“Jesus Christ, Seamus,” I say, leaning back into the sofa. “You’re sorry you didn’t let your dad kill mine?”
I repeat each word slowly and carefully to make sure I’ve got this right.
“He’d have done it himself,” Seamus offers lamely. “He always took care of the jobs he thought were the most important personally.”
“Oh my god,” I say. “This is so fucked up.” Absurdly, I start laughing.
“Honey,” I say, looking at Seamus. “Your big bad secret is that you didn’t knock off my dad.”
“I shouldn’t have let him hurt you, Evi. If he wasn’t dead now, I’d…”
“Sue him?” I say, my laughter near hysterical now. “Seamus, come on. And you were lecturing me on approaching the Carneys?”
Immediately, he’s on guard. His eyes are filled with shock. Doesn’t he see how absurd this is?
No. Oh my god. He doesn’t.
I stop laughing.
“Jesus, you’ve been carrying that weight for a long time.” I caress his face, turning it so he’s looking at me. “Seamus, you did the right thing. I never would’ve forgiven you if you’d let Murphy kill my father. I knew we’d never reconcile, but if you’d taken that chance away from me prematurely…” I pause and press my lips to his. Suddenly my heart feels heavy. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to protect me, Seamus. You were just a kid too.”
He wraps his arms around me. And I know now that I can’t leave saving my shop up to him. I have to get outside help so he doesn’t have to feel this guilt ever again. Not because of me and my shitty circumstances.
I care too much about him to be another of his burdens.
11
Evi
Finn Carney is sitting in my shop. He’s a good-looking man: tall, black hair and dark blue eyes. He has a scar through the middle of his left eyebrow which somehow only adds to his allure. His long, jean-clad legs are stretched out nonchalantly. He’s such a contrast to Seamus, relaxed, wearing a white tank top under a flannel shirt, a scally cap pulled over his head.
“I’m sorry, Finn,” I say, wiping my hands on a towel. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
Finn went to school with Seamus and me, though Seamus didn’t know I’d kept in touch with him. Nothing serious, just a coffee once a year, maybe.
We’d never hooked up, but we’d come close.
“Not a problem, lassie,” Finn says, smiling roguishly. “Always glad to help a friend. Especially if that friend is you.”
I sit in one of the plastic chairs next to him. “Finn, you know the Stacys are after my shop. They’re after this block.”
“Ol’ Murphy Doyle can’t like that,” Finn says, tsking. He’s chewing on a toothpick. “A shame he’s so sick.” He can’t keep the smile off his face. “A real shame.”
“Murphy’s been like a father to me,” I say, my voice a warning. “I want to keep the Doyles out of this.”
Finn leans forward, his eyes glinting. “Even Seamus, love? I hear he’s taken the case. Ol’ Pretty Boy Esquire going to take care of things for you?”
Heat rises to my cheeks at the mention of Seamus’ name, and Finn nods.
“Taking care of lots of things for you by the looks of it.”
My head snaps up. “Don’t fuck with me, Finn. You know better.”
“Of course, Evi. Of course.” He holds up his hands. “Since you called me then, love, what can I do for you?”
I wring my hands, wondering if I’m doing the right thing. But then I remember the look on Seamus’ face after his confession, and it strengthens my resolve.
“How do I keep my shop, Finn? If the legal ways don’t work out?”
“The Stacys are going to win the legal war, Evi. Even your fancy lawyer boyfriend can’t outmaneuver them.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I hiss.
“No?” Finn’s mouth quirks up. “There’s hope then, hmm?” He presses his hands to his chest and I want to slap him.
“If you’re not going to help then you can get out.” I stand up, and he tsks again.
“Love your fire, Evi. Always have. I knew you wouldn’t be happy playing it safe.” He crosses his long legs at the ankles, his casual posture infuriating. “Okay. My family and I will help you.”
“What do you want in return?” I ask.
