by Henry, Jane
I try to swallow but my mouth’s too dry. There isn’t anything to this, right? Just... touch his lips with mine and maybe then I’ll know what to do. How to make him like it. It’s vitally important to me that he likes it. That he likes me. Though I’m ignorant to the ways of the world, and don’t even really know who he is, who the men he calls brother are, I know that a man like Keenan, so powerful and handsome, could have any woman he wants. And yet I’m the woman standing naked in front of him. That means something.
I don’t want him to grow angry or disappointed, so I force myself into the unknown. I bend my head to his, my hands still anchored on his broad shoulders, and with the faintest touch like the flutter of angel’s wings, I touch my lips to his. The way he groans into my mouth encourages me, so I lace my fingers behind his neck and gently part my lips. His hands span my lower back, pulling me closer. I could do something with my tongue, but I like it just like this, the sensual, soft feel of his lips while he holds me closer. We fuse together. I’m so close now there isn’t an inch between us. I don’t understand how or why, but with his lips on mine, the heat he sent vibrating through my body intensifies. A humming sensation ripples through me, and I finally realize I’m making a sort of moaning noise.
I pull away, confused at how I’m reacting like this.
“What is it, Caitlin?” he asks. “You were doing wonderfully.”
My belly flips with his praise. “It’s... a little overwhelming,” I confess. “And I fear I won’t please you.”
“Not please me?” he says, as if I just suggested we fly to the moon. “Your very presence pleases me.” He shakes his head. “A man like me craves the submission and trust of a woman, and you grant that to me without a second thought. And I didn’t know how badly I craved your innocence until I tasted it.”
My innocence? My submission and trust? I don’t quite understand it all, but I do know that I please him. And I like that.
“It... it pleases me to please you.” I shake my head and my cheeks heat with embarrassment. I didn’t mean to sound so awkward and silly. “I mean I—” but I don’t know what I mean, so I don’t finish it. “Oh, bother.”
He chuckles. “I think it’s best if we—”
Something vibrates in his pocket. I watch a shutter go down over his face, the temporary glimmer at his own vulnerability gone.
Holding me with one palm on my lower back, he removes his phone with his free hand.
“What is it?” he snaps. Then he closes his eyes and mutters, “Christ. Yeah. I’ll be right there.”
My heart sinks. He’s being called away again. Is nothing sacred for him? Must he always be on demand to fulfill the needs of his brothers, his group of men?
“I’ve got to go.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to be brave. I don’t want him to go. I feel as if we’ve just popped the cork on a bottle of champagne, but he has to go before we’ve even sipped it. We were only just beginning. I’m sure of it.
“I’ll be back, sweet girl. I have to be sure you’re safe, so I still don’t want you to leave this room. No dinner out this evening.”
He’s putting his shield up again. I can see it in his eyes.
“If it weren’t the type of errand I need to run alone, I’d take you with me. I’m taking you with me to the school at the weekend.” I have questions about that but know better than to ask. “I’ll tell you more when I return,” he says, as if he’s read my mind and realizes I have questions I need answered.
“Okay,” I say. There’s so much more I want to say, but I don’t know if it’s my place.
Come back to me.
Stay safe.
I’ll be waiting.
I’m confused about my feelings toward him and his evident feelings toward me. I thought I was a prisoner, but it seems we flirt with moving past that into this odd arrangement.
“You’re a good lass,” he says, leading me to the bed. “Now put some clothes on so none of my men see you. It’d be complicated having to kill one of my own.”
I giggle, but he isn’t smiling. Oh. Well, then. I quickly grab a dress, heeding his “no knickers” growl from where he’s taking things out of his dresser. I look over my shoulder to see him sliding his arms into a black harness type thing, which he fastens in front before he takes a locked box out of his bottom drawer. Removing several guns, he slides them into the holsters. There are... many guns. He doesn’t even think twice. He got a call, and now he’s outfitting himself with weapons. I swallow hard. Keenan McCarthy is not a good man. Then why do I feel the way I do about him?
“What would you like to eat?”
