Filthy Dark: A SECOND CHANCE/SECRET BABY, MAFIA ROMANCE (THE FIVE POINTS' MOB COLLECTION Book 3)

by Serena Akeroyd

  “We just need a week.”

  “I get it. I’ll handle it.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Want me to put some feelers out?”

  “We have people working on it, but any help is appreciated.”

  I blinked as I stared out at my office, with the windows that overlooked a field of crates that were loaded with all kinds of gear which was waiting to cross the borders. “I’ll bet. I’m sorry, man. Send Rex my condolences.”

  “Bear’s a stubborn old fuck. He won’t die without a fight.”

  “I didn’t even think he was a part of the MC anymore.”

  “Technically, he isn’t. But it’s not like we’re going to kick him out. He ain’t been the same since his Old Lady passed on.”

  “Can’t blame him.”

  Sin blew out a breath. “Nah. Shit changes when you find your own. Before, you just feel sorry for ‘em. But when you’ve met yours? Everything suddenly makes sense.”

  Because I knew exactly what he meant, I reached up and tugged on my bottom lip. “MaryCat wasn’t hurt, was she?”

  “No. Thank fuck. She and Digger were upstairs, away from the blast. She gets tired now that she’s pregnant.”

  “That was some dumb luck on the attacker’s part that you were all on the compound,” I murmured, commiseration in my voice.

  “Yeah. Either that or someone fucking told them.”

  I tensed at that. “Seriously?”

  “Fuck knows, man. All I do know is that our place has no windows, half of the front end is torn to shreds, and we’re lucky that the clubhouse bar is in the middle, toward the back so there weren’t many injuries. There are only three windows that look out onto the front. Most of our injuries came from the glass that shattered during the explosion.”

  Jesus.

  Weary, I rubbed my eyes again, and even though I knew I’d set Conor onto the investigation so that we could keep appraised of the situation, I rumbled, “Brennan said he told you about our ties.”

  “He told me my ma wasn’t just a cumslut. She was a fancy cumslut.”

  I arched a brow. “Well, I wouldn’t disagree. I know Leanne too well for my own liking.”

  “Huh? Why would you?”

  “You guys really didn’t look too deeply into our links, did you?” I asked, amused as all hell. “Didn’t MaryCat explain?” I tacked on, talking about his half-sister who’d started the business operation between the Satan’s Sinners’ MC and us.

  “She doesn’t talk about the Five Points. At least, not to us. Maybe to Digger, but he’s never said anything in church.”

  Though I cocked a brow at that, I tipped an imaginary hat to her.

  Even knowing we trained our girls well, it suited me to hear that MaryCat knew to keep her mouth shut. Even so far as to the extent that she didn’t tell her half-brother about his familial links with us.

  “Well, she’s my second cousin. On your mother’s side. Which makes you my second cousin too.”

  Silence fell at that. “Christ.”

  Pretty much summed it up. “Anyway, I’ll let that sink in, and the fact that you ain’t just a Sinner, but a Five Pointer by birth. If you need us, we’re here. You got me?”

  He cleared his throat. “I got you.”

  “Any of the women hurt?”

  “No. Thank fuck. Got one man with goddamn amnesia of all things.”

  “Legit?” I had to laugh. “Fuck, it’s like an episode of Days of our Lives.”

  “Trust me, I know.” He blew out a breath. “We’re going to do the best we can to get back to a regular schedule ASAP. I appreciate you cutting us some slack, and I know Rex will too.”

  I hummed. “Keep me in the loop, yeah?”

  “Will do. Thanks… cuz.”

  My lips twitched. “You’re welcome, Padraig.”

  When I cut the call, I instantly hit Conor’s number as I rocked back in my seat. “Got news.”

  “Good news?”

  “Nope. The Sinners’ compound was hit with heavy duty explosives.”

  “Jesus.” The line throbbed with his tension. “Anyone hurt?”

