A/N: Hello hello! I wrote this chapter on a whim in attempt to see if I can get this story going again. You all have been so patient, and even though so many months have passed, I'm still surprised at the amount of traffic this little story of mine has been getting. So thank you to all of you wonderful people for telling me not to leave it hanging. I worked non-stop on it for a few hours and did some minor proofreading, but that's it in regards to any errors. I'll try and work on this one a little more consistently as far as publishing goes. I give you chapter 5!
The seconds that passed seemed like hours.
"I don't need tah tell ya shite, ya little heathen," Noah barked angrily at the teenager. He knew this wasn't just a sweet and innocent girl. She was armed and dangerous, and he could tell that the man standing next to her was just as, if not more so.
This wasn't Noah's first rodeo, after all. How many times guns had been held to his head, he would never have an accurate account. He learned over time to keep calm, but after all the shit that occurred just earlier in the day, his nerve was wearing thin. And, his patience for intruders was thinner.
"Da, fucking don't," Murphy whispered, his eyes locked on the girl who barged into their motel room.
And in a split second, two cold pistol barrels were placed Noah's forehead, unquestionably loaded with ammo.
"Look here, pops. I'm going to ask you fuckers one more time. Who are you, and what the hell are you doing here," Aoife cracked sharply.
Connor and Murphy's eyes widened.
"D'ye hear me? Don't shoot th' man. You want to talk to us," Murphy pleaded with the two people with his father's life in their hands.
Time stopped once again when there was a light honking sort of noise. It was the phone, hanging off the edge of the table, no one on the other end.
"Fuck…Smecker," Connor muttered.
"Someone on the phone?" Aoife contended, getting impatient that this hold up wasn't necessarily holding any of these men up.
"Watch yerself, lass," Noah warned. "Those who grow arrogant are usually th' ones to die first."
She raised her eyebrow questioningly. "Yeah, I'll make sure and remember that," she retorted.
"Everyone, lower your guns," commanded the man who had been utterly silent up until now. "You," as he pointed to Murphy, "The phone, hang it up. Unplug it from the wall."
"Ye don' understand, we do tha' and the cops will be here, right fuckin' here in minutes. That I can promise," affirmed Connor.
"You ought tah be th' ones lowering yer fuckin' guns or Smecker will hunt you motherfuckers down," countered Murphy, temper resembling his father's in the most uncanny way.
"Smecker? As in Paul fucking Smecker, FBI detective?" Aoife questioned. She nodded at the man, and they both lowered their pistols away from Noah's head. The boys breathed a sigh of relief as Noah continued to stand, statuesque and with no expression in his aging face.
"Tha's the one," Connor retorted, beginning to think that they had the upper hand now.
"Well, that changes things," the girl said seemingly to herself, cracking a smile, of all expressions.
"Will somebody fer th' love of Jesus tell me what the flyin' fuck is goin' on here?" exclaimed a rattled, and very confused Connor.
"So the targets of Boston's biggest manhunt are being snuck around the city by the fucking FBI? Do you not realize how this is gold?" she remarked, again with a smirk on her face.
"If ye know who we are, then why don't we know who you two are?" retorted Murphy, who had just about as many questions as his twin brother, whose mouth was hanging open either in disbelief, confusion, or absolute loss for words.
"Because you boys have a terrible habit of not cleaning up your messes, which would be my first guess. You think the oh so acclaimed and feared 'Saints of South Boston' were the first to start taking out mafia in this town? Sacre Merde. I thought you three wouldn't be so naïve," the girl chortled.
"My daughter and I have been running through the families and workers of the Russians and Italians for years, completely under the radar," said the man, being the first to step into the stuffy motel room.
Aoife followed her father inside, gently pulling the screen door closed, and shutting main door behind her.
The three Macmanus men merely stepped back, sure that the worst of the situation was over. They all took a few drawn out seconds to look at each other, to feel the tension, to catch the eye contact.
The girl and her father were really quite the duo to look at. Plain and simple, they looked like the assassins you see in James Bond movies. Leather clad and cracking slightly evil smiles, and they still somehow managed to spark a sense of "Damn," in the Macmanus brothers. These weren't your ordinary killers. They were professionals, knowing the tricks of the trade even your top mafia dons couldn't even muddle around in their heads.
Definitely European when it came down to facial structure. Sharp jawlines, clear complexions, dark hair and dark eyes. The man was about 6'2", towering over his daughter who couldn't have been taller than five feet with her heels off.
The girl fidgeted with her hands, popping her knuckles in a repeated pattern, almost compulsively. Murphy watched as her eyes shifted all over the room.
She finally decided to break the silence.
"From the looks of it, I think some introductions are in order," Aoife insisted, eye contact shifting from Noah, to Connor, to Murphy.
"I think it's only fair tha' you two are gonna be goin' first when it comes to introductions," proclaimed Noah, expression finally returning to his face.
"Fine by me," the father commented. "I'll start."