“True. Girl, I love you, you know that, right?”
“I do now, Tiff. Thank you, sweetie. I’ll speak to you later.”
“Do,” I urged, suddenly concerned that I’d never hear from my bestie again, and I cut the call so she didn’t have to.
For a second, I stared at the ceiling that had faux stars in it that twinkled, then I switched my gaze to the screen that had the news on a loop.
Donavan Lancaster’s fall from grace.
Lancaster’s evasion of arrest.
The Lancaster Corp throws Donavan Lancaster from their board of directors.
Lancaster’s flight to Vietnam.
It felt surreal. But what felt even more surreal was the woman on the screen. A woman who was talking about what the Lancasters had done to her.
Shakily, I switched off the news and clambered to my feet. My sanctuary felt like it had been violated as I shuffled out into the hall, and I carried onward until I was by the pool.
The garden was neat, manicured precision wherever you looked. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Mom, when no one was looking, dropped a squat and measured the blades of grass on the ground just to make sure they were the perfect height.
Rolling lawns led to a kind of rockery that surrounded the pool where I lived, and surged into the sandy gardens that housed hundreds of succulents and cacti that were my father’s pride and joy, even if he didn’t do a damn thing to take care of them.
Dad liked to think he was helping the environment even as he was raping it by building these massive developments, and the truth was, I couldn’t fault him for trying. We had more solar panels on our roof than tiles, and we more than did our bit to save the Earth.
I tried to reconcile that man with the one who knew Donavan. How had they been friends?
I mean, they had been friends. We’d gone on vacation with their family. You didn’t just do that because your daughter was friendly with another family’s daughter, did you?
Had it been business?
Far as I knew, Donavan had never invested in my dad’s deals. Just like with the development here, he’d been a prick and had built outside my father’s subdivision…
Perplexed and unsure what my brain was even struggling to form, I slouched into the house from the verandah and headed to my dad’s office.
The shouts hit me first, which had me pausing and hovering in the hall.
Mom and Dad never argued. At least, I hadn’t heard them argue ever since they’d started going to Dr. Leibowitz three times a week.
“You son of a bitch!” she was screaming. “You were friends with that prick! How could you?”
My eyes widened.
How could he what?
Heart stuttering, I wandered closer, trying to pick up on my dad’s mumbled retort.
Sliding forward as I strode down the corridor that led to his study, I tried to eavesdrop, but it was just my mom calling him a bastard, an SOB, over and over again. When she started crying, I almost anticipated the crash and figured she’d thrown one of his whisky bottles against the wall.
Back before Leibowitz, that had been one of her regular weapons.
I made it to the door, eyed the carnage in his office, and saw that my dad was sitting at his desk, back bowed, head in his hands.
My mouth opened, then it closed. I did that a few times before, feeling like a little girl rather than a twenty-three-year-old woman, I managed to rasp, “Daddy, what’s going on?”
Fourteen
Eoghan
“Got a real surprise for your bachelor party, bro.”
I eyed Declan, who was grinning at me like a shark.
In my opinion, there was nothing to be grinning about.
Nothing.
At.
Fucking.
All.
Arranged marriages were supposed to be a thing of the past, but in my world? They weren’t.
And I was living goddamn proof of that.
In a week, I’d be a husband.
A fucking husband.
And to a Russian.
A fucking Bratva bitch who’d been spawned by a Pakhan who wanted her off his hands.
Our wedding day was her goddamn eighteenth birthday.
Getting married to an eighteen-year-old might be on some weirdo’s to-do list, but it wasn’t on mine. Not that I had a choice.
The shiner I was wearing was a reminder of why I didn’t.
Aidan O’Donnelly was the head of our family in more ways than one. He was my father, but he was also the head of the Five Points’ Gang, and my recent beating was a reminder that one, though he was getting old, he could still beat the shit out of me. Especially when he had some lackeys hold me the fuck down.
Two, I had no say in this. My agreement was not required.
I eyed Declan over the rim of my whisky glass. It was this cool gadget that aerated whisky to perfection, and our elder brother, Conor, was all over his gadgets. His place looked like it would be a wet dream for any Star Trek nerd.
The black, smoky glass meant I couldn’t eye the liquid I was drowning my sorrows in, but it didn’t stop the liquor from doing its job.
“What kind of surprise?” I asked, dubious to the last.
“Such a cynic,” Dec retorted as he slung his elbows onto the bar at my side.
Conor’s place was all techno funk with goddamn strobe lightning all over. It was like a strip joint and a lab combined. The bar was made from tubular steel and glass, which supported some of the finest whiskies and tequilas in the Northern Hemisphere. The station I was leaning against was made from leather, and it had a nice cushion against my elbows. Swank but sterile.
That should be Conor’s slogan, I thought with a snort.
Dec shoved into me. “Fuck’s sake, Eoghan. Cheer up. You know we’re all on the line, don’t you?”
My brow puckered. “What does that mean?”
“Means that if Pa can hook us all up through a deal, he will.” He grabbed my fancy tumbler and took a deep sip. “Shit, this really does work.”
“Fucking told you,” Conor hollered from the white leather sofa he was slouched against, having his cock sucked by one of the strippers Brennan had hired for the occasion.
