Kieran

by Kassanna

  The passenger side door was thrust open, and cold air whipped through the interior. She gazed up. Casually dressed big men stood beside her.

  One looked down at her and scowled. “You can move, or I can move ya.”

  She swiveled in her seat. “Roscoe?”

  “I warned you. Told you not to trust anyone.” He tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” The other guy reached in and locked his meaty hands around her wrist, dragging her out. No way in hell was she going out like this.

  I’ll make sure Kieran knows where to find yo--” The door was slammed, cutting off Roscoe’s words.

  She hung back, and her feet slid across the sidewalk. The other fella closed his fist around her braids and yanked her forward. She hit the cold concrete with a thud, slamming her face into the abrasive surface. Rica lifted her head. The red taillights of Roscoe’s automobile disappeared as he took a turn. Dampness spread across her top lip. She licked her lips, and the metallic taste of blood flowed over her tongue. Her scalp stung as she was hauled up by the hair to stand.

  “Danny Boy was right. She is a pretty little thing.” The larger man leaned down, staring into her face. “I bet you’re all kinds of fun flat on your back.”

  “Fuck you.” She spat.

  “Oh, we got a live one.” The other fella laughed.

  It hurt to breathe. Her nose had to be broken and blood streamed down past her lips seeping into her mouth. Chilled air seeped through her open coat, making her numb. She narrowed her eyes and took in the man holding her. Because she was petite, most people didn’t take her seriously. She reared her leg back and plowed it between his thighs. His eyes widened before his face went slack and his skin paled.

  He dropped to his knees and wrenched her down with him before he released her. She gripped his shoulders and scrambled to her feet. Hastily, she kneed him in the jaw. He swayed before falling back. Rica pranced to the side and swiveled on her heel. She met the gaze of the other guy before sprinting down the pavement. The cold air burned her lungs as she inhaled. Heavy footsteps followed her. She slowed up and veered left, leaping to catch the metal coils of a chain-link fence. Sharp points bit into her palm as she heaved herself up. Almost there, she reached for the top bar, missed a toehold and dropped, bouncing against the metal netting. Her biceps burned and beads of sweat dotted her forehead despite the cool temperatures. Her coat caught on a jagged spike and ripped.

  The man chasing her clutched her ankle, and she flailed her legs. He twisted her around, forcing her to let go of the fence. She slid down, and he grabbed her by the lapel and shook her. Rica beat at his arm, twisting to get free of the jacket. He spun her around, rammed her into the barrier and plowed a fist into her ribs. Pain exploded through her side. She weaved her fingers through the diamond-shaped openings, pulling herself along the barricade.

  “Where the hell you think you’re going?” He smashed another blow into her back.

  Her legs went weak and tears filled her eyes. One foot in front of the other, she had to get away. Her vision wavered.

  “That’s right. Run, girl.” His voice came from far away.

  “Go to hell.” Her words were barely a whisper. Saliva pooled in her mouth, and she swallowed.

  “This is for my friend.” He struck her in the back of the head. “You should have been nicer to us.”

  She fell, her arms extended above her head as she clung to the fence. Dizziness made her head swim. The guy squatted in front of her. He stabbed his index finger into her temple. She shut her lids and took in deep breaths to slow the spinning.

  Kieran’s image fluttered in her mind. She was always secure in handling her own because she knew he stood at her back. No way in hell would her man allow her to leave this life like this. There would be hell to pay. Rica opened her eyes and tried to focus. “You’re going to die, and I’m going watch.” A faint giggle escaped her before everything around her faded to darkness.

  ***

  Kieran checked his watch. Martin was supposed to pick up Rica and bring her to him then return to open up Irish. His man was fucking up left and right. He’d had his secretary make reservations for two for dinner.

  “You don’t need me for anything else--right?” Both of Goo’s brows rose up. “There is a woman…with…” He cupped his hands in front of his chest.”

  “Keep your phone on in case something comes up. Get the hell out of here.” Kieran waved his hand.

  Martin passed Goo as he entered the office.

  Kieran stared at him and tilted his head to the side to see beyond the younger guy. “Where’s Rica?”

  “She’s not here?” Martin spun in place.

