“You don’t know a thing about his fucking job.”
“You’re nothing without me,” Kelly said, opening and closing his hands around the cup. “I’ve always known that. You know that. That’s why you despise me.”
“Nothing without you,” Scott spit back at him.
“If I didn’t exist.” He pointed to his chest. Then he pointed at Scott. “You wouldn’t exist.”
“You know what wouldn’t exist? Your marriage.” Scott placed two hands on the table, narrowing his eyes at Kelly. “Mine. You went after what was mine. You manipulated her into marrying you.”
Kelly shrugged. “In the beginning, but we both know it’s turned into something else.”
“What would that be?”
“That’s between my wife and me.” Kelly’s grin came slow. “But you have eyes. You see it. Even feel it.”
The entire room seemed to still while Kelly and Stone stared at each other from across the table.
Then Scott leaned in a little closer, a grin to match Kelly’s on his face. “You have no idea who Ronan Kelly really was. Maraigh.” Scott pronounced the word like MA-RAH. I’d heard some of the men that worked for Kelly call his father the same thing. “You walk this earth like you have a purpose. Like what you do means something. Because it meant something to your old man. Go back home for a while, Kelly, and ask your ma if she has the same hero worship for the man who ruined her life.”
I was so stunned by what Scott had said that it took me a minute to look at Harrison, who was staring at me. Cash Kelly’s mom was dead. She’d died before he left Ireland with Ronan. Father Flanagan had told me.
Kelly stood to his full height, and even though he hadn’t lost his cool, I could tell the tiger on his neck had made it to his eyes.
“Did you ever tell my wife the connection you had to the man who killed her sister?” Kelly paused, and it felt like all oxygen had been sucked from my lungs. “Bert Langster was your father’s best friend. He was having marital problems, if I recall, and was chasing after his wife in another car, got reckless in his anger, and killed an innocent child and her grandparents on the way to a Broadway show. Miraculously, the charges were dropped.”
“Then, to return a favor he owed, Maraigh had Bert Langster killed.”
It wasn’t Kelly or Scott who had spoken those words, but my brother. Bert Langster was the man who killed Roisin and our grandparents. A year after they were killed, they found him in his car, dead from carbon monoxide poisoning. He let the car run in his garage for too long. Or that was what I overheard my mam telling one of my aunts.
“What are you talking about?” I barely got out.
“Da,” Harrison said. “Ronan Kelly used to buy from his shop in Hell’s Kitchen.” Then he glanced at Detective Marinetti—he didn’t want to say any more.
Our father had opened an imported glass shop when we were little. He only sold things you could find in Ireland and Scotland. He must have gone to Ronan Kelly after my sister was killed, seeking justice through lawless means.
My father.
The man who rarely spoke—we all joked that my mam had stolen all of his words—had gotten another man killed, a man who had walked free of a crime that stole my other half.
I wondered if it was Ronan Kelly or his son, my husband, who had killed Bert Langster.
Like I’d done all those years ago, I must’ve held my breath for too long, or it was being held in the room with Kelly and Stone, because all of the stars went out and I faded.
19
Keely
It was hard not to keep hearing Scott’s voice echoing inside of my head during quiet moments.
“We didn’t have anything to do with him getting set free! Keely, you have to believe me. My father didn’t even associate with him after he was arrested!”
Those words seemed trapped in a tunnel, and like the day I’d passed out in that two-way observation-mirror room, the further I got from the memory, the less my hands trembled.
Either way, the man who had killed my sister and grandparents had been a close family friend of the Stone’s, and it was something Scott had neglected to tell me. After he found out who I was, it was the first thing he should’ve admitted to me.
Maybe his family had something to do with the man walking free. Maybe they didn’t. But I had deserved to know, especially given the fact that my mother and father would’ve recognized his name as soon as I’d introduced them.
My mother and father knew exactly who Cash Kelly was when I’d introduced him. I should’ve told her about my wedding, but she definitely should’ve told me about our history with the Kelly family.
