Jaded Soul: A Standalone Irish Mafia Romance

by Fox, Nicole

  “I’ve never been good,” he says with a wink.

  He grips my hand a little tighter and pulls me hard against him. I slam into his chest, and he grins down at me.

  His lips are right there. Right for the taking. Those eyes are bright and sparkling and he smells so good, masculine and crisp, and his hand on my hip is doing funny things to my head, so maybe I should just rise up on my toes and kiss—

  I push him away and step out of the circle of his arms.

  “Ass,” I mutter under my breath.

  It’s loud enough for Cillian to hear, though.

  He laughs. “Saoirse?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you want me to take you back to the hospital?”

  I’m not expecting the question. Which is probably why my face drops instantly, revealing just how little I want that.

  The thought of leaving him feels physically painful at this point.

  I shake my head, blushing. “No,” I murmur. “Please don’t.”

  “Good. I wasn’t gonna let you go anyway.”

  I can’t help but laugh and smack him again. “Then why ask?”

  “Giving you the illusion of choice makes me seem like more of a gentleman.”

  “Which you’re not.”

  “Not in the slightest,” Cillian confirms with another wink. “Come along.”

  He grabs my hand and pulls me towards the garden’s exit. Even once we’re past the low gates that separate the garden from the rest of the street, he never lets go of my hand.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Does it matter?”

  I smile, feeling like a teenager for the first time in my life.

  “No,” I tell him. “It doesn’t matter at all.”

  9

  Cillian

  “The Free Canary?”

  I watch Saoirse as she looks up at the nondescript façade of the place I’ve brought her to. The broken sign has fallen to the side and hangs off its hinges.

  I smile fondly. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

  Saoirse turns to me, her eyebrows knotting together in abject concern. “You’ve brought me here to kill me, haven’t you?”

  I bite back laughter and pretend to be horrifically offended instead. “I don’t kill women,” I say seriously. “Particularly not the beautiful ones.”

  She rolls her eyes, but I see the twinkle of a smile in there somewhere.

  “Is this really a functioning pub?” she asks hesitantly.

  “It is indeed. Dublin’s best-kept secret.”

  And it really is. It’s hidden in the very heart of the city, expertly covered over to look like an old, abandoned shithole.

  Keeps out the riff-raff.

  Or, rather, it lets the riff-raff in.

  I’m not sure which.

  There are several different ways to enter. But this way is my favorite.

  You have to come through the alleyway and take the steps leading down. The echo of normal bar sound—glasses clinking, music playing, laughter rising up—reaches us back here, but just barely.

  Enough so that you assume there’s a pub somewhere in the vicinity. But you’d never assume it’s in the decrepit building you’re standing in front of.

  I have a thing for theatrics.

  Sue me.

  “Are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” Saoirse says with a sigh. “You promise you’re not trying to lure me to my death, are you? Because I bite.”

  I have no fucking doubt about that.

  Wouldn’t mind finding out, either.

  “Trust me,” I say instead. I hold my palm out to her.

  She doesn’t hesitate as she slips her hand into mine. We walk down the steps together.

  When we come to the black iron door at the bottom, the dim streetlights are all but cut off. Which suits me just fine because it means Saoirse moves a little closer.

  I don’t even think she realizes it.

  But I certainly do.

  I’ve spent all of a few hours with her, and I feel like I’ve known her my whole life.

  “Aren’t you gonna open it?” Saoirse asks.

  “We knock first,” I explain, using my free hand to knock twice.

  The little iron partition at the top of the door slides open to reveal a pair of dark eyes.

  “Can I help you?” the voice asks ominously.

  My turn to roll my eyes. “Open the fucking door, Gabe.”

  “Oh. Well, if it isn’t young Master Cillian!”

  I hear the bolts being unlocked and then the iron door swings open to reveal the burly guy on the other side.

  “What’s up, Gabey Baby?”

  Gabe ignores my extremely unwelcome nickname. “You brought a friend,” he notes, immediately interested in her.

  I pull Saoirse through the door. Gabe steps aside to let us through. The big fellow has got an eye for pretty girls, so naturally, he can’t seem to look away from Saoirse long enough to spare so much as a glance at me.

  “I have indeed,” I reply, stepping in front of Saoirse so that I’m blocking his view.

  He notices what I’m doing immediately. Not nearly as dumb as he looks, the poor bastard. His face scrunches up with mild displeasure. “You little shit.”

  I laugh. Saoirse doesn’t even notice because she’s so preoccupied with the dungeon-like vibe going on down here.

  “Um, Cillian. This place looks super dodgy…”

  “I thought you trusted me.”

  “That was before you dragged me into what looks like a torture chamber,” she says, turning to Gabe. “Tell me the truth: how many girls has he brought here and how many of them have walked back out again?”

  I sigh, but Saoirse ignores me.

  Gabe on the other hand, looks thrilled. He strokes his chin as if he’s thinking about it.

  “He’s bought a fair few girls here,” he says. “Several dozen, I’d say. None of them as beautiful as you, though.”

  “Back off, you gombeen. She’s not interested,” I interject, putting my hand on his chest and shoving him back a little.