Dec flipped him the bird overhead. “It’s not like we’re going to get married by our own free will, is it?”
“We might. I might have,” I said grumpily, snatching my glass back.
“Yeah, right,” he rejoined with a snort. “We’re kings in Manhattan, bro. We don’t need to tie ourselves down.”
Which was bullshit. We all knew he was still grieving Deirdre, his sweetheart.
But even though I was pissed off, I wasn’t going to hurt Declan by bringing her up and calling him a liar.
She’d led him around by his dick for the most part, but for some reason, the fucker had loved her. Which meant, by now, they’d probably have had about ten kids and he’d have been even more whipped than he’d been back then.
Again, I didn’t say that. I had the ability to keep my trap shut.
“You’re not making me feel better,” I slurred. “I don’t want to get married. And not to Bratva.” I spat, the globule landing on the leather countertop.
“That’s just gross,” Conor shouted. “No spitting on the leather.”
I flipped him the bird this time. “Jerry ain’t sucking you off very well if you can focus on your fucking upholstery!” I growled over my shoulder, taking in the sight of debauchery.
Every man I knew, every brother high enough in the ranks, and friends from school, were all here. Declan and Brennan really had tried.
What amazed me the most was that they’d managed to get Finn here, Finn who was utterly obsessed with his wife.
Because he loved her.
Because he’d had the chance to fall for someone.
A chance I hadn’t been given.
Seeing him sitting at the dining table that was made of what I could only describe as bottle caps—Conor really needed a style
overhaul—I asked Dec, “How did you get him here?”
“I didn’t,” Dec retorted with a laugh. “Aoife did.”
I raised a brow at that. “She has to know what was going to happen tonight.”
The Five Points didn’t have a reputation for being nuns. And on the final night of a man’s freedom? We made Roman orgies look tame.
Dec shrugged. “She has faith in him, and she’s right to by the look of the prick.” He grunted. “Not looked at any pussy all night, more focused on his fucking phone. Might as well have stayed at home.”
My lips twitched. “A woman like Aoife is worth ten of these sluts.”
“True. But a look, man? What harm would that do?”
“None,” I agreed. “But we’d both kick the shit out of him if he did more, wouldn’t we?”
Dec grinned. “Damn your sweet ass we would.”
“Glad you know my ass is sweet,” I muttered, but I was pleased we were on the same page.
Aoife was good as gold. If Finn had cheated on her, I’d have made him swallow his own dick for it. She’d given him a beautiful kid that, honestly, I couldn’t tell whether it was a boy or a girl, and she made the bastard happy. The man might not be blood, but he felt like it. He was as much my brother as the rest of my siblings, and that Aoife put a smile on the bastard’s face relieved us all.
I wanted that for me.
Fuck, I’d never been sentimental before. Had never given a shit, but that was because I thought I’d had time. Time and choices.
Freedom.
“Come on,” Dec grumbled. “You’re about as fucking grim as Finn is.”
I scowled. “You’re not the one being shackled to scum.”
“Have you seen Inessa?” Dec shook his head. “She’s beautiful. It’s not like Dad is marrying you off to one of the ugly fucking sisters.”
“You like her so much, you have her,” I countered.
“Fuck that. She’s eighteen. What the fuck would I do with an eighteen-year-old?”
“Because you’re so much fucking older than me?” I grunted. “Prick.”
“Look, I could have held onto this treat all for myself, but no. I thought I’d give you a present. Maybe put a fucking smile on your face, but if you don’t want—”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What is it?”
He slapped a hand on my back and said, “Come with me.”
With another grunt, I stood up, then winced as my body registered exactly how much I’d been drinking.
Still, it did nothing more than give me the whisky equivalent of a brain freeze, and I slouched beside Dec as he guided me through the crowd.
Overhead, there were three balls glittering a bright, luminous blue that created a spotlight where four whores were currently fucking each other for our enjoyment.
I’d never understood the appreciation of scissoring, but to each their own. They had a ringside collection of men watching the party on a makeshift dais that had been crafted for tonight.
Behind them was a large sofa that seated around fifteen, and it was where most of the guys, including my brother Conor, had their dicks out while another team of whores serviced them.
By the table, at their back, was Finn. He was slouched against the gray leather chair he was sitting on, and he looked like he was at a meeting, except for the fact he wasn’t wearing a suit. He had on a pair of jeans and a thin sweater that would have had him fitting in at brunch at the Four Seasons.
The sight made my lips twitch, especially when I thought about what he was capable of.
Looking at him, you’d never realize the shit he could cause with his fists.
As we approached, he lifted his head and frowned at the sight of us.
“I’m not going over there,” he snapped. Evidently, this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to haul him to the party. “Why would I want a mouth that’s sucked a thousand cocks around my own?”
If I’d needed proof Aoife had been a virgin, I probably had it there and then.
Finn, though he didn’t realize it, had been bitten by the Catholic bug—whether he liked it or not. A lover of purity in all guises.
I’d never been that bothered about purity, which made it a fucking tragedy that I was getting tied to a chick who’d never been boned in her life.
