“Now, isn’t that better?” she taunted. “Ow, that’s one hell of a shiner you got there, Odie. Hogan doesn’t know his own strength sometimes, in or out of the bedroom.”
I growled around the gag.
If I had my hands free, I’d choke this bitch.
“I’m sure you have a thousand questions running around in that little pea brain of yours.” She propped her round ass on the edge of the mahogany desk.
On the outside she looked so well put together—traditional, expectant. She wore a black silk knee-length dress with a veiled pillbox hat to complete the look of macabre widow in mourning. Who did she think she was fooling?
“What am I doing here?” she prattled on. “What’s going to happen to me? Where will they hide the body? So many questions, so little time.”
She had a bored expression on her face, but I knew she was just getting started. Something in my eyes must’ve rattled her. Before I could say, or think, the words fuck you, she hauled off and slapped me across the face. Three times in quick successions, hard. The gag was ripped from my mouth on the last pass as her nails scratched along my cheek. I felt the blood trickle out of my nostrils but couldn’t do shit but allow it to drip into my mouth.
Bella grabbed both her breast and made a show of squeezing them together. “You have no idea how good that felt. I’ve been wanting to do that since the night you came to my husband’s fights, God rest his soul.”
“Untie me, bitch, and we’ll go for round two,” I challenged through a sneer.
“As tempting as that sounds, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” She squatted down to eye level. “Now that I have your attention, I want you to know there are no hard feelings. I’ll forgive you for stepping on my toes, and I know you’ll forgive me for what’s about to happen. I’m not a bad person, Odie. My needs and wants aren’t that different from yours if you consider the context. Darragh and I will be married, and through our combined assets, we’ll rule the syndicate with an iron hand. Doesn’t that sound incredible?” She clapped her hands with a chirpy little giggle.
“For one, Mac isn’t part of the mob. He’s his own man. You know that as well as I do, trick. Secondly, and here’s the rub…” I leaned in as far as I could and bared my teeth.
“He. Doesn’t. Want. You.”
“Silly, silly girl. Darragh not only wants me, he’s already had me, starting with the same night you went to his warehouse dressed in your hooker dress and knock-off shoes. I’m surprised you couldn’t smell me on him when he brought you to the edge of the ring and held you in his arms. I assumed that was the reason why you ran off so quickly. Guess I was wrong.”
Ouch.
That hurt.
I held back the impulse to spit in her eye.
Bitch was cracked worse than I thought.
“Kellan adored you,” I rasped. “He would’ve given you anything. His body is barely cold, and you’re already trying to replace him with someone you used to fuck as a teenager? What about his love? You pissed on it when you brought me here for no reason. I’m not in your way, Bella. Mac doesn’t give a shit about me. Take him if you want, but leave me out of this.”
“I wish I could dear, Odie, but unfortunately, someone has to take the blame.”
“Blame for what?” I screeched.
“All in due time, sweetness, all in due time.” She re-applied the gag between my lips. “As for my dead husband, well…let’s just say, he’s in a better place.”
The bitch doubled over into a deep belly laugh as if her statement was the most hilarious thing in the world. She eventually stood and straightened her dress, re-applying the mask of bereaved wife before she covered my head with the hood. I screamed around the gag for this bitch to let me go, but it was useless. She had me at her mercy, like a fattened-up pig hung upside down by the ankles waiting to be slaughtered. Bella obviously had an agenda that somehow involved me, and all the secretiveness was part of her game. I only hoped that Mac would see through her bullshit and reject her advances.
I heard her voice as it echoed from far away inside the room.
“Two hours from now, you’ll be a bloodstain on the cement floor, Otelia. I’ll give Darragh your best regards when I’m done sucking his beautiful cock. By the way, the next time you find a dead fish on your door, heed the warning, sweetheart. Never stay in the water if it’s above your head. You’ll drown.”
Holy shit.
It was all her.
But why?
