Jaded Soul: A Standalone Irish Mafia Romance

by Fox, Nicole

  “Sean is gone,” he says without revealing any emotion. “He wanted to leave.”

  “Because you pushed him out! Because you—”

  “Enough!” Da roars. “I will not discuss Sean. He made his decision. He chose to walk away from the family.”

  I grip the bars hard. “Well, I’m choosing to stay.”

  Da shakes his head. “If you stay, you will die. I will not be able to protect you. And I will not enter into a war for you, either.”

  “You’d start wars for money and land,” I say. “For vengeance and conquest. But not for your sons?”

  “If you were don, you would understand,” Da grimaces. “But I can see now that I was wrong. Wrong about both you and Sean. Neither one of you have what it takes.”

  “So what’s the plan then, Da?” I ask bitterly. “Pinning all your hopes on your last remaining child? The ten-year-old who just wants to play with his trains?”

  “I will not make the same mistakes with Kian.”

  “I won’t let you hurt my brother.”

  “You’re the one hurting him,” Da says harshly. “If you stay, your very presence will put him in danger. And I won’t let you hurt my only son.”

  I blink at him.

  His only son.

  He says what he means. Always has. Always will.

  This is meant as a dagger to my chest.

  It’s a fucking bullseye.

  “You have three hours,” Da says again. “If you’re not out of Ireland in that time, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

  Slowly, acceptance is beginning to sink in. There is no way out of this. Without my father’s protection, I’m a sitting duck.

  I have to leave.

  My head is whirling. “I don’t even get to say goodbye?” I ask. “To Ma? To Kian?”

  “There isn’t enough time.”

  “Wouldn’t have made a difference if there was, would it?”

  He shakes his head. “No. It wouldn’t.” Da pulls out a wad of cash from the left pocket of his coat. “Here. For your new life.”

  Then he pulls out a shiny black Glock and presses it into the palm of my hand.

  “This is just in case.”

  I accept the cash and the gun numbly. Then Da opens up my cell door. I step out of it, but suddenly, I’m not in a rush to leave.

  Leaving this cell means leaving the country.

  It means I’ll never see my mother again.

  My brother.

  Saoirse.

  It’s too much to process. Makes me feel fucking nauseous. I have to focus on one thing at a time.

  First, I make sure the gun is hidden away in the waistband of my pants, under my shirt.

  “You said I have three hours?” I ask, tucking the money away in the pocket of my trousers.

  “Clock’s ticking,” Da says with a frown that suggests he suspects where my mind is going. “Don’t be a fool. Go straight to the airport. Donal Maher will be waiting for you at the second terminal entrance. He has clean documents. A new identity.”

  My brain feels like it’s short-circuiting, but I force back the crushing weight that’s pushing down on me.

  I can’t lose it.

  Not yet.

  I head for the door, but stop at the last moment.

  Instead, I turn to my father. He’s watching me with a careful expression on his face. You could never tell that this is a man who’s lost two sons in the space of a few days.

  He stands tall as ever. Unyielding. Unmoved.

  “Thank you,” I say. “For my life.”

  He gives me an almost imperceptible nod.

  Then I leave.

  15

  Cillian

  The moment I clear the police station, I find a cab.

  I’m lucky enough that one is just parked by the roadside, waiting for its next passenger.

  I tap on the window. The cabbie rolls it down.

  He’s probably in his mid-forties, but he looks a lot older. The gelled combover doesn’t help. “Hey, fella.”

  “You waiting for someone?” I ask.

  “Nah. Hop on in.”

  I clamber into the back seat. The cabbie twists in his seat to give me a cheery smile. This is the first time in a long time that returning a smile has felt like hard work for me.

  “Where to, mate?” he asks.

  I hesitate.

  The correct answer is on the tip of my tongue, but it’s clinging on, refusing to let go.

  Da’s words are fresh in my head. Don’t be a fool. Go straight to the airport.

  “Mate?”

  “I… I’m not sure yet,” I admit.

  He raises his eyebrows. “Well, I’m gonna start the meter then.”

  “Go ahead,” I mutter.

  I don’t give a fuck how much this ride costs. It’s gonna be my last one in this country.

  My country.

  My home.

  The cabbie punches the meter on with a shrug. Then he picks up his phone and starts to play a game as if he’s got all the time in the world.

  I guess, since I’m paying, he does.

  The clicking of his thumbs against his phone is distracting.

  Go straight to the airport. Those are the instructions.

  But how can I leave, knowing that Saoirse is out there with no explanation?

  If I disappear on her now, she’ll assume our entire night together was meaningless.

  She’ll believe the worst. She’ll hate me forever.

  And what’s worse—she’ll hate herself.

  For believing the picture of the future, of our future, that we painted together.

  For leaping when I told her I’d be there to catch her.

  “Finglas neighborhood,” I tell him. “Take me there and I’ll direct you the rest of the way.”

  “Sure thing.”

  We start the drive. It seems to me the cabbie is going so fucking slow.

  “Oi, mate—if you can speed up a little, there’s an extra fifty in it for you.”