  “Yeah.” Because I knew him well enough to know where his mind was running, I asked, “You really think Lodestar is living with them?”

  “I’ve believed it for a while.”

  “Well, Padraig said that none of the women were harmed, so you should be okay.”

  “Like I give a fuck,” he grumbled.

  I snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Save it for Brennan. We both know he gives you more shit than I do.”

  “That’s why you’re my favorite brother.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Naw, it’s true. You are.”

  “I am today.”

  “I have news for you too.”

  “Better than mine?”

  “Nope. Well, maybe. Cillian Donahue is alive and well and living in Astoria. He is in WITSEC.”

  Fuck.

  “Witness protection for what?”

  “Must have ratted us out.”

  “To whom? I mean, shit. What he knew would be enough for Da to slaughter me.”

  “Whatever he gave them must have helped a case that wasn’t related.”

  “We’d have heard about it, surely? With the court case? We’ve had no major players sent down for a long time.”

  He hummed. “I’m still looking into it.”

  “That means that bitch really is the blackmailer.”

  “I’m looking forward to her wearing a body bag.”

  “Me too.” I scraped a hand over my jaw. “Any other news?”

  “Nope, but I’ll put some feelers out, try and see if there are any whispers about who’s behind the blast at the Sinners’ compound.”

  “It’s like you read my mind.”

  “I did. It’s a skill I picked up a long time ago.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sell that to Seamus… and even he’s too old to believe you.”

  “Speaking of, how’s he doing?”

  “He’s okay. We had a good talk the other day. I told him he didn’t have to come into the life if he didn’t want to.”

  “Does he?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not surprising. It’s not for everyone.”

  “You mean working on a Saturday ain’t for everyone? I’d never have guessed.”

  He snickered. “Where are they?”

  “Dunno. I don’t keep trackers on them. Their guards know to get in touch if there’s an issue.”

  Even as the words slipped from my lips, I regretted them.

  Especially when my phone buzzed, indicating there was an incoming call.

  I cleared my throat as I pulled it away, and when I saw George’s name flash on the screen, I cursed under my breath.

  “What is it?”

  “Liam, one of their guards, is calling. I gotta go.”

  “Keep me updated.”

  “Yeah.”

  I switched over to Liam’s call, and what I heard had my heart fucking sinking.

  Screams.

  And gunshots.

  Fuck.

  Twenty-Eight

  Seamus

  I’d never been to Coney Island before, and after today, I knew I’d never go again.

  Ever.

  Again.

  The place was tainted. Absolutely wrecked. And not just for my memory banks.

  At first, I hadn’t known what was happening.

  We’d been walking on the boardwalk while Mom and I were eating ice cream that melted down our hands. It had been like any other day out. I’d been with her to the beach so many times, eaten ice cream with her so many times, but it was cool to be here.

  New York City was my place.

  My home.

  I wasn’t sure why I felt that way, not when I’d visited all over and had spent most of my life in Europe. But it was. Maybe because Declan was here, and the family. They were all insane, but it was a good kind of insane, you know?

  They wer
e killers. The lot of them.

  But I knew they had honor.

  I’d seen dishonorable things in my time. Had seen things I wished I could unsee, and today was one such event.

  Just another to add to the tally.

  The boardwalk was stained with blood, and bodies strewn here and there. It was like something from Grand Theft Auto—a nightmare.

  People, innocent people, were on the ground, crawling toward safety, but where did you find safety on a boardwalk where there was nothing between the ocean and you but the sand?

  There was no coverage, that was what made it a thousand times worse, and Mom and I had been lucky. I’d wanted to go into the Aquarium, so we’d been heading through the entrance just when we’d heard shooting.

  On either side of the walkway, there was a kind of grassy knoll, and Liam had shoved us down there while George covered us. Mom had hit her head, and though I kept pressing my ear to her mouth, just to hear her breathing, I knew she was okay. She’d just fallen wrong.