After setting down my lipstick on the bathroom counter, I slipped my feet into a pair of gold heels. Kelly and I had another fancy event to attend, and I chose another green dress to wear. It was my signature color.
The color of his eyes.
Instead of waiting for him at home, though, I decided to meet him at Sullivan’s. It wasn’t a far walk, and the weather had been nice all day. And I wanted to talk to him in a more private setting. After Scott had insinuated that Kelly’s mother was still alive, he had been quiet, and I assumed he was thinking over the possibility.
Why would anyone lie about that, though? His own father? Father Flanagan, too? What did his twin have to say about all of this?
I followed the sound of voices down to the kitchen. Maureen and the kids had been staying with us since the day of the bullshit warrant. She came that night with just two bags between all three of them.
Right before my arrest, I had been outside getting another paint can out of my car when I’d seen her walking. She told me she was going to pick up Ryan, and I suggested that she and the kids come to stay with us for a while, just until Ryan was completely out of the woods.
Maureen seemed like a woman who refused to ask for help, because she was always strong enough to do it on her own, but I worried about how tired she looked. And I loved having the children around. So I was glad when she gave in.
Cash and I were leaving the next day for Mari and Mac’s wedding in Italy. I was going to miss the three of them something fierce. Even in such a short time, they filled the house with something that felt warm. When I thought about being separated from them, something in me went cold.
For the first time since I came to live with Kelly, the house was starting to feel like mine, too.
Maureen stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled like cabbage, and when she saw me, she whistled. “Fox!”
“You’re Jessica Rabbit in green,” Raff said. He sat at the table with CeeCee, coloring.
CeeCee giggled, and the three of us, in our own ways, acknowledged it without trying to shine a huge light on it. It was the same reaction she had when she first saw her room—it didn’t take long for the shock to turn into pure happiness. The kind all kids should have.
I went to check on Ryan, who was asleep in the bassinet we kept in the kitchen. I’d taken one look at him when Maureen brought him home and my heart seemed to grow.
All was okay in our home, so I told them I’d see them later and went to leave. Raff stopped me. “Where’s Cash?”
“I told him I’d meet him at Sullivan’s. Why?”
“I’ll walk you,” he said. He turned to CeeCee. “Don’t color her hair. That’s my favorite part!”
She took out a dark purple color and put it between the pages of his book, knowing that he gave the princesses cool hair colors.
We talked books the entire way to the restaurant, and once there, he watched me go inside and then turned back toward our place. I took a seat at the bar and ordered two whiskeys neat.
“Would you like something to eat, Mrs. Kelly?” the old barman asked me.
“No,” I said. “Not yet. I’m waiting on Cash. We’ll order together.”
He nodded and went to check on a guy sitting two seats down from me.
Sullivan’s had been in the neighborhood for years and years. It was a place that
still held on to its old-world charm. I remembered seeing a picture of my Mam and Da sitting at the bar with a bunch of friends. Mentally, I went through all of the faces, and a few seconds later, it dawned on me—one of them was Ronan Kelly.
The thought of Cash’s old man made me look to my left. Molly, Ronan's widow, and Brian Grady, who I'd heard was Lee's uncle, were sitting at a table together. They were a couple, which kind of surprised me, because from what I understood, the feud between the Kellys and the Gradys was the stuff legends are made of.
I was never curious enough about Molly to make an effort to get to know her, but Brian was...different. For instance, he was holding a dart, and instead of throwing it, he was trying to get the sharp part underneath the first layer of skin on his pointer finger. Like the dart was a needle.
He was also missing the middle digit of his right hand.
The bar was noisy enough with chatter and the band playing, so I turned to the guy two seats down. “How long have you lived here?” He was around Kelly's age, if not a little older.
He looked to the right and then at me when he found no one sitting on the other side of him. Or he knew and was just trying to be a smart ass. He pointed at his chest. “You talkin' to me?"