  He tamped down his irritation. This was why most of his men were college graduates. Martin was going back to school this fucking fall. “Would I ask you where she was if she were here?”

  “I guess not.” Martin chuckled. “She left with Roscoe. He said he would drop her off here after their errand. I stayed at Irish to open the bar and let the staff in.” He fell into the seat facing Kieran’s desk and pulled a magazine from his inside coat pocket.

  Kieran lifted his phone and scrolled through the contacts. He tapped Rica’s number. He’d called her once already with no answer. Several rings, and the call went to voicemail. A swipe of the screen, and he ended the call before locating Roscoe’s number and hitting the handset icon.

  “Hey, Kieran.” Roscoe’s chipper tone was loud.

  “Where is Rica?” He was a lot of things, but when it came to his pretty girl, he was far from patient.

  “I dropped her off.” Concern colored his old friend’s voice.

  “Where? She’s not here.” He wasn’t getting a straightforward answer and the old mans feigned ignorance was annoying. He didn’t doubt for a minute that Roscoe didn’t understand what he was asking.

  A female voice filled the background. Flight eighty-nine to Memphis has been delayed. “Listen, we picked up a part, and I dropped her off where she told me too. I’m picking up a friend now. I’ll call you when I get back to Irish.”

  “Fuck that! You’ll talk to me now!” Kieran bellowed into the mouthpiece.

  Martin’s head snapped up from what he was reading. He leaned forward in his seat, and the magazine slid from his lap.

  “Who are you yelling at?” Roscoe spoke quietly. His tone a deep timbre.

  “Old man, I don’t give a damn how far we go back. I will put a bullet between your eyes if you don’t answer me.” An emotion he hadn’t experience in a long time rippled along his nerves--fear.

  “Did you know I was in love with your mother?”

  Where the hell was this going? He could have Martin call Fionn to track Roscoe down, but his brother was doing a job for Shannon last they talked. Kieran lowered the cell and stared at Martin. “Get Goo on the phone. I want to know where the fuck Roscoe is now. Then I want you, and Krank to go get the motherfucker.” Something was wrong. His belly roiled. A man he’d trusted his entire life was acting off, and the woman who meant everything to him had last been seen with the son of a bitch.

  Martin was speaking softly into his cell.

  Kieran took several calming breaths ad raised the phone to his ear. Going off half-assed wouldn’t get him the information he needed. “Fiona was a beautiful woman. I don’t blame you for falling in love with her.”

  “Between you and your brother Conall, you look the most like her.”

  “It’s the eyes. The shade of blue is the same. Where is Rica?” He had to keep Roscoe on the phone. The last thing he wanted was this asshole throwing the damn thing away.

  “I told you, I dropped her off. I was going to call you later and make sure you knew where she was.”

  Martin rose and trotted to Kieran desk, he picked up a pen and notepaper, jotting down a message. At the airport.

  He knew that. A twitch began in his jaw. He picked up the pen. I know that. Pinpoint his ass. “Roscoe, you’
re not making sense. What does your feeling for my mother have to do with Rica?”

  “She didn’t commit suicide. That old bastard had her killed.”

  He knew that. Still, he had to wade through the bullshit to get the answers he needed. “I suspected that. My brothers and I will handle our father.”

  “Fucker needs to die.” Roscoe mumbled the words. “All she ever wanted was for me to protect you and your brothers. Losing you and Conall tore her apart. I couldn’t save her life, but I can avenge her death.”

  “Help me out here…connect the dots for me.” He was holding on to his temper by a thread. Kieran thought through how Paddy was fucking with them.

  Shannon was having issues with competitors, Conall and Fionn were having issue with drug dealers, and Kieran had a snitch. Knowing the way his father did things he’d been meticulous about the folks he kept around himThe father had built layers of bullshit utilizing the worst traits in people to create the best outcome for his businesses. How the hell did Roscoe slip under his radar? He’d been so busy planning and executing the dissection his da’s organization. A short bark of laughter escaped him. Paddy was doing the same thing to him. “You’ve been feeding information to Paddy, haven’t you, Roscoe?”

  “They needed to think I was helping them.”