  I was almost glad she wasn’t going through this. Almost glad because I needed her, and she was unconscious.

  A flurry of bullets had me clenching my fists to the point of pain because they were close. Closer than before.

  I could hear a mixture of accents—Bronx competed with Russian—and I knew this was a turf war.

  A turf war in a seaside resort.

  What the hell was happening?

  I wanted to cling to Mom, wanted to hug her to me, but I knew I could hurt her even more. I needed to stay still, needed not to move her.

  It was hard.

  So hard.

  I wanted to move her out of the way, tuck her into safety—

  A dozen screams rang out around me, and I jerked in surprise when a body tumbled over the sidewalk and into the underpass where we were.

  When I saw it was George, my eyes widened because…

  His head.

  It was…

  Where was his face?

  The mass of blood and flesh sent me back to that day. A day I’d tried to forget. A day I’d tried to delete from my brain, but I wasn’t a computer, and no matter how hard I tried, there was no deleting files from there.

  My great-grandparents had died like this. But it was her I could see like it was yesterday. The blood draining from her chest, sputtering from her mouth as she lay on the ground, staring up at nothing.

  George didn’t even have any eyes to stare with.

  He was a mass of pulpy flesh that made me want to puke.

  My eyes prickled with tears, though, because I knew that if George was dead, Liam was nowhere to be seen which made me think he’d been hit too, and Jerry was back in the car, I was alone.

  I was the only one who could keep Mom safe.

  There was blood everywhere, and in the heat of the day, somehow, the metallic scent was all the more powerful.

  I knew I’d never forget it. How could I?

  This wasn’t the first time I’d seen something like this, and that was before Declan had come into our lives.

  I’d told him that my great-grandparents had died in a home invasion that had gone wrong—I’d lied.

  Well, not about the home invasion. But I’d only known how they died because I’d seen it. Great-Grandma had shoved me in a closet a few seconds before the doors had burst open and masked gunmen had stormed in.

  I’d watched them shove guns under their chins and blow their brains out.

  That had happened when I was five.

  I still remembered it.

  Like it was yesterday.

  I’d asked Declan to look into it, to see if it was murder, and Conor had told me it was just a run of the mill home invasion that had gone wrong… I knew it wasn’t.

  Sure, on paper it was, but I’d been there.

  I’d seen it. I knew otherwise.

  Then there was the time when Mom had a job in West Orange.

  People died around me.

  Gruesome deaths.

  Nasty deaths.

  It was why I kept checking on Mom. She couldn’t leave me. She just couldn’t.

  I heard some footsteps on the boardwalk above me, and though the prospect of touching George was horrendous, I knew I had no choice. His gun was in his hand, and I could see from the bulk in his jacket that he probably had another weapon holstered there.

  As I moved over to his side, my knees burning as they scraped on a stone in the grass as I grazed it, I managed to take the gun from the holster as well as the one in his hands.

  Soon, I knew his body would grow stiff with death. Rigor mortis, they called it. I’d read about it on Wikipedia, but reading about it had only made the memories worse.

  Mom didn’t know the extent of what I’d seen. If she had, she’d have made me see that kid shrink even more. That was when I’d known I had to lie to her.

  Even if it was for my own good.

  Talking about that stuff while some idiot tried to get me to talk about my feelings over Play-Doh was not how my brain worked.

  The gun was warm in my hands, and I clasped it tightly as I checked it over. It was loaded, heavy with bullets, and the safety was off.

  I skidded away from George once more, and making sure I covered Mom, I leaned my elbows on my knees to rest them there, then pointed toward the walkway. Just in case.

  A shower of Russian voices came and went, then there was Italian. I heard it. And my heart surged up and out of my chest, almost like I was in a cartoon.

  “Where’s the Westie boy?” I translated, grateful and ungrateful for the fact that I understood Italian thanks to eight months there when I was seven.

