Kieran

by Kassanna

  “That’s some kind of face you’re making, missy.” Roscoe sidled up next to her.

  “I was lost in my thoughts.” She glanced at the older man. His jacket was zipped up, making his face appear cartoonish with the skin on his neck pushed up around his jaw and his eyes bulged. Rica grinned wide. “Did you fix the Bertha?”

  “Me and that ice machine have an understanding. When I threaten it with the wrench she acts right.” Roscoe trotted to keep up with her. “What you doing out here? It’s colder than a witch’s tit.”

  “Screwed many witches?” She shook her head.

  “More like bit--” he groused

  “Roscoe.” Rica burst out in laughter.

  “What can I say? Women love this dark chocolate, and I don’t discriminate. Of course once they’ve had some of my sweetness they go crazy and I have to drop they silly asses anyway.” He shrugged. “Once, though…” He gazed off in the distance.

  “Even with your arthritis?” She couldn’t keep the laughter from her voice.

  “You kidding, right? Deep down what lady don’t want to take care of her man?”

  “I don’t know. You would be more than I could handle.”

  “That is my problem. I ain’t found a woman yet ready to put in the work to keep me.” He touched her arm. “Let’s head back to the bar.” Roscoe swiveled his head left then right.

  “Something caught your eye?” His behavior was curious. They were friendly, but he’d never come looking for her before.

  “No, ma’am, just taking in the neighborhood. It’s been a while since I walked anywhere since I like the comfort of a car.”

  “I bet.” She sighed. “I was heading back anyway.

  A black sedan pulled up to the curb. Roscoe grabbed her elbow and yanked her back, stepping in front of her. She clutched his thin shoulder to move him. The car door swung open and an older man with salt-and-pepper hair more white than black rose out of the shadowed interior. Armed men exited the driver and passenger sides and stood on the sidewalk. Their weapons weren’t obvious, but she’d didn’t miss the bulges under their jackets.

  “Paddy O’Shea. It’s been a long time.” Roscoe’s tone was chilly.

  Rica tilted her head. She’d never seen the man, but she was aware of who Paddy was. Kieran didn’t talk about his father, but every now and then when he was with his brothers he’d make a comment that usually ended with old fucking bastard.

  Another man strolled around the rear end of the car. Wisps of his faded strawberry-blond hair danced in the wind. He hung back with his arms crossed.

  “What brings you to the neighborhood?” Roscoe angled his body toward the big guy behind Paddy.

  “I came to talk to the girl behind you.” Paddy moved closer.

  “What do you want with me?” His stare made her uncomfortable. The old fart was sizing her up. She refused to shrink from his gaze.

  “You’re Kieran’s side piece. That boy is a lot of things, but I never expected him to go for something like you.” O’Shea’s shoulders dropped and he exhaled. “Get in the car.”

  Rica peered at Roscoe. “Is that wrinkled SOB talking to me?” Her words ended on a high note.

  The redheaded guy stomped forward. “Move, bitch.”

  “Paddy, I’m not sure who you’re looking for but I don’t think it’s her.” Roscoe scratched his head. “You brought all this manpower for a girl that might weigh a buck o’five soaking wet.”

  “I got your bitch, fucking decrepit old man.” She shoved past Roscoe.

  “Put her in the car.” Paddy pushed the door wider.

  The man near the front passenger side gripped her wrist. She snatched her arm back. He wrapped his hand around her throat and hefted her up.

  Roscoe shuffled forward. “Kieran won’t back down if you do this. That kid is as stubborn as you are.”

  She scrambled, digging her fingers into her jeans pocket. The box cutter she used earlier was there. The scarf protected her throat but she couldn’t escape his grip. Her fingers brushed the cool plastic, and she shoved her hand deeper to clutch the weapon. She yanked it free and slid the mechanism up to expose the blade. In one sweeping motion she arced her arm up, slicing through the guy’s wrist. He released her and she stumbled back.

  Drops of blood rolled down her palm as she extended her arm. “I ain’t going no damn where with you.”

  Paddy peered at her through cold eyes. “Girl, I am not a man you want as an enemy.”