I squinted at him. “I’d have your dick if you put it in one of those whores’ mouths.”
He squinted at me, evidently judging whether I was serious or not, and the sicko grinned when he saw I was speaking damn straight.
“Good man,” he declared. “Does that mean I can go? No offense, Dec, but I grew out of this scene when I was twenty-three.”
“Ready for your pipe and slippers?” Declan sniped.
Finn smirked. “You’ve seen my wife. Think that’s all she gives me when I get home?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’re all really fucking jealous.”
“So you should be,” he countered, then his gaze drifted over the party, which was more of a communal fuckfest than anything else.
To be honest, I understood why he was bored.
“Couldn’t we have gone to Bite? We’d have had a better time, and I wouldn’t be starving.”
My lips twitched at his complaint. “He has a point. I could handle a steak.”
“Everyone’s a fucking critic,” Dec groused. “Next bachelor party we have, you fuckers get to organize it.” Then he shook his head. “Who the fuck eats at a restaurant on an occasion like this?”
“People with stomachs,” Finn said wryly. “Bite has a Michelin star. Doesn’t that take shit up a notch?”
I thought it did, but Dec didn’t agree. He sniffed. “No.”
I sniffed back. “Declan has a present for me.”
“What kind of present?” Finn inquired, brows raised and finally looking interested. “Not food, I’d assume?”
“Fuck’s sake,” came Dec’s grumble. “Is this what happens when you’re shackled? You start thinking with your gut?”
Finn narrowed his eyes, and if Dec wasn’t careful, he was about to get his ass reamed. The way Finn fisted his hands was enough warning, but his words cemented it, “Feel free to test if marriage has made me soft.”
Because Finn was a mean fighter when provoked and Declan was my best man—Ma would kill him if he looked beaten to fuck on my wedding day. The shiner I had was accidental, but it was yellowing and fading, and she’d be giving me shit over that this Sunday when I next saw her—I grumbled, “Where’s this fucking gift?”
Crisis averted, the distraction worked on both my brothers.
“Come with me,” Dec stated, sounding like he was leading us on an adventure.
Finn shrugged, but evidently bored shitless by the party—I couldn’t blame him, pussy wasn’t doing much for me tonight either—decided to join in, and he lagged behind me as I followed Dec.
With each step away from the fuckfest, I recognized how unlike Finn I was, and how much good fortune he’d had marrying someone he’d chosen.
Unlike him, this wasn’t my last night of freedom. I’d get married, but I could still fuck whoever I wanted because it was an arrangement.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
And tonight, I didn’t want to fuck.
I wanted to drink and…
Well, I couldn’t have the latter.
The desire to beat the fuck out of someone, to make them pay for the injustice being handed to me was an urge I’d have to deny myself tonight.
More’s the fucking pity.
When we made it into Conor’s kitchen where it was quieter thanks to the lack of speakers in here, which meant we weren’t being tortured with techno, I demanded, “Come on then, what’s the gift?”
Declan grinned at me. “Few days back, Link got in touch.”
Finn tensed. “The Sinner? What did he want?”
Dec raised a hand. “Told us we might have sprung a leak.”
And like that, any haziness from t
oo much whisky instantly disappeared.
“A leak? To the cops?” I rasped.
Finn, his tension clear, snapped, “The DEA?”
“La fucking Famiglia,” Declan retorted. “And wouldn’t you fucking know it? He was right.”
“Who?” I snarled.
“Jonny O’Byrne.”
My eyes widened. “No fucking way. He’s a Five Pointer to his core.”
“Nope, he’s a junkie,” Dec countered, his rage clear as he cracked his knuckles again. “The Fieri cunts snagged him up and reeled us in.”
“Been feeding him his highs?” Finn growled, folding his arms over his chest.
“Yeah. Only found out after a bit of digging. You know how tightknit we’ve been keeping the shipments. Only a dozen people really know what’s going down, and guarding the warehouse—” He shrugged. “Maybe a dozen more. Had to investigate and found a fucking rotten apple in our midst.”
My mouth curled into a snarl. “Where is he? We going to take him down tonight?”
Dec rubbed his hands together before he strode over the shiny black marble floor, crossed to the station that was topped with more black marble, and pulled a knife from one of the stands there.
This place looked like a pro could cook in it, but Conor couldn’t even make a fucking pancake without almost burning the place down.
Still, he had it all fully equipped…
As I eyed a nice cleaver, I asked, “You brought him here?”
Dec grinned. “Surprised?”
My mouth snagged higher into a snarl. “Bet your damn ass I am.”
Striding over to him, I grabbed the cleaver, then turned back to look at Finn. “You joining us?”
“Do bears shit in the woods?” he snarled. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Declan? This party wouldn’t have been so fucking boring.”
Declan snapped, “Fuck you,” even as he strode over to a door beside the fridge.
When he opened it and revealed a walk-in freezer, I wasn’t surprised at what I saw in there.
We all had special rooms in our places, and most of us had an area where we could sew up a soldier on short notice. Conor was one of the lucky ones.
As I eyed the man who was strung up from the ceiling, his body one big shiver, his eyelashes tipped with icicles and his face blue, I called his name.
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