  I didn’t know why they called the Irish ‘Westies,’ but I’d picked up on it when a kid at school had called me it. I’d broken his nose for the insult, but the term had stuck with me.

  It was how I knew the men were looking for me.

  It was happening.

  Somehow, I’d known they’d come for me. Where the guy I’d seen on the TV finally realized I’d seen what I had.

  When he knew I was a liability.

  Declan’s world was rife with danger, but I’d been born outside of it. Yet, somehow, I’d been fated to walk this path.

  To take this path. One where peril and death were a part of my every day.

  I tried to calm myself down, tried to stop the shake in my hands.

  I’d practiced for this.

  I’d practiced so much just in case they ever came for me.

  Footsteps tapped on the boardwalk above our heads, but I didn’t move, I just stayed focused on the one field of vision I had—the sidewalk that led to the Aquarium.

  Even as I prayed that they’d leave me alone, that they’d think we’d gone elsewhere, I knew that wasn’t in my future.

  My future was blood red.

  In the near distance, above the roar of the ocean and the sporadic flood of screams as bullets cascaded into the sand, I heard brakes squealing.

  The cops?

  They were too late to save me from myself though.

  A guy walked down the sidewalk. He paused, looked over the underpass to the left, then, he twisted to the right. The second he did?

  I pressed the trigger.

  And my soul was awash with blood for the fourth time in my life.

  AELA

  When I woke up, I was in bed.

  The only trouble was, I had no idea how that had happened.

  I remembered being in Coney Island. Remembered eating ice cream with Shay, and I remembered—

  Huh.

  Bupkis.

  Stretching a little, and wondering if I’d had too much wine with dinner last night, I encountered someone. That wasn’t too unusual now, considering Dec and I slept together every night—with Shay’s approval according to Dec—but this was different.

  This one smelled of sweat, and even though he was technically not a little boy anymore, he had that odd scent that was unique to him. Like when he was dirty and grubby and it had this sweaty
smell that was kinda gross, but his basic essence, and I loved it.

  Sue me, I knew it was weird, and I knew he’d prefer his signature scent to be frickin’ Calvin Klein, what with how he kept spraying it on himself before school, but nope. Puppy dog’s tails and snails was how he smelled to me.

  The old nursery rhyme made me laugh, but I wasn’t altogether sure why Shay was sleeping with me. In Dec’s bed. Not that I minded, at all, it was just… he’d definitely think he was too old for this.

  Blinking, I squeezed him a little, and whispered, “Morning, kiddo.”

  He tensed, then peered up at me, and the agony in his eyes had me wondering what I’d missed.

  Cupping his cheek, I asked, “Did you have another nightmare?” We’d gotten them under control a couple of years ago, but I’d only seen him like this when he had bad dreams. Dreams so terrible he’d scream the house down.

  I knew this was technically an impossibility, but my kid’s will was like no other—I was sure he’d stopped the dreams so he didn’t have to see a shrink anymore.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I rasped.

  “Don’t you remember?” he whispered, his eyes bright pink and bloodshot, tears flooding them…

  Why?

  Then it hit me.

  Shit.

  The shoot-out.

  I blew out a breath. “Did I hit my head?”

  “You were out of it for so long.” He closed his eyes. “Mom, I did something real bad.”

  All I could do was hold him, hold him so damn tight he knew I’d never let him go, and I did just that as I whispered in his ear. “Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

  His head shook from side to side. “You can’t fix death.”

  I tensed. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”

  “I-I killed someone.”

  Inside, I sagged. On the outside, I had no choice but to say, “It was self-defense.”

  “You don’t know that. You were unconscious.”

  “I know you.”

  He peered up at me, biting his lip as he did so. I knew he wanted me to believe him, and I would.

  Always.

  I cupped his cheek, wiping the tear tracks away with my thumb as I told him, “You know this world isn’t like the one we lived in before, sweetheart. Life and death are a part of it. Your dad will fix things. Just you see.”