  “Fuck you.” She sucked her teeth.

  “Rica.” Roscoe spoke low. “Back up and get the hell out of here.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me and these guys go a ways back. I’m just going to talk to them.” He glanced at her through soft eyes.

  “Nope.” She twisted to face Kieran’s dad. “Say what the hell you have to say.”

  “You think a flimsy razor could stop me?” The big guy inched closer. “Kieran needs to accept the deal we offered him. He knows where to find us. He missed the first deadline. His da is being nice by extending him a second one.”

  “Nice? More like desperate. I’ll let you tell him that.” She dropped her arm. Punk-ass bastards weren’t worth it. They were made men, but if they wanted to do anything to her, the old guy was right. Her little knife wouldn’t have stopped them. Calm spread through her. “If you have business with Kieran, you need to find him.”

  Paddy leaned on the door. “The fucker will come to me. If he doesn’t, it’s not him I’ll come looking for.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re a pretty little thing.”

  “I’m not a thing.” She touched Roscoe’s shoulder. “Let’s go.” Rica turned on her heel and retraced her steps.

  “Tell my son your life is in his hands.” Paddy’s wicked chuckle followed her down the hill.

  ***

  Irish was bigger than it looked. Kieran took his time walking through the space. Rica had remodeled the place a year ago. She must have had a thing for shamrocks. There were images of four-leaf clovers everywhere. Funny--he never noticed before. He strolled behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of liquor and a shot glass.

  Shannon and Conall had descended on his place earlier as if he hadn’t just spent several days with them. He’d just got rid of his brothers, they were having business, personal problems he wasn’t sure ould be solved in an afternoon unless they killed everybody. Death was a fucking fantastic equalizer. He loved his brothers but he needed time to think, alone. The bar was peaceful when there wasn’t anybody around and he could wade through the bullshit dogging his thoughts with a clear mind.

  After his meeting with Paddy, he’d met with his siblings. He hadn’t meant to be gone a little over a week but they had a lot of shit going on. They were in agreement regarding the Union deal--their da could suck a dick if he thought he was getting any part of it. It was time to consolidate, close a few enterprises down and invest more in the other ones.

  Kieran filled the tumbler to the rim. Dark brown liquid sloshed over his fingers as he brought the glass to his lips. His snitch wasn’t the only issue. Their dad was giving all of them grief. Paddy was a nuisance that would have to be dealt with. Killing the old man made good business sense, but he wouldn’t be the only one to die. Plans had been made, and it was time to execute them, a payback for the years of abuse. Deep barks of laughter swelled up from his chest. Death was a motherfucker.

  His mirth tapered off. First, he needed to clean house. Going forward, he could only afford to have those he truly trusted around him. Change was inevitable. There was only one person in his crew that he knew hadn’t shared his information--Rica. Shannon agreed with him, and they’d come up with a short list of who the informant could be.

  The door slammed. Kieran peered at the entrance. Martin ambled through the interior as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Kieran studied his old friend. As Kieran’s top enforcer, Martin made the weekly payment pick-ups.

  “Boss.” Martin nodded and plopped down on the stool. He stood agai
n and pulled an envelope from his back pocket and dropped it on the bar beore reclaiming his seat.

  Kieran glanced at the packet. Drops were made every Sunday. It was Friday, so his guy was really late or very early. Inconsistencies bothered him. “Is there a problem giving that to Rica?”

  Martin picked up a glass from the upturned stack and set it down. Kieran rested a hip on the lip of the counter, staring at Martin as he poured two fingers of alcohol into the tumbler and took a healthy sip.

  “I must be working you too hard.” Kieran arched a brow.

  “Sorry, boss.” Martin exhaled. “Collections have been a bitch lately. Derrica must have got impatient and sent one of the other guys out to pick up. People are claiming they already made their weekly payments. You’ve made it clear it’s not my place to question her, so I have been holding on to this until I could talk to you.”

  Kieran picked up the package. By the weight in his palm he could tell money was short. “If you were so concerned…you wait to notify me with this bullshit? You didn’t feel losing my fucking money was important?”

