor, I don't care if it takes away from it. These people are dangerous, my father learned from Yakavetta, and before you say anything, my father has truly perfected areas in which Yakavetta failed. He's trained my brothers, sister, and I to be murderers, to be prepared for anything, so imagine a smaller IRA with just as much gun-power where the people are just as dangerous as rabid wolves." Eve smiled crookedly, hoping that she conveyed her point to them. "Boys, I know my family, and I know that they will not hesitate to kill you in the most painful way imaginable. Imagine watching one of you die slowly, and painfully by means of torture. Not over the span of a night, but for a few days, maybe even a few months, killing you slowly and forcing the other brother to watch helplessly as a part of him dies." Their mouths fell open at the thought. "If you don't think they'll do it, then you're dead wrong. We must prepare for this." Eve guzzled the whiskey and slammed the glass on the bar. "It's almost three, let's let this man do his job. Finish up, lads."
Connor and Murphy both slammed what was left of their whiskey and left the money to cover the bill on the counter. "Thanks again, have a good night." Murphy called over his shoulder. They walked through the door, stepping in to the cold winter air. "Eve, do you really think they're that horrible?" She nodded solemnly, wishing that it weren't the truth. She knew that the brothers couldn't bear the thought of losing one another, especially after they'd experienced so much loss in the first place. "Then, we'll do this the right way. If you want to prepare, then we'll prepare. Tell us everything you know."
Behind them, they heard the doors lock bolt into place, and saw the lights flicker out as a shadow of darkness washed over them. The bartender was alone, staring out the window at the three of them. "Well, lads, seems you've made your last mistake." A crooked smile formed over his face as he reached for the phone, chuckling quietly to himself. He puffed on a smoldering cigarette as he dialed the number. "Yeah boss, they were just here. She was with 'em. Funny story, really... Seems they're going to try to kill you." The other line was silent, as Eve's father boiled over in rage.
"Well, we'll have to make sure we kill them first, won't we?" The irritation in Duncan's voice was highly noticable, obviously frustrated with his youngest daughter's choice. "Eve has just made a very large mistake..." The line went dead and the bartender ended the call, looking smug. He continued about his routine, a slight spring in his step.
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A/N - Hey guys, I realize it's been a while since I've updated, but life has been kind of hectic for me over the last few months. I appreciate the small amount of feedback I've gotten, a lot, but I would really, really appreciate some more. Like I've said, this is a way for me to brush up on some skills so that I can write an original novel.
As far as the story goes? It seems that everyone is against the Saints and Eve, working for Eve's father. Now that her father is aware of their plan, what will happen? The Saints very lives depend on the success of killing the O'Reilly's and if it can't be done, their lives are no more.
I'll be updating this as often as possible. Be patient, please and understand that life sucks for hobbies. R/R and all that good stuff, and even some ideas would be great. Really, I'd love to hear where you'd like the story to go or if you have any ideas for another fanfic, you can either e-mail me at or contact me here. Hope you enjoy, and also sorry that it's so short.