“I'm not talking to myself.”
“All my life,” he said and turned his face forward again.
I noticed that the barman looked between us before he went back to serving drinks.
“I'm not trying to hit on you,” I said. “I have a question.”
“He'd rearrange my face, or worse, for much less.” He took a gulp of his beer.
“What?” Maybe he was drunk.
“Your husband. There's a reason why men around here keep their distance from you. I was sitting there.” He nodded to the seat next to me. “Saw you coming and moved here for the sake of my health.”
“Ah,” I said. “Because of the tiger that sleeps in my bed.”
“He’s a tiger and I’m a goat. I can smell him all around you, lady.”
I laughed a little and he grinned.
“One question, since you probably know more about the history in this neighborhood than I do.” I chucked my chin toward Brian and Molly. “What happened to his bird finger? Seems like an odd digit to lose.”
The guy who called himself a goat looked at the barman again. Real subtle, the barman shook his head.
The guy released a heavy breath a minute later. “Ah, what the hell? It's not a secret. The Gradys and Kellys go back years. When Ronan first arrived, he had eyes for Molly. She fell for his Irish lilt and charm. He was older, too, and hell bent on running Hell's Kitchen after he got in good with a previous leader who wanted it back after the Gradys took it from him. Molly decided she wanted Ronan and not Brian, and that was that. But not before Ronan cut off Brian’s bird finger after he gave it to Ronan.”
“She's sleeping with the enemy.”
He took another drink of his beer and sighed. “Molly has a wicked temper. She doesn't forgive, and she doesn't forget. Ronan got her pregnant twice, but there was never a baby. Rumors were that she couldn’t have them. Then Ronan brings home his two sons, who were at an age to remember their mother. Molly wasn't her. She hasn't forgiven or forgotten it.
“She would make Ronan prove himself to her by being distant from his sons. If he showed them too much attention, she'd throw a fit and threaten to leave, that sort of thing. Kill made things worse. He couldn't stand her. It wasn't an ideal situation.” Then he made a baaaa sound and turned around.
I looked back at Molly and Brian, and her eyes narrowed against mine. What kind of woman throws a tantrum over children being shown too much attention? A bitch.
A hand slipped around my waist from behind, and I stiffened for a second, before I recognized the touch.
“You’re not as jumpy around me, my darlin’,” Kelly said, his warm breath in my ear.
“My bones were getting sick of jumping out of my skin whenever you snuck up on me.” I grinned. “You’re on my radar now.”
Though I didn’t think I’d ever get used to him. When he appeared, it was like I was stuck in a storm, and during a strike of lightning, the form of a massive cat appeared of out the darkness. His power was the shock of it, time and time again.
“Good bones,” he murmured against my overheated flesh, though my arms showed goosebumps. Then he inhaled. “That scent you’re wearing lingers. All. Fucking. Day.”
Yeah, because it’s yours and mine, mixed together.
My heart rose and my stomach dipped at the thought, and the sound of his voice made my eyes lower. I could spend forever listening to it.
The hold on my waist became tighter, constricting, and I had to fight the urge to move out of it. “Another man was breathing in my scent. Making mine laugh. Enjoying my heaven.”
He was sending a message— I knew about those, because he usually sent them in the bedroom, when he was fucking me. I should’ve been afraid, but it turned me on. A fierce ache grew between my legs and a moan was stuck in my throat.
“If it happens again.” His voice was ice cold. “He’ll be in hell.”
The pressure released and I breathed in deep.
The warmth behind my back moved to face me. A gun was tucked behind his suit jacket. “You hungry for something special?” He casually gestured to a menu sitting on the bar, like he hadn’t just said those words.
I couldn’t answer. I pushed his glass of whiskey toward him, and then grabbed for mine, taking a deep drink. His mouth came against mine a second later, and our tongues twirled, fire between them.