  “It’s not me, Kieran, I swear. Your problem is that black bitch on her high horse ’cause she knows you protect her. We been friends a long time. I got no reason to lie to you.”

  Shit was piling up. Rica hadn’t mentioned anything to him about collection problems then again if there was an issue she thought she could handle, she wouldn’t. Before he killed Marty for insinuating that Rica was stealing from him, he would see where the conversation led to. “Everybody lies, Marty.” He took a sip of his drink. “The question is whether the deceit is worth dying over.” His friend’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I did my part.”

  “I hear you talking. I’ll take up your observations with Rica.” Kieran studied Martin though narrowed eyes.

  “Like that will happen,” Martin mumbled low. “Her pussy got you tied tighter than a fisherman’s knot.”

  “Jealous much?” Rica stomped from the hallway. She glanced at Kieran with no emotion on her face. “Kieran.”

  “Rica.” Her movements were stiff. Contrary to what his enforcer was implying, he didn’t just believe she wouldn’t turn on him--he knew it to the depths of his soul. “Something wrong?”

  “Shit is hunky dory.” She grabbed the bucket they used to transfer ice from the machine to the bar. “I gotta get ready to open. If you two plan on sticking around I might put you to work.” She retraced her steps.

  “Rica.” Something was up.

  “Yes, Kieran?” She didn’t twist around to look at him.

  “We’ll talk later.”

  She disappeared beyond his view.

  “How can you put up with her bad attitude?” Marty picked up the bottle.

  This asshole had taken the very last fuck Kieran had to give. He wrapped his fingers around the handle of a thin blade resting on a cutting board. A quick jab to the heart would shut the asshole up. Would he feel bad for Martin’s death? Maybe a nano-second, given his years of service.

  Kieran recited numbers in his head, and the tension stretching through him abated. It was technique he developed growing up--he would allow himself so many seconds to decide if someone lived or died. If, after the time passed, he still wanted the idiot dead then they disappeared. Martin would live another day.

  Kieran dropped the knife and snatched the Irish whiskey from Martin’s hands to pour another shot. He tossed it back. Heat blossomed in his chest and the alcohol coursed through him. He slammed the tumbler down, and the crack of glass hitting wood reverberated around him. Anger diluted his thought processes. He inhaled slowly, taking in the scent of pine finish, old smoke and Martin’s cheap cologne.

  A fucking stream of information was in his da’s hands and God knew who else had it. The call from Roscoe was what had brought him to the bar. Rica had become known to a few folks he would have preferred not learn about her. It wouldn’t change his plans, but some ideas would be altered.

  “Kieran.” Martin poured him another shot. “I’m telling you--”

  “Leave him alone. He’s got better things to do than worry about your pussy ass griping.” Rica appeared next to Kieran and hefted a bucket of ice onto the counter. She picked up an ice pick and rammed it into a misshapen block of ice cubes. “I told Roscoe to fix the damn machine.”

  “You can do that another time. Kieran and I were talking.” Disgust dripped from Martin’s voice. “You’re the root of the problem.” Martin didn’t bother to hide his disdain for Derrica.

  “Run along, Martin.” Rica cocked her head and cupped her ear. “I hear your mama calling you.” She grinned innocently. “I guess you ain’t let go of that tit yet?”

  She was in a mood to fight. Kieran pressed his lips together to keep from barking out laughter. His mood elevated. For a moment he’d forgotten his woman could take care of herself. He needed to focus on the problem at hand, lay the trap and see who came sniffing.

  A deep rumble flowed from his old friend. “The dark taint of your touch is all over our crew. Assholes take us for a joke because of you. Why don’t you do what your people do best?” Martin leaned forward and whispered. “Meet me in the backroom and suck my dick.”

  Rica’s hand tightened on the ice pick handle. Her skin paled between her knuckles. She peered over at Kieran. A tic appeared in her jaw. He wouldn’t interfere; she would have to make the guy respect her. He folded up the sleeves of his shirt and crossed his arms.

