Breaking Point (The Point Series: Book 2) by Gerard Brennan Read Free Book Online

know much about professionalism, yourself... sir ?"
    "What are you trying to say?"
    "You're not at work and I am. So what's wrong? Poor economy? Disability? Lazy and stupid?"
    "Cheeky bastard..."
    "And you can tell Rachel I'll be doing all I can to get her fired." He looked up over Owen's shoulder and smiled. "Is everything all right, officer?"
    "If you think I'm going to fall—"
    "Somebody reported suspicious activity in the car park. Have you spotted anything strange yourself?"
    Owen clocked the fat fellah's smug expression and braced himself for the inevitable.
    "No more than usual, officer. We get some characters in here, like."
    "What about you, sir?"
    Owen plastered on a fake smile and turned to face the cop. "I just got here, officer."
    The cop was younger than Owen, probably mid-twenties. Tall, handsome, bored. The type who didn't think he'd have to investigate petrol station car parks when he signed up, no doubt.
    "Is that your car parked by the car wash?"
    "No, officer. I walked over from the caravan park up the road there."
    "You're not local, then?"
    "I'm a Warrenpoint man."
    The cop didn't give a shite about that. He eyed Owen for a few seconds then shifted his focus back to the big boy.
    "Maybe after you serve this gentleman you can come have a look at the car? See if you recognise it?"
    "We're very short-handed."
    "I'll not keep you long."
    Owen realised the other two men were staring at him. He ordered the first thing that came into his mind.
    "I'll have twenty Regal Kingsize. And a lighter."
    He was back on the fags, then. And minus a car.

It's Oh So Quiet
    ––––––––
    R achel pushed the front door open and knew instantly that Brian wasn't in the house. There was a feeling of emptiness that flared on an instinctual level. But she went through the motions and called his name before checking all the rooms on the ground floor. She didn't have the energy to climb the stairs to see if he was in bed. It would have been a pointless exercise. The answer was in her bones already.
    What are you up to, Brian?
    It was wrong on so many levels that she suspected he was out getting into trouble somewhere. But Brian had always been easily led, a flaw she'd used to her own advantage often enough. He couldn't say no. And Rachel didn't trust that Tony character. His chosen trade was the first black mark. She figured he'd have to be sneaky and an accomplished liar to survive in the drugs trade, especially as a dealer in such a small community. The other black mark was less considered. She just didn't like the look of him. Short and chubby with an arrogant attitude that oozed from his pores. A know-it-all. The perfect replacement for Brian's dead big brother.
    Tony couldn't fucking have him. Brian was hers.
    Rachel glared at her reflection, her eyes slits of mistrust set deep in her shadowed hollows. She needed more sleep.
    But not before she tracked down Brian. She flopped down on the sofa with a glass of water and her mobile phone, selected Brian's name from the list of most recent calls and hummed tunelessly while she waited for him to pick up.
    The call went to voicemail.
    "Fuck's sake, Brian."
    Rachel hung up and dialled again. Got the same result. Third time was not a charm. She resisted the urge to fling the phone across the room. Breaking it wouldn't help anybody.
    "You're a useless fucker, Brian Morgan."
    Rachel rubbed her belly, her thoughts a conflicted and half-terrified muddle. Would she be raising this child on her own? Could she?
    She thought about packing up and moving on. But that was the same as giving up, wasn't it? She'd be admitting she'd been wrong about Brian.
    They needed to talk.

Bellyful
    ––––––––
    T ony dipped half a chip into his beans and popped it into his mouth. He slurped on a can of Coke and burped, thumped his chest with the upper side of his fist and grinned.
    "That's the stuff."
    "I'd have thought a martial artist would need to eat a less deep-fried diet."
    "Low