I shrug. I have no idea. I grew up eating food that was served simply for the sake of filling my belly.
“Are your tastes so simple, sweet Cait?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, with a smile, before I can censor my response. “I have a taste for you, and you’re anything but simple.”
He sobers, and a look crosses his eyes that I can’t quite decipher. “We’ve the finest fish in all of Ireland, our greens grown right here on property. I’ll order you dinner and dessert, and hopefully by the time you’ve finished, I’ll be back.”
He’s wearing an overcoat now, a thick, heavy thing that covers the weapons he’s hidden beneath it. His phone buzzes again. Cursing under his breath, he comes to me, weaves his fingers through my thick hair, and pulls my head back. When I open on a gasp, he captures my mouth with his, this kiss as different as the one I gave him as night to day. This is at once a capture and claim, but it ends as soon as it begins. “Be a good girl while I’m gone, and we will pick up where we left off when I return.”
And then he’s gone. A sort of sadness comes to me at his absence, one I don’t understand. As I said to him, I’ve grown used to my own company. I’m not afraid of being alone. But we’ve started something we haven’t finished, and I mean to see where that leads us.
Food is brought up directly. I enjoy the delicate, flaky fish, savory pile of wilted, buttered greens, and golden roasted potatoes on the side. I eat until my belly’s full, but I’ve saved some room for the dessert, a pretty white cake topped with whipped cream and red berries.
There’s an elegant glass of a light, golden liquid. Is it wine? I’ve never had any before. I take a tentative sip and nearly choke, sputtering and coughing. I’m glad Keenan isn’t here to see that. Would he laugh at me? I place the glass back down. He can keep that for himself. I push the tray aside on the desk and stand, walking to one of the large windows with bars on it. I don’t like the bars, because no matter what he’s said, it feels like I’m imprisoned.
How long will I be held here? How long will I be his prisoner?
And why do I wish he won’t let me go?
Chapter Thirteen
Keenan
I’m fucking done with contracted hits. Done.
And not just because tonight’s yanked me out of a taste of perfection with Caitlin. Mack Martin’s group is well known for contracted hits, but their work is sloppy and haphazard. Last year, one of his men performed half a dozen hits, a Clan record in Ireland, and the fucking wanker marked every one of them with a slash of blade on the back of his kills. The police found him on the seventh, and easily linked each one of the deaths he’d marked. The Martin’s worked hard to ensure that none of the blame fell on them, but as insiders, we knew better.
“No more hits,” I tell Carson. “For fuck’s sake. The only hits we do from here on out are for retribution.”
“Aye, boss,” Carson says. “That’s what this is, though.”
Well that’s a horse of another color.
“Not a contracted hit?” How’d I miss the details on that? Is the girl affecting me? Have I lost my focus?
“Nossir,” he says, opening the driver’s side door and sliding in. He clicks the locks so I can ride. “Patrick O’Conner’s owed The Clan three million dollars since before the new year. Your father gave him until yesterday to pay, and Boner caught him trying to
flee the country.”
Son of a bitch. I should fucking know this.
“And why didn’t you tell me this before?” I ask. I fucking hate being left out of important details. Carson’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head.
“We did, Keenan. Yesterday.”
Christ. The girl is affecting me.
I don’t respond.
“Our plan?”
“Boner’s got him in lockdown and Tully’s prepared to finish the job.”
“He’s been punished?”
“Thoroughly. Begging for them to end him now.”
I don’t respond. I can envision already what’s happened and what will. And it doesn’t bother me. It should. It fucking should. No matter who I am or what I do, I won’t allow myself to become immune to the brutality we inflict, we endure, and the lives we take. As Clan leader, when I rise to that role, I’ll keep myself sharp.
We’re off site tonight, and I almost wish we weren’t, that we would do what we had to in the interrogation room, right here on our property. As soon as I’m able, I want to get back up to Caitlin. To touch her. Speak with her. And somehow, some way, be cleansed of tonight’s deeds with her purity and simple candor.