  In a sudden flurry of movement she was across the counter and burying the pick into Martin’s hand, pinning him to the wood. A yowl of pain escaped his friend as big tears brimmed on his lashes. He jerked his arm. She snatched up the bottle by the neck and slammed it across Martin’s temple. The aroma of aged whiskey drifted to Kieran’s nose. He pursed his lips—she’d ruined a damn good bottle of liquor and fucked up the bar top, for an idiot. Her violent streak gave him an erection. Half listening to her comments, he calculated the cost of the damages in his head and how he wanted to collect them from Rica.

  “There are two problems with your suggestion, Martin.” She cleared her throat and held up a finger. “One, I am African American, not one of you people and two, I would have to find your cock first. There isn’t a magnifying glass available with that kind of strength, you sorry son of a bitch, closet motherfucking racist.”

  Kieran eased behind her, grazing her ass with his palm. He peered at Martin. “You should have seen that coming.”

  A puddle of blood grew around Martin’s fingers. “Cunt, ass, fucking bitch.” His words ran together.

  She leaned forward and shoved her index finger against his forehead. “You got a problem with me, pussy boy, come at me. Like I keep telling folks, I am open to communication. You lying fuck face.”

  “The cost of that liquor, pretty girl—yeah, I’ll be taking my payment for that tonight. Patch up my ignorant friend and clean up your mess.” Kieran stared straight ahead. “Martin, after you finish bawling, call the fellas together for a meeting. Everyone needs to be upstairs by ten tonight.” He strolled toward the hallway.

  Chapter Four

  His men looked uncomfortable. Kieran didn’t just let anyone into his crew. He wanted college-educated men, mostly without a conscience. Other than Martin he’d recruited each guy personally. Within two years, after comparing college records with criminal ones. He’d found men almost as ruthless as he and his brothers and built a team he’d believed would be loyal only to him. But Paddy had gotten to one of them.

  Martin Reilly went to high school with him and his brothers. He was the class clown, but Kieran knew he took licks from his dad just like they did from Danny. It must have been something in the water there cause most of the guys from Lowell were made men and fucking crazy as hell. Martin ran behind Conall and Fionn like a shadow. His brothers thought he was annoying, but Kieran felt pity for Marty. At least he had his brothers while the scrawny kid trying to act tough had no one. When he was starting law school, he ran into Martin again who was a dru
g mule for some dealer.

  By then he was building his own group. He was a lot of things but he didn’t abide drugs, selling or using. When his mother couldn’t take Paddy anymore she ended her life with pharmaceuticals. For that reason alone when he ran in to Marty he offered the guy a job running between collection spots for him.

  In the beginning there weren’t many pick-ups, only a block his da had given him with a merciless laugh before advising him not to lose it the next day. Then the old bastard proceeded to try and take it back within a few weeks by sending Danny Boy and a crew to reclaim it. That ass-whooping was another lesson learned but that day he wasn’t alone--Marty was swinging his fists with him. When Kieran’s brothers joined the fray Danny backed off. Bruised and bloody, Kieran kept his territory. He repaid his debts--Martin Reilly was under the O’Shea brothers’ protection as part of their gang.

  Eventually, each sibling recruited their own people but for whatever reason, the past hung on to Kieran, and he not only kept Marty around but his da’s driver, Roscoe, eventually joined him. He’d never lost contact with the older man growing up, and when he opened Irish he enlisted Roscoe to help run it.

  The next guy he brought into his fold was Shin Goo Tak. A second-generation Korean American, martial artist and hacker, Goo Tak graduated top of his class with a Master’s Degree in Computer Engineering. He’d broken through multiple government security systems several times and Kieran had represented him in two of those cases. Kieran was waiting for him after his eighteen-month stint in federal prison. Goo’s skills kept his enterprises under the radar of certain agencies.

  “Goo, after the dock deal is done, hack the union files and make sure to delete any mention of my companies and name. Replace them with one of the other councilmen names.” Kieran leaned back in his seat. “Brinkman has been irritating me lately--use him. We can use the paper trail to blackmail him later if needed.”

  Goo nodded. “Consider it done.” He waved his fingers. “I also took care of those money transfers. Rica is an extremely wealthy woman now.”