  Instantly, he hits the accelerator and we’re driving twenty miles faster than before. I glance at my phone. It’s been fifteen minutes since I left the police station.

  It’ll take another fifteen or twenty minutes to get to the airport from Saoirse’s house in Finglas.

  I don’t have time for this. The clock is ticking on my death warrant.

  But I can’t leave Ireland without speaking to her first.

  “Faster, mate,” I whisper. “I don’t have long left.”

  * * *

  The moment I see her house snuggled in the neck of the cul-de-sac, I tell the cabbie to stop.

  “Keep the meter running,” I instruct him. “I won’t be long. You’ll get an extra fifty.”

  He gives me a bright smile and a tip of the imaginary cap as he parks by the side of the road. I launch myself out of the cab and sprint to Saoirse’s front doorstep.

  I bang on the door a dozen times before I see the buzzer for the bell.

  Brrring!

  Brrring!

  Silence. No footsteps. No movement.

  And then I realize: she’s not here. She must be with her father at the hospital.

  “Fuck!” I roar. I don’t have time for this shit.

  I punch the doorframe hard enough to split a few of my knuckles. I leave the blood smeared there on the peeling white paint.

  A little memento, I guess. Morbid.

  I race back to the cab. “Clontarf Hospital,” I bark. “Push this fucking shit-heap to the limit, mate.”

  The ride there is a blur of Dublin sidewalks and storefronts and alarmed pedestrians. To his credit, the cabbie whips the vehicle like his life depends on it.

  Which I appreciate, since mine actually does depend on it.

  We come to a screeching halt in front of the hospital. I’m out of the vehicle before it’s even fully stopped. My feet pounding the pavement. My breath coming in short gasps.

  A clock in my head is tolling out every second. I’m pai
nfully aware of how little time is left here—and how much there is that I want to say to her.

  Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  I barrel past nurses and doctors, past frightened families and zonked-out patients.

  Up the stairs, down a hall, up another flight of stairs.

  Left-right-left-left-straight to the end.

  And there it is. CONNELLY is scrawled in messy handwriting on a whiteboard outside the room.

  The door is shut. Like I did back at the house, I pound as hard as I can on it, again and again.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  A nurse rounds the corner in a fury and starts to yell at me. “Young man, you need to—”

  And then the door cracks open.

  Saoirse’s standing there—just a sliver of her visible—staring at me with an open mouth and a shocked expression on her face.

  An angel.

  A siren.

  A dream I never want to wake from.

  “Cillian,” she breathes. Her wild red hair sways in the draft of the air conditioner as if it’s alive.

  The initial shock in her eyes fades.

  In its place comes sheer fucking terror.

  She glances back over her shoulder and then she pushes me back into the hallway. She shuts the door and turns to me with a wide, panicked gaze.

  “What are you doing here?” she hisses urgently. “You have to leave, Cillian. Now.”

  I’m still breathing hard from my sprint here.

  Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  “Saoirse,” I pant, “I came to tell you something important.”

  “Then tell me quickly.”

  “I have to leave Ireland,” I blurt out. “And I don’t think I can ever come back.”

  The sadness that washes over her face is all the proof I need.

  She cares for me. As much as I care for her.

  Maybe that’s the real reason I came. To prove to myself that what we feel for one another is real.

  And that’s when I realize something else: I haven’t come here to say goodbye to Saoirse.

  I’ve come to rescue her. Like I promised I would.

  “Saoirse,” I say again—I can’t get enough of saying her name; it’s like a drug, like the sweetest drink I’ve ever known. I grab her hand. “Come with me.”

  Her hand is limp in mine. Damn near lifeless.

  “W… what?”

  “I’m serious,” I say. Her eyes are mesmerizing, but I don’t have the luxury of getting lost in them right now. “Come with me. We can leave Ireland together. Make a fresh start somewhere else.”

  She stares at me, unblinking.

  For a long, drawn out moment, I actually believe she’s going to say yes.

  And then she cracks my heart in two.

  “Cillian… I can’t.”

  “What are you talking about?” I balk. “Of course you can.”

  She shakes her head, her irises blurring behind tears. “No. It’s not possible anymore.”

  “Saoirse…”

  She pulls her hand out of mine and takes a step back. “You need to leave, Cillian. Right now.”

  “Not without you,” I reply, my resolve hardening as I scrutinize her features.

  There’s a level of anxiety that clings to her now. Her eyes are devoid of the brightness they used to hold.

  She looks almost ghostly. All her spark and fire is gone as though someone has beaten it out of her. Snuffed her blazing spirit. Tarnished her jaded soul.

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on,” I demand.

  She sighs. “Nothing’s going on,” she says. “Cillian, we were so naïve. So stupid—”

  “No,” I say fiercely, shaking my head. “Hell no.”

  All I can think is, Who managed to get inside her head?

  I can see how much it’s killing her to push me away. But she’s doing it—and with a determination that I can’t quite understand.

  “Is someone threatening you, Saoirse?”