“Just a kiss, Evi.” He points at his cheek. He smiles at my bristling. “Come on now. Seamus won’t be mad. It’s a fair payment for your life’s work.”
I didn’t trust him, but I had no choice. I leaned over and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek.
“Just like the Virgin Mary,” He says, smiling and pressing his hands together in prayer. “We’re going to need you to sign over your shop to us too.”
Between the value of the land and the money I’m raking in? That’d be a pretty penny for the Carneys. Greedy bastards.
I straighten up. “No fucking way, Finn. The whole point is saving my shop!”
“You’ll still be a partner,” he says, waving a hand at me. “I told you long legal maneuverings will only delay the inevitable. This block is getting demolished. But you’ve been a thorn in the Stacys’ side. My brothers and I can convince them to incorporate your shop into their new condos. Even your loft. Easily.” He grins at me and it’s unsettling. “We’re just great at convincing people of things.”
“But I want the whole block to survive,” I murmur, sitting again.
“Tsk, I know, love, and I wish we could help each and every one of the sad sacks here, but they probably should take the money and run. A hip tattoo shop run by an artist featured nationally in magazines and locally in our biggest museums is a fine investment. Not a pizza joint that frankly,” he pauses and looks up at the wood beams in the ceiling, “could catch on fire any time.”
“Finn…”
“These old buildings are tinder boxes, love. Better you partner with us. We’ll keep you right safe where you are.” He pulls his legs toward him and stands up. “You have until the end of the week to decide, Evi. After that,” he pauses, and then shrugs. “Okay, darlin’, tell Seamus I said hi.” With a wink, he’s out of my shop, and heading off into the dark night.
I shut off the lights and climb upstairs to my loft, exhausted. I knew there’d be a price with the Carneys, but not like this. I was foolish to think they’d be able to kneecap the Stacys into submission.
Maybe the hit offer for my father would be redeemable on the mayor and his brother? I laugh bitterly, flopping on my bed and staring at the ceiling. I didn’t want to betray the Santuccis, or my shop. I couldn’t live with myself. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try every avenue to save my shop, either. It’s all I have.
A quiet voice in my head reminds me that I also have Seamus.
“Not after tonight,” I murmur. God, he’ll be so mad if he finds out what I’ve done. What I plan to do. The rivalry between the Carneys and the Doyles goes way back. And where the Doyles had mostly gone straight? You definitely can’t say the same about the Carneys, no matter how much they use flash and money to hide their dark shit.
Seamus would never forgive me for choosing the Carneys over his family. Especially after everything they’d done for me. After everything he’s done for me. But that’s why I need to find other ways to get my dirty work done. Seamus Doyle is no angel, but he’s a good, kind man who’d do not-so-good things to protect me.
And that’s something I could never forgive myself for.
I run my hands over the soft satin of the comforter, and Hank, deciding it’s a game, tries to attack my fingers. I pick him up and hug him to my chest. He struggles for a moment, but then begins to purr, angrily. I release him, hoping he’ll stay, but he scrambles away, running rapidly from room to room. I jump up and grab my keys, throwing them into my bag. I can’t stand feeling trapped like this. I run out of my loft and down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I feel like I’m suffocating. Seamus, my shop, and now Finn. It’s all too much. I das
h off toward the pub. Maybe I’ll get in a fight tonight.
12
Seamus
“We’ll find it, Seamus,” Julia says, nodding fiercely. She’s the legal librarian at the Boston Public Library, sharp as a whip and funny as hell. She’s seen through my polish and charm since day one. With anyone else it would’ve been a problem for me, but not with Julia. I have dinner with her and her wife at least twice a month, and we share stories from the trenches. Hers are nearly always more interesting, like the time someone had returned a book during final exam season with a hamburger patty in it.
“No bun, no cheese, just the meat,” she’d said, laughing. “I always wonder if they found their bookmark between the buns later and was like ‘what the fuck’?”