Just yesterday, I wished I’d be sent on a mission of violence, one I could control and manipulate with my own bare hands, but this time I’m glad I’m only here as witness. I don’t want to touch the unsullied girl with blood-stained fingers. Not tonight. Christ, not tonight.
We pull into the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse, one of the very few on the outskirts of Ballyhock, and in silence leave the vehicle. The gun I’m carrying has a silencer, and though I hope I don’t have to use it tonight, I’m prepared. I pull on gloves, check my weapon, and march to where my men wait by the warehouse.
Tully and Boner are inside, but Nolan waits with a few of my other men by the door. Nolan’s fucking sober this time, for once. He nods and opens the door. Though we do what we have to, not a one of us is immune to the taking of a life when necessary, and few of us like it.
“Keenan,” Nolan acknowledges me as I pass.
“Any word?” I ask, code for asking if we’re clear. No one’s followed us, no one’s tapped us, the man we’ll execute tonight’s not brought baggage with him.
“No word,” Nolan confirms, walking in with me.
I enter the warehouse, my feet leaden. I never feel like this. I thought I’d grown immune to the taking of a life, even enjoyed the power and control fulfilling an assignment gave me. But tonight feels different. Perhaps Caitlin’s affected me in more ways than I’ve realized.
I hear the man’s cries before I enter the room.
“Shut it,” I snap. “You brought this on yourself, and I don’t want to hear you blubbering like a fucking child.”
I take it all in in seconds. The man on his knees, arms tied behind his back, his face beaten beyond recognition. Though his eyes are swollen shut, tears still manage to leak down his bloodied face. Tully’s bare from the waist up, his muscles covered in a fine sheen, glistening under the overhead lighting. His clothes are neatly folded, tucked under Nolan’s arm. He doesn’t want to harm his clothing. His fists are covered in blood, his eyes cold and uncompromising. He nods to me without turning his head.
“Boss.”
“You’ve something to say for yourself?” I ask the man in front of Tully. He only sobs louder.
I nod to Boner. With grim determination, his jaw locked, Boner removes his gun.
“Fucking silence it,” I snap. Without his silencer, the gunshot could be heard for fucking miles. It’s a rookie mistake, and he’ll answer for that. His eyes snap to mine in wide-eyed surprise. He knows he fucked up.
Swallowing hard, he puts the silencer in place.
Tully stands to the left, prepared to mete out further punishment if I give the order. Boner sets his face to steel and cocks his pistol. Bile rises in my throat and my stomach clenches. I swallow hard, surprised by my reaction. I don’t feel remorse when I make a kill or witness one. Retribution is one of the most basic tenets of my brotherhood, an iron-clad law we don’t compromise on. Then why now?
“You made your choice,” Boner says to the man, as if to convince himself why he’s carrying out this sentence. He goes to pull the trigger and a hawk screeches outside. Boner misses, his shot wedging into the ceiling.
“Get out of the way,” I order Boner. You finish a kill with one bullet, or you fucked up. I’m out of patience. Without a backward glance, I reach for my gun, silencer in place, kneel before our hostage, and pull the trigger. My shot’s certain, my mark is clear. Blood blooms on the side of his temple, and he falls to the ground.
“Need to cleanse my palate,” Nolan says as we finish up cleaning the room and prepare to leave. I raise a brow at him.
“Oh?”
“Let’s go to the club,” Boner says.
I want to go home to Caitlin, but I need to reconnect with my men, and as Nolan says, cleanse my palate. I don’t want to go back to her with the memory of vacant eyes and pools of blood. Not now. Not yet.
Why does this bother me so? I’m the first to take the assignment of a hit, and I don’t waffle in the face of what needs to be done.
“This weekend, you’ll come with me to St. Albert’s,” I tell Boner. He hangs his head and a muscle twitches in his jaw, but he doesn’t say a word. He fucked up, and it’s my job to mete out punishment. In our line of work, punishment for fucking up a job could be anything from physical labor, to a beating, to menial labor. I’ve chosen something in between. The weekend is his time to party with his friends, and he spends every waking minute at the club. He’ll forfeit his weekend off to assist me at St. Albert’s.