  She drops her head before I can read into her reaction. When she looks up again, she seems so tired. So frustrated. So defeated, like she’s been worn down by an endless battle and she’d rather give in than keep fighting.

  “I know it’s easier to believe that than to believe the truth, Cillian,” she says. “But I’m going to need you to listen to me. The other night—”

  “Meant something,” I interject stubbornly.

  “It didn’t,” she denies with biting confidence. “Maybe it meant something to you for now. But I suspect that a few months down the road, you won’t even remember my name.”

  I rear back. “Is that really what you think of me?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know you.”

  “Yes, you fucking do,” I insist. “You know everything that matters.”

  I grab her hand again and pull her to me.

  She’s not expecting it, so she slams into my embrace. Her aqua-blue eyes go wide with shock and for a second, I think I can crack the veneer. The distance between us.

  But then she blinks and the resolve is back.

  She pushes my chest, but I refuse to let her go.

  “Cillian!” she hisses through gritted teeth.

  “Talk to me,” I demand. “Tell me the truth. What happened after you left the rooftop?”

  “Nothing,” she insists. “I went to the hospital to see my father.”

  “And?”

  “And seeing him made me realize that I have a duty to stay here and take care of him. I have to pay off his debts. I have to make sure he gets the help he needs. I can’t be running around on rooftops and dreaming up wild, stupid fantasy futures.”

  I release her. She takes the opportunity to put some space between us. I miss her warmth and her scent instantly.

  “So you’re sacrificing your life for his,” I grit.

  “It’s what you do for the people you love.”

  “What about him?” I press. “What about his love for you? What ever happened to reciprocity? You sacrificed your childhood for him. Why can’t he give you this? One chance at happiness.”

  “You’re assuming I can only be happy with you,” she says, her eyes turning stony.

  “What if that’s the truth?”

  She shakes her head and lets out a humorless laugh that might as well be a sob. “You’re a fugitive, Cillian,” she says. “If I leave with you now, I will be as well.”

  I stop short.

  “What if I don’t want to live the rest of my life on the run?” she demands of me. “What if I want to return to Ireland one day? What if I want to visit my father at some point?”

  I have no answers for her.

  I’ve been so focused on saving her like I promised that I never stopped to consider the possibility that maybe she doesn’t really want saving.

  I’m the one who’s being forced to leave Ireland.

  But there’s no bounty on her head.

  I take a step back as thought after thought assaults me like a hail of fists.

  “Cillian…” Saoirse says. Her voice shivers audibly. “I’m sorry. But I thought we were both just playing pretend. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean anything I said. I didn’t think you did, either.”

  Why is she twisting the fucking knife?

  She doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who’s needlessly cruel.

  “You should go now,” she adds softly.

  You’d think that her beauty may have diminished in my eyes. But it doesn’t. It hasn’t. It never will.

  In fact, the imminent parting only makes her seem all the more beautiful.

  All the more ethereal.

  All the more out of my reach.

  I had the fucking world in the palm of my hand only a few days ago. How could things change so fast so soon? It seems an impossibility.

  So I give myself a moment.

  Thirty seconds to accept the fact that Saoirse and I had no magical connection. That whatever I thought happened was only in my head.


  “Cillian.”

  I meet her eyes. I’m surprised to see tears there.

  “You need to go.”

  I hate it more than I’ve ever hated anything in my entire fucking life. But she’s right.

  I need to go.

  And it will be without her.

  I nod slowly, the acceptance coming in slowly, like a terrible fucking hangover.

  “Goodbye, Saoirse.”

  “Cillian…”

  I don’t wait to hear the rest. I have a feeling it won’t matter anyway. Or if it does, it won’t change anything.

  No matter what she says, I’ll have to leave. And she’ll have to watch me go.

  Better to just rip the bandage off and let it hurt.

  I turn, numb from head to toe, and start to walk down the hall. I glance behind me and see that she’s still standing there. Eyes bright as beacons. Hair red as fire.

  I watch her until the moment I turn the corner.

  And as soon as I’m out of sight, I run.

  Back down the hall.

  Back right-left-left-right-down the stairs.

  Out the front doors. Bursting back out into the sunlight.

  My heart is so fucking heavy that it’s a miracle I can even move my feet, but that clock in my head is still screaming TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK and I know that the time has come for me to leave this place and never look back, never think of it again, never think of her again, because if I do it will break me.

  And I refuse to ever let that happen.

  I refuse to be broken.

  16

  Saoirse

  Earlier—Clontarf Hosptial

  “Cillian. I’m sorry. But I thought we were both just playing pretend.”

  The words that just left my lips sound convincing.

  But surely, surely, he can see through them, can’t he?

  I’m frustrated at myself for the strange dichotomy of my own feelings.

  Because as much as I want him to believe me, a part of me is hurt that he would believe me so easily.

  Does he really think I’d be so fickle? That my feelings are so flimsy?

  Maybe I’m asking for a lot. If I were standing in his place, I’d believe it immediately.

  It never made much sense that a guy like him with the world at his feet would choose a girl like me without a cent to her name.