I knew Julia could find the records Stacy was hiding. There are always more copies. I thank her and exit the exquisite building into Copley Square. I decide to walk to my office, since it’s such a pleasant day. It’s a little over a mile, and I’m halfway there when my phone rings. It’s my brother.
“Hey, Kieran, is Dad okay?” Kieran isn’t much of a phone guy, so I’m concerned.
“Same,” Kieran answers. “But he wants me to tell you something.”
“What’s that?” I ask, stepping over a pile of trash that has accumulated in a dip in the sidewalk.
“Evi’s talking to the Carneys. She met with Finn the other night.”
I stop walking, and the person behind me swears at me, nearly bumping into my back.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snap. “Jesus. What a fucking stupid thing to do.”
Kieran’s quiet for a moment, as if he was going to lecture me, but hearing the anger in my voice stops him in his tracks.
“Yeah,” he says. “Fucking stupid. But Dad’s worried more than he’s mad.”
The rage pounding in my skull makes it hard for me to concentrate. I told her not to go to the goddamn Carneys. What the hell is she thinking? And to top it all off, I’d called her several times and she’d only sent brief texts back. Now I know why. Fuck.
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks, Kieran. I’ll talk to her.”
“If she’s agreed to anything with them,” Kieran says darkly.
“I’ll get her out of it.”
“I was just going to offer to bash in their heads. You know I’d love to crack Finn’s goddamn smug face in.”
I snort, despite myself. “I do know that. But we can’t beat their heads in until we know they deserve it.”
“They deserve it for always wearing those goddamn scally caps like a goddamn Boston Irish cliché. Could fucking draw them out by dragging a potato through the streets.”
I laugh again. None of us like the Carneys, but none of us hate them quite as uniquely as Kieran does.
“I’ll be in touch.”
We end the call, and I fight the urge to call Evi immediately. Instead, I work on some cases back at my office, and call her close to dinner time.
She sounds tired and it cuts through my anger immediately.
“Seamus. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.”
“Can I bring you dinner?” I ask.
She’s quiet for nearly half a minute. It feels like an eternity.
“Um. Sure. I have a client until 7:00. After that, okay?”
“Of course. Anything in particular you’re hungry for?”
There’s another long pause.
“Oh,” she says finally. “I wasn’t sure if you were making a sex joke.”
“It’s not a joke with you, Evi.” I say, my voice deepening. Visions of her perfect body float through my mind. My lizard brain imagines Finn fucking Carney touching her and it fills me with rage.
“I know,” she says, her voice soft. It goes right to my cock. “Bring whatever you want. Come up to my loft. I’ll wait for you there.”
I decide to pick up sushi, and a nice bottle of wine. At 7:00 p.m. sharp I get to her shop. The green-haired kid, Toby, seems to expect me and points up the stairs.
There’s another tattoo artist in the shop, a small Asian woman who’s covered in tattoos herself. I give her a nod, but don’t stop to converse, climbing up to Evi’s loft. She shouts to come in when I knock. I do, locking the door behind me. I worry about her carelessness when it comes to security. Putting the food on her kitchen table, I hug her from behind, kissing her neck.
“It’s good to see you,” I whisper. God, just being next to this woman has an effect that’s soothing.
As mad as I was about the Carneys, I had to admit that I’d missed Evi these past few days.
“Don’t freak out,” she says quietly.
“Evi?” My voice is tight with concern “Are you okay?”
What the fuck has Finn done to her? I don’t even know the answer and already I’m feeling very committed to the idea of hurting him. Kieran, the Doyle family enforcer, can wait his fucking turn. She turns around, and my gaze goes right to her blackened right eye.
Holy shit.
“Who did this to you?” My voice is cold, my rage turning to fury. “Did Finn do this to you? Evi?”
She laughs derisively. “Oh, fuck, Seamus. Of course you’d think that. No. Finn didn’t do this to me. I did this to myself.”
That gives me pause.