When we parted, he said, “Special reserve of whiskey just for me. The best in the fucking world.”
I licked my lips and then motioned to the seat next to mine. “I wanted to talk to you in private.”
He looked around and grinned.
I smiled, tucking a wayward curl behind my ear. “Not around everyone in the house.”
“That’s why we have a private room, darlin’.”
“Just sit, Kelly.” I nodded toward the seat again. This had to be done out in public, or maybe I wouldn’t be able to say all that needed to be said. In our “private” room, it was hard to keep my hands to myself. I wanted to jump his bones as soon as he walked into the house.
He nodded to the guy two seats from me, and after the guy nodded back, he took his beer and claimed a table by one of the windows. Kelly took the seat I’d offered after he did.
We faced each other.
I went to take another drink of my whiskey, but he stopped me with a hand. “Speak what’s on your mind.”
I nodded. Fixed the damn curl again. “I want to call a truce.”
He tilted his head a little. “With who, darlin’?”
It took me a second to cool my temper. Was my fight with him so insignificant that he didn’t even notice? “Unlike you, Kelly, I don’t have enemies banging on my door every day. A truce between us.” My hand waved between our bodies, and he caught it, placing a kiss on my ring finger.
“All right.” He nodded. “A truce. Between us.”
I watched his face for a moment. It showed nothing but a rugged handsomeness that few possessed and could pull off. “You have no idea what I’m talking about.” I realized that he never felt resistance from me, because compared to what he was up against on the streets, my temper was insignificant.
“To a degree.” He fixed his tie before he looked me in the eye. “I stole your heart without your consent, and you wanted to get even. Now you’re seeing this as something that has the potential to be real between us, and you want us to give our marriage the respect it demands. The chance it deserves.”
For whatever fucking reason, his words stole the breath from my lungs. “Yes,” I barely got out. “You have the essence of it.”
He tapped the center of his heart with his middle finger once. “No heart.” He tapped his temple with the same finger once. “But I’m still aware of every fucking thing, darlin’.”
> Setting his arms on each side of my chair, he pulled it forward like I weighed nothing and leaned in closer. His mouth was a kiss away, but instead, he ran his nose up my cheek and put his mouth close to my ear after my eyes had closed. “The truth of it is,” he breathed out, “some hearts have to be given. Not yours, fierce archer. It had to be stolen. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have given it willingly. Not to Stone. Not to me. Not to any man. It’s a fight to the death to earn your love. You’re the most expensive date I’ve ever had.”
“What about yours?” I whispered. “Your heart?”
“What’s inside?” He palmed the pendant he’d given me, the chain probably resting between his fingers. I could feel the pull of it as he slowly moved back.
It took me a minute to open my eyes, and when I did, his eyes were burning a dangerous green. I didn’t think there was a jealous bone in his body, but the color of his eyes were meant to claim and keep. His.
“I haven’t found it yet.” I entwined my hand with his, the chain coming between our fingers. “The key.”
“You haven’t looked hard enough.” He grinned at me, but it wasn’t playful; it was daring. “Prove me wrong.”
Oh, I think I already have, Kelly.
Using the chain, he pulled me even closer and set his lips against mine again. When we pulled away, I got the same dizziness that I did when I held my breath. Stars danced behind my eyes, and I grabbed onto the bar to keep myself grounded.
“I’ll take care of you, Keely Kelly,” he said. “I won’t let you fall again. No truce needed.”
I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. I had fallen so many times after my sister was killed, from holding my breath, that my Da put a helmet on my head to stop me from damaging my brain. I didn’t know how to live without my other half.
Looking at this man who purposely stole my heart, I didn’t think I could live without him, either. He had somehow stepped into that empty shadow and filled the void, stealing the guilt and the pain. It didn’t hurt as much when he was around.
Meeting his eyes, I nodded once. “I choose to believe you.”
Marauder (Gangsters of New York Book 2) Page 20