  Saoirse smirks at me. “Hey now, I don’t think you should be speaking for me.”

  “Forgive him,” Gabe says. “He can be so rude sometimes.”

  “You’re telling me!”

  “Okay, as much fun as this has been for all of us, we’ve got things to do. Is this little pow-wow over now?” I ask impatiently. “I want to show Saoirse what’s up top.”

  “Up top, eh?” Gabe whistles, his eyes going wide.

  I glance towards Saoirse, who looks equal parts intrigued and terrified.

  “What’s up top?” she asks. “Is that where you hide the bodies?”

  “It’s sort of the officially unofficial VIP area,” I tell her. “You’ll love it. But first, Gabe, why don’t you tell her how many girls I’ve taken up to the top?”

  Gabe scrunches his face up. “None,” he mutters.

  “None,” I crow with satisfaction. “That’s right.”

  Saoirse gives me a dazzling smile that makes me want to take a shot, fight a grizzly bear, do a backflip.

  All kinds of crazy shit.

  I shove my more reckless thoughts aside as Gabe leads us through the narrow corridor.

  Breathe, Cillian. Just fucking breathe.

  Everything in here is black.

  Black walls.

  Black ceiling.

  Black cement tiles.

  The only points of lights are the lanterns occupying the wall sconces.

  When we reach the door at the end of the corridor, Gabe waves us through.

  “Have fun,” he says, without much enthusiasm behind the sentiment.

  As Saoirse’s stepping in, I glance back at Gabe and give him a wink. “Don’t worry, man. The right girl’s gonna come your way. In fact, I have a friend who’s perfect for you. She won last year’s heavyweight champion prize and—”

  He growls and hurls one of his keys at my face, but I man
age to shut the door before it hits me.

  I’m still chuckling when I turn to Saoirse. “We’re old friends,” I explain.

  “Funny. I couldn’t tell.”

  The room we’re in is small, but it’s meant to be. It’s only a pathway to the main body of the pub. There’s a tall flight of stairs right in front of us.

  “Do people ever just give up halfway?” Saoirse asks. “We must be halfway to America by now.”

  I chuckle. “There are other ways to get up,” I admit. “But this entrance is more…”

  “Dramatic?” she offers.

  “Precisely. Now you’re starting to get me.”

  We climb the tall flight of stairs. As we get to the final landing, the music reaches us from just beyond the door. I push it open and wave Saoirse inside.

  “So… this is it,” I say, gesturing towards the pub.

  The set-up is pretty standard. But there are a few little differences that set it apart. Take it from an ordinary pub to exclusive hideaway.

  Brick façade walls that are decorated with a bunch of old-school football posters and musical instruments hanging off antique hinges every few feet.

  The tables are spaced out and set with high barstools bearing built-in leather cushions.

  The gleaming mahogany bar sits in the very center of the space, surrounded by more barstools, each different from the last.

  Glasses, beer mugs, and wine bottles appear to be suspended from the ceiling above the bartender.

  Probably all for show, but I like the effect all the same.

  There’s tons of greenery everywhere, too. Vines snaking up part of the brick façade, and huge leafy bastards blossoming in the corners.

  I glance at Saoirse. It’s clear she’s transfixed. Her eyes are wide as she takes it all in.

  “Wow,” she breathes. “This is something. How have I never heard of this place?”

  “Um, well… The fellows that frequent this particular pub tend to run in exclusive circles.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Meaning mafia circles?” she deduces.

  I shrug. “What can I say? We like our anonymity.”

  “Sure,” she says, rolling her aqua blue eyes at me. “Is this the top you mentioned to Gabe?”

  “Nope,” I say mischievously, taking her hand and pulling her towards the nondescript circular staircase near the bathrooms. “Up we go.”

  The staircase is rickety and narrow as fuck. It feels like the slightest loose bolt could have us falling to the floor beneath.

  But Saoirse doesn’t complain as we make our ascent.

  The spiral takes us up at least two more stories. By the time we reach the final door, I’ve noticed that Saoirse has slowed down a bit.

  “You okay back there?”

  “Jesus,” she breathes. “I think I have vertigo.”

  “Hang in, sport,” I tell her. “We’re almost there.”

  I push open the rickety, rusted door and step out onto the rooftop.

  “You have arrived at your destination,” I announce proudly. “Be sure to tip your driver.”

  It’s a huge space, set up like a labyrinth. There are troughs of flowers spaced in different directions, cordoning off certain areas into private courtyards of greenery. Fairy lights form a roof of sorts over our heads. The flowers glow under their illumination.

  “Oh my God,” Saoirse breathes. “Is this real?”

  “Nice, huh?”

  She looks around. “There’s no one around.”

  “It takes a refined man to enjoy a space such as this,” I admit.

  “Too feminine for your fellow fuckboys?” she guesses.

  “Well, we could debate your word choice there, but the general sentiment is accurate. Truth be told, it isn’t really a part of the bar at all,” I explain. “This is more of a passion project. The owner built it for his mother. She passed a few years ago.”

  She looks at me with wide, sentimental eyes. “Really?”