The door slammed shut as she exited, and I was left alone with my thoughts and prayers. I cried silent tears that soaked through the darkened fabric of the hood. I closed my eyes and whispered. I thought it would be Gates who’d appear in the recesses of my mind, but it wasn’t. Mac stood in all his criminal glory with open arms, waiting for me to rush towards his warm embrace. Once our bodies intertwined, I felt whole again, stronger, more centered.
“Hope is not lost,” his low voice rasped.
In his arms was where I chose to stay.
Time, as always, ticked slowly away.
CHAPTER 39
MacCabe
I HAD BEEN stuck in Boston over the last two days at my father’s insistence. The premature death of Kellan O’Brien left me vulnerable to speculation from some of the heads of families, assumptions I needed to answer for in person as a sign of respect. Although I wasn’t officially part of the organization, they allowed me to operate within its confines. Hence, I had no choice but to play nice. I hated being summoned like a child, and having to account for my whereabouts flat-out pissed me the fuck off. My father, in his infinite wisdom, was acting in the best interest of the entire MacCabe clan, not just his youngest son. Didn’t mean I had to roll over and make it easy for him to grill me like a ribeye steak.
Information had been trickling in over the last twenty-four hours. Unlike the police, we had the means to track down leads quickly, bust some heads if necessary, and weed through the bullshit to find answers. What we knew so far was that O’Brien was killed sloppily near his home, amateur work at best, which was not indicative of a sanctioned mob hit. Something about that whole thing was off—the timing, the details, the target himself. Add that to our obvious beef, the attempt on Otelia’s life, the average Joe fights, and shit just wasn’t adding up. Who would be so fucking bold as to murder a boss and thought they could get away with it? Shit made my dick itch just thinking about it. Oran, Spoon, Ferdi, and I stood around the large spacious office looking the worse for wear while my father maintained his normal composed façade.
“Alright, let’s go over it again,” he announced to the room.
“This is pointless,” I growled. “I have business back in Remington that can’t wait.”
“Your business is right the fuck here, Darragh,” Oran seethed. “If it weren’t for your pussy ways and bullshit attitude, we wouldn’t be here trying to cover your ass.”
I approached him steadily. “Oran, you’re my brother, and I love you, but if you ever speak to me that way again, I’ll rip out your eyeballs and skull fuck you to death.”
“And if you ever threaten me again, you little cunt, you won’t have a town to go back to, slick,” he volleyed.
“Take it easy,” my father instructed. “Darragh understands that this isn’t a social call and we’re only trying to cover all our bases.”
He paused to address Oran.
“A good leader never loses his cool, never takes the bait, regardless of his audience. Remember, the quietest one in the room is the strongest one in the room. Don’t allow strength of feelings to guide your hand.” Oran returned a tight nod. Message received.
I regaled them again with everything I knew about O’Brien, his business dealings, his time in Remington, omitting, of course, anything pertaining to Bella and the one time I gave in and fucked her. I hated the prick, but killing him wouldn’t have served my needs. It was too easy. O’Brien was meant to be a cautionary tale for any would be bosses and underbosses not to fuck with my business
. An example of what happens when you try and take over a territory run by a MacCabe. Whoever killed his ass did it for their own reasons, reasons that had jack shit to do with me.
I also hid the fact that Bella had come to me the same night O’Brien was killed, offering up her pussy on tap like she cared less than a fuck that the bastard was dead. I’d like to think it wouldn’t have made a difference, that what went down between us was a one-off, a fluke, a goddamn coincidence. Truthfully, it was all those things, yet it was also the reason why I’d lost Otelia, why she ran from me, why she hadn’t stuck around to hear my side of the story. It was also why my life was in jeopardy if we didn’t come up with an alternate theory of the crime.
“I feel like the answer is staring us right in the face, and we’re either too blind to see it or the prick who killed O’Brien was just that motherfucking good,” Ferdi bitched, sweeping a hand down his frustrated face.
“Maybe he got scared, tucked his dick, said fuck it, and shot himself,” Spoon joked.
“Not the time for your bullshit, Fionn,” Oran grumbled. “Get your head outta your ass. It’s bad enough that Darragh put us in this mess. Don’t need you making it worse.”