The men around me sober. Though Boner’s like a brother to me, our ranking is clear as day. Stepping into the role of Clan Chief is a gradual process, one task to another, until my duties mirror my father’s, as his duties mirrored his father’s. When I rise to the role of Chief, we’ll stand side by side on equal footing until he defers full leadership to me. The men below me know better than to talk back. Though I consider these men my brothers, the uncompromising hierarchy of power holds us together. The structure of The Clan is unchanged since its founding in the 1960s, and anyone who can’t abide by our laws and principles isn’t welcome among us. We know this. We were taught this from the cradle, the rules reinforced at St. Albert’s.
“I’m sorry, Keenan,” Boner says. I nod. Apology accepted.
“Come with me to the club, brother?” Boner asks tentatively. He wants to make amends. He wants us on good footing again. I want to go back to Caitlin. I long to see her sweet, innocent eyes looking up at me, to hear her gentle voice, to run my hands through her midnight length of silky hair. I swallow hard, surprised at the strength of my desire for her. But what I want isn’t as important as bringing Boner back into the fold, for him to know he may’ve fucked up and I noticed, but he’s still my brother.
“Aye,” I tell him, earning a hoot from Tully and a fist pump from Nolan. My brother’s eyes light up like Christmas candles, and I can’t help but smile. I’m stern with him, I know, but I love the son of a bitch.
I look over the room. I called my men and ordered it cleaned thoroughly, the floor immaculate, the body disposed of. Tomorrow, word will get out unofficially about what happened tonight. Some will cross themselves and wish for deliverance, but most will nod their heads. We’ve sixty years of experience in Ballyhock, and those who know us know we’re fair, we’re just, but we’re exacting. You don’t borrow money from The Clan you can’t repay.
Still, I wonder what Caitlin would say. Why does it bother me that I fear her response? I shake my head, physically casting off the niggling fears I carry, when our ride arrives.
“Tis a good night, Keenan joins us on the lash,” Nolan says as we pile into the car.
“We’ll see ’tis a good night,” Boner says. “See if he snogs someone, aye?”
Nolan snorts. “Snogs? See if he bangs one,
more like.”
“Not gonna happen, lads,” Tully says, pulling a flask out of his pocket and taking a hearty swig. He hands it around, and I take a good pull myself. “Don’t you got eyes in yer heads? Bejesus, he’s got a sweet little flack waitin’ for him at home.”
“The prisoner?” Nolan asks. “Got a good eye full of her myself, and she—” he shuts his trap when I punch his arm. “Aw, I mean her eyes, brother, not her body.” He rubs his arm and pouts.
“Y’all have been runnin’ your gobs about this place for so long, I figure it’s time I get a good look,” I say. Boner grins. We’re good. He’ll pay his penalty at the weekend, but he knows I’m not holding a grudge. We can’t, in the brotherhood. Have to have each other’s backs.
We pull up to the club, and I don’t miss the way people whisper when we arrive. Three large bouncers at the door let us in without carding us, and we’re brought immediately into where I’ve been before, the main club entrance. I walk to a table and go to pull out a chair, when Nolan’s hand comes to my arm and he stops me.
“Keenan, are you out of your fucking mind?” he says. “You don’t sit in here, brother.” He shakes his head and casts his eyes heavenward.
Boner said something of this before. I don’t reply but cross my arms on my chest and look to Nolan for the lead. He leans in, whispering in my ear, “This is only the front, ya plonker. You’re feckin’ heir to the throne. You come with us.”
There are dozens of people in here, throwing back drinks and cajoling one another. Several couples are groping and snogging, and one girl’s sitting on the lap of a man who looks old enough to be her father. But Nolan and Boner lead us past the throng of people on the dance floor, past the dimly lit bar, past the waitresses that look longingly after Nolan. They stop when we reach a silver elevator with two large men guarding the door. Their clothing’s black as midnight, matching the color of their skin, their eyes glittering with the promise of violence to anyone who dare step a toe out of line, but when they see Nolan and Boner coming, they smile.