  “Yeah. He’s a good guy,” I tell her. “Name’s Jasper.”

  “How’d his mother die?”

  “Cancer,” I explain. “The only thing that made her feel better towards the end was to be surrounded by greenery. He built most of this space himself.”

  She turns to me, the mist of moisture in her eyes. “He sounds like an angel.”

  “He is,” I say. “But, y’know… ugly. I mean, really fucking hideous to look at.”

  She glares at me, but it still doesn’t manage to squelch out her smile. “Cillian!”

  “Short, too,” I continue unfazed. “And he’s got a bit of a weight problem. Looks like a hobbit, come to think of it.”

  “Cillian!” she scolds. But she laughs when she says my name, and fuck me, that sound does something to my stomach.

  That’s how my name was meant to be said. By her. With that exact laugh bringing it to life.

  She twirls around and looks up at the fairy lights hanging over us. We can see the half-moon peeking down at us from between the thin strands.

  “This place is magical.”

  I stand still and watch her. You’re the magical one, I think.

  Out loud, I say, “I thought you might like it.”

  She turns to me abruptly. “So… is it true?”

  “Is what true?” I wrinkle my nose in confusion.

  “That you’ve never brought another girl up here?”

  “I’ve brought girls to the Free Canary before,” I reply honestly. “But never up here.”

  “Why not?”

  I look around. “This place is… It’s about escapism. Only someone who’s a little lost, or a little sad, or a little broken can appreciate it. Really appreciate it.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “So you’re saying I’m sad or lost or broken?” she asks. “Or maybe you’re trying to say that I’m all three?”

  “Well…”

  She smiles. “Well? Which one is it?”

  “The truth?”

  “Do you speak anything else?” she challenges.

  I give her a knowing smile. “A little of all three.”

  Her face falls for a moment. Automatically, I step towards her and grab her hand.

  I don’t want her to pull away from me.

  Not now.

  Maybe not ever.

  “That’s not a bad thing, you know,” I tell her, forcing her to meet my eyes. “We’re all a little broken.”

  “Just some more than others, huh?”

  I nod.

  “You’re not wrong,” she says with a deep sigh that seems to reverberate through her slight frame. “Some days, I feel like I’m barely hanging on.”

  “So then stop.”

  Her eyes flash up to mine. “What do you mean?”

  “Stop hanging on,” I explain. “Just jump. Free-fall into your life and see what happens. Maybe it’ll turn out you can fly.”

  From the expression on her face, I can tell that I’m making sense to her.

  “Free-falling sounds nice,” she murmurs. “But this is real life. There is a bottom at the end of the fall.”

  “Well, if you can’t fly, then I’ll be there to catch you.”

  The words breeze out of my mouth like I was always meant to say them. I don’t even stop long enough to think about what they might mean. If they’re trite or stupid or anything like that.

  But I don’t regret them.

  So I don’t take them back.

  She stares at me with surprise. Probably waiting for me to recant, to cover up with a joke or a laugh.

  “You don’t mean that,” she says slowly when I stay quiet.

  “What if I do?”

  She shakes her head and pulls her hand out from mine. “Because you don’t really know me,” she says. “We’re strangers.”

  I shrug. “That’s a relative term.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “I’ve told you more about my life in one hour than I’ve told any other person ever,” I tell her. “That
has to mean something.”

  She gives me a flippant smile.

  But I can see through it now. I can see the cautious hope.

  “It probably just means you’ve got a thing for redheads,” she throws back at me.

  I take a cautious step towards her. “I have a thing for one redhead,” I say. “And I think you know that.”

  She stiffens noticeably.

  But she doesn’t move away.

  “Yeah, yeah. Swap out ‘redhead’ for ‘blond’ or ‘brunette’ and I bet that line works every time.”

  “It’s not a line, Saoirse.”

  She closes her eyes for a moment. Then she mumbles something that sounds a fuck-ton like “I’m weak.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she says. Her eyes flutter open again and the moment fades.

  She walks past me and continues looking around as though we weren’t right in the middle of what I would consider a very important discussion.

  “This place is beautiful,” she breathes. “It kinda feels like nothing can touch you up here.”

  “I gather that that was the point.”

  She smiles. “I wish I could stay forever.”

  “That can be arranged. Rent’s a bitch, though.”

  She throws me a look. “You’re a regular court jester.”

  I sigh. “That’s the problem with being perpetually funny. Everyone thinks you’re joking, even when you’re not.”

  She stops in front of the balcony’s edge but she angles her body towards me. I figure I should be flattered that her eyes are on me instead of the amazing view of the Dublin cityscape sprawled out before us.

  “Cillian,” she says. “Tonight has been amazing. It really has been an escape for me.”

  “You don’t have to go back,” I say, cutting her off before she can go all Debbie Downer on me. “You don’t. It’s a choice, Saoirse.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m eighteen. I can’t just leave home because it’s difficult.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my father needs me.”

  “He’ll survive.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” she demands.

  “You can’t save his ass every time,” I tell her. “Some of the men he’s involved with… They’re not the negotiating type. I don’t want you to be in the middle of that shit when they eventually come to collect. They’re not all as nice as me.”