“No way, bro. This shit can’t get much worse.” Spoon snickered.
My eldest brother seemed to have forgotten that he was not in charge of the family just yet, nor did I answer to him or the organization. One more slip of his loose tongue, and I’d take great pride in removing it from his reckless mouth. We’d been rehashing the same shit over and over and were all starting to get unreasonably quick-tempered. The bickering back and forth only fueled my urgency to get back to Remington and see to Otelia. The way we’d left things, the shit she’d witnessed, the disappointment in her eyes, it was all I could do to stop myself from jumping on a plane. Fuck what my father and brother had to say about it.
She was alone and unprotected. Everything I’d had on me was confiscated the minute I’d hit the secure building, preventing me from checking on her safety. A precaution, I was told. No one was allowed on the grounds run by the syndicate carrying, and since I was a suspect, that meant all my shit was taken, including my cell phone. Didn’t matter that I’d left a man on her. It wasn’t me; I needed to be the one.
Otelia was mine.
We’d become this thing during the plotting stages of the average Joe fights. By day, we’d kept things above board, clinical even, never touching, never making promises to each other of things to come. But by night, once the work was done and it was just the two of us, something took over. It grabbed me by the balls and shook the living shit outta me. Hunger, possession, need. She was mine to do with whatever the fuck I wanted, and she fucking loved it. In my bed, I made her body sing and sparked in mine a feeling I’d never be able to duplicate. I wanted her under me, screaming my name while I mercilessly slammed into her sweet wet pussy. I’d planned on taking her ass the night of the fights, something I was greatly looking forward to, if it hadn’t been for Bella’s peculiar visit. I’d promised myself I’d make things right between us, but I had to get the hell away from this bullshit inquisition first.
An unexpected knock on the door put a temporary hold on my escape plans. I was so caught up with thoughts of Otelia naked and wonton that I hadn’t noticed when my father had finished speaking with the random visitor. He stood close to Oran. His face looked grave and stricken.
“I’ve been asked to make my way to the gallery,” he announced. “They found O’Brien’s killer and have convened the council for judgment.”
I knew what that meant, and so did everyone else. I’d heard my father and older brothers speak of the gallery a time or two. It was the place where decisions were made, lives were measured in deservedness, and men argued for the right to merely exist. I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that this bullshit was over and I could finally return to Remington and reclaim my woman. The thought was short lived as anger replaced my peace of mind.
“I’m going in,” I told him.
“You can’t, son. Only bosses allowed in the gallery. I might be able to…”
“Going,” I pushed. “I have a right to be there, see who the fuck was responsible so I don’t have to keep looking behind my back for retribution. I won’t be free until I’m free, you get me?”
My father mulled it over, gave a look to Oran as his final approval, and the two of us left the room. I would fill in as his second for today, which wasn’t an easy role for my brother to relinquish. As future head of the family, it was his job to watch my father’s back, ensure his protection, and represent the clan as the rightful successor. Allowing me to take his place went against everything he’d ever been conditioned to expect, yet I couldn’t bring myself to give that first fuck. I needed this shit.
End of.
My father and I walked to the end of the hall that to me looked like nothing but a brick wall. At wave of his hand, a panel appeared, revealing a keypad of intricate symbols, real high-tech, James Bond bullshit. He pressed the appropriate code, and the wall became an elevator just big enough for two people at most. I shook my head at my father’s knowing smirk and stepped inside. The only option was down considering we were on the top floor.
“I don’t need to tell you how to act once we get inside, do I, Darragh? You are not to speak, make hand gestures, or scratch your balls unless you’re told to do so. Am I making myself clear? You are not in Remington, and this is not your fighting establishment. The heads of families will all be present. You’ll hear things, bear witness to the events, but you are not allowed to take part in the proceedings. Son or not, I won’t be able to save you if you disrespect the council in any way. Those are the rules.”
“I understand, Father.”
“Good.” He clapped me on the back. “That’s really good, son.”