I put my finger under her chin and tilt it up. She’s beautiful, even with the bruises blooming around her wide gray eyes.
“What do you mean, Evi?”
“God, Seamus,” she laughs, but it’s not the musical sound I’m used to. It’s like ice and it leaves me feeling a little sick.
“I just want to help you,” I say, pulling her closer to me.
If I can just hold her, just let her know she’s safe, we can figure this out. Whatever this is.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Seamus. I know you do. You’re always helping people. Goddamn Saint Seamus of South Boston, son of the devil.” She pushes out of my arms and sits on the couch.
She curls her legs up behind her and refuses to look at me.
The rejection scalds, but I fight down my feelings. Push through it, just trying to close the distance that seems like it’s opening between us again. Whatever we’ve found, I don’t want to lose it in that cold chasm again.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “We have a plan, Evi. Why did you call in Finn Carney? And who hit you?”
“I got into a bar fight,” she says, flinging an arm up. Her cat jumps up on the couch next to her and stares daggers at me. “It’s just who I am, Seamus. You’re going to have to deal with it.”
But it’s not who she is. She and I both know that. This is the shield she puts up, and I can’t process how we went from fucking for hours to this.
Maybe it is the sex. Maybe she regrets being with me. Maybe I’ve read this entire thing wrong.
That fucking hurts.
What does she want from me?
When several more seconds pass and she makes no move to say anything, I try again.
“Do you want me to leave?” I offer, because I don’t know what else to say. She looks up at me. I don’t want to go, but I will.
“Seamus,” she says, hugging her knees. “I care about you. So much.”
There’s a ragged edge to her voice, that note of untouchable Evi pain.
“But?” I ask. I’m in over my head, in some emotional deep end I just don’t know how to swim. If she can just tell me what’s wrong, tell me what she needs, I can fix it.
“I need to decide this on my own. You can’t fix everything for me. That’s not your job,” she bites out every word.
It’s like an icy slap in the face.
“I want it to be,” I say, stepping closer to her. Her cat hisses. “This isn’t just a job to me, Evi. You, this neighborhood,” I make a sweeping gesture. “What else is worth fighting for?”
She curls into a tighter ball. I can tell she’s trying hard not to cry. Evi is a tough woman and I’ve rarely seen her cry despite the shit she’s been through. What am I missing?
; Holy shit. Does she have feelings for that Carney scumbag? Insecurity and a jealousy so fierce it blinds me fill me in an instant.
“Do you care about Finn?” I ask tentatively. Praying that answer’s no.
She snorts. “Seamus,” she says darkly. “Come on.”
Relief rockets through me. Then whatever’s wrong, if she can just tell me, I’ll fix it.
I sit on the couch next to her. It squeals under my weight. The cat refuses to budge.
“Evi, I’m fucking lost here. Why did you talk to Finn? I thought we were working together?”
She takes a deep breath, exhales and tries again “Seamus. Like I said, I care about you. But you know I’m a Southie hood rat, and you know I’ll do whatever it takes to save this place. If that means making deals with the Carneys, so be it.”
What the hell?
I recoil. “Evi, you can’t mean that. We talked about this. They’re not interested in helping anyone but themselves.”
It’s not just that I hate the Carneys. It’s that I wouldn’t want anyone that I care about caught up in their messes. They don’t often end well.
She nods. “It’s so much simpler that way. I get that, Seamus. It’s you that I don’t understand.” She pins me with those big gray eyes.
“What are we? What is this?” She sweeps a hand toward me.
There’s an almost desperate edge to her voice.
“We’re friends, Evi. More than that. We’re family.”
It’s the highest compliment I can give. My whole life is about protecting my family. And Evi? She’s fast becoming a core part of how I look at that.
“Family,” she says coolly. Her eyes narrow, and it hits me that this might not be the right thing to say, even though I mean it in the most intimate way.
Hustle: The Doyles: A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Page 9