We continued on, descending lower than the ground floor of the building. I could tell by the change in atmosphere. The air surrounding the metal box became cooler, and there was a distinct smell of dirt as we drifted beneath the earth. The elevator finally stopped and opened to a dark tunnel that led to another door. This one had several guards posted outside, each heavily armed with a take-no-shit look about them. I expected us to breeze right in since my father was a boss, but the second we got closer, one of the men held up a hand to stop us.
“Password, sir,” he grumbled.
“Petticoat,” my father replied.
Next came the pat-down and metal screening with a hand-held security wand. I thought that would be the end of it, but these jackholes took it a bit further by pricking my father’s finger and running the blood sample through a specimen-holding device as if he were diabetic. Once they were satisfied with the results, we were ushered inside after a series of bows and welcome, sirs. Respect where respect was due.
I wasn’t sure what to expect once we cleared the doorway, but it certainly wasn’t an archaic demonstration of faux superiority. Five throne-like chairs were positioned side by side along an elevated stage. Its occupants were looking down over the sunken floor made of stained concrete with a metal drain in the middle.
One guess what that was used for.
We were the last to arrive. The other bosses were seated expectantly. Their seconds stood by their side, faces grim, shoulders stiff. My eyes landed on the far left of the platform. Bella O’Brien sat amongst the men, representing her clan in place of her deceased husband. Timing as well as circumstances made her appearance temporary, as only first-born males could represent the head of the family. That honor would soon be bestowed upon an uncle or cousin, or some other worthy member with a functioning dick, that much I did know. The man she’d chosen as her second looked more like a lovesick puppy than anything else. She clearly had him wrapped around her little finger. O’Brien was probably turning over in his body bag behind this shit. She was not happy to see me accompanying my father, I realized, when she sat forward in her chair for a better look.
Her problem, not mine.
My father
took his seat amongst them, and I mimicked the position of second without a word. What I could only assume was O’Brien’s killer was strapped to a chair in the middle of the floor directly over said drain, hood over his head, probably beaten to within an inch of his life. The lighting was dimmed, casting him in a shadow of macabre darkness ala Phantom of the Opera. It could’ve been a hundred people in that room for all I knew. I couldn’t see shit past my own nose. Whimpering coming from the prick in the chair could be heard above the silence in the room. I appreciated the ceremonial protocol of this dog and pony show, but they were wasting my fucking time with this bullshit. Shoot that motherfucker, dump his ass in a lagoon, and let’s get the fuck outta here were my thoughts before someone spoke up.
“Will the accuser step forward and state your case.”
A big, ugly-looking motherfucker approached the council flanked by two of the guards from outside. He looked around at the impressive setup, squared his massive shoulders, and cleared his throat.
“Name’s Hogan, and I was with Kellan the night he was killed. We’d just come back from a meeting. I stood lookout while he exited the car. Next thing I knew, I heard a pop, pop, pop and O’Brien went down. I chased the motherfucker, but they got away. Looked around and spotted a wallet they must’ve dropped, tracked them down, and bought ’im here.”
Of all the nonsensical bullshit stories…
No way was this big dumb fuck that damn lucky.
“We will now hear from the accused,” my father proclaimed.
Three things happened at once:
A fifty-thousand-watt spotlight was cast over the asshole strapped to the chair.
The hood was yanked off his head, revealing long blond hair, bare feet, pajamas, and frightened blue eyes.
And I completely lost my shit.
CHAPTER 40
Otelia
AFTER BELLA LEFT, I sat in that conference room for what seemed like hours, struggling to free myself from that godawful chair. The plastic bindings bit into my wrists painfully until I had no choice but to stop twisting and turning for fear of severing my own hands. My throat burned from screaming around the gag, so much so, my voice was barely a whisper now. I went through a myriad of emotions while sitting and waiting for whatever to happen. I cried all the tears and choked through prayer after prayer, plea after plea, until I finally gave up and accepted the truth. No one was coming to save me.
48 Mac (A Junkyard Boys Novel) Page 24