  An ache developed in his chest. “Where did you drop off Rica?” His dad would have her killed just to spite him.

  “You’re in a position with your brothers to claim that old fucker’s throne and own this city, but you were taking too long to make a move.” Roscoe paused. A garbled voice sounded in the background. Group A seating. “I know Danny murdered your mother. I left Rica with him and his crew.”

  “Roscoe?” Kieran’s grip tightened on the slim device. He threw it across the room. A crack resounded when it hit the wall and fell to the carpet. Roscoe had made a bitch-ass move there would be no coming back from. He gazed at Martin. “I want to know where the hell Danny Boy Sullivan is right fucking now.” First he would get his woman back then he would find Roscoe and put the bastard down personally.

  Chapter Seven

  Streetlights flickered on, and the temperature dropped with the onset of night. Kieran stared at the neon-yellow beer sign that brightened the picture window. Rica was somewhere beyond the walls of the building. He would break that bitch down brick by fucking brick--whatever it took to get his pretty girl back. He reached into his coat’s inside pocket and pulled his gloves free, slipping his hands into the warm leather.

  He’d contacted his brothers and called in his crew. Shannon, Fionn and Conall would meet up with him later. It was time to tie up loose ends.

  Krank glanced over at him. Gone was the jovial personality. His expression was cold, with his lips forming an angry slash across his face. “Say the word, boss.”

  Goo rocked his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “Ready whenever you are.”

  Martin released the clip to his gun, looked at it and popped it back in before holstering it and pulling the other one free from the other side and repeating the process. He nodded at Kieran.

  Esteban trotted across the street. “Man, looking at that place is like taking a glance back in time. That place is old. Red-haired older guy is playing pool, last table in the back. I counted twelve men, three more in the back, the bartender, five at the bar and two at a table in the corner--almost missed them. No sign of Rica.”

  Kieran stroked his jaw. “If it’s twelve you see there are probably another eight to ten that you don’t. Get in, get out and leave no witnesses.” He reached in his pocket and pressed the key fob. His trunk popped open. His men leaned over, looking behind him. Five three-gallon containers filled with gasoline were lined up and strapped down in the interior. “Make sure this motherfucker burns to the ground.”

  They nodded. He took the lead, walking ahead of them, his tweed coat flapping around his thighs as he moved. Kieran eased the heavy steel door open and stepped over the threshold. A few men looked his way. The guys at the table stood. He stalked farther, passing them. Kieran grabbed the eight ball from the antique pool table as he moved. A player stepped in front of him. He raised his arm and slammed the ball into the man’s jaw. The guy stumbled back.

  “Get the hell out of my way.” Danny was ahead of him, and he had a score to settle. Grunts, the crash of glass breaking and a few shots popped off behind him.

  Danny Boy clutched the pool cue tightly and raised it like a bat. “Finally ready to meet your maker? Your daddy ain’t here to protect you.

  Kieran threw the hard ball into the air. “When has Paddy ever done a damn thing for me?” Kieran rushed Danny. With the wooden ball tight in his fist, he swung up as his nemesis brought the stick down across his shoulders.

  It snapped, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. The hit didn’t register. His blow connected with the older man’s chest. He reared his hand back and slammed it into Danny’s temple. The big guy lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Kieran in a tight bear hug. His arms pinned to his side, he dropped the eight ball. Danny’s fetid breath washed over his face, a mix of stale nuts and hard liquor.

  He gazed into the green eyes of the fella who’d raised him. There was nothing there. The old enforcer had given up his soul a long time ago when he was beating the shit out of children. In that moment Kieran’s rage welled up inside him, and he felt every lick of the razor strap that cut across his back growing up. He bowed back and flung his head forward to ram it into Danny’s, then did it again.

  The asshole’s grip loosened, and Kieran kneed him in the ribs. Sharp groans escaped through Danny’s lips with each strike. Someone fell into Kieran, thrusting them against the wall. He spun around, throwing his fist first. Goo streaked past him, planting a foot in the chest of the guy’s who slammed into Kieran to send the man sprawling across the dirty floor. With no hesitation, Krank stomped on the fella’s chest as he passed him and grabbed another man in front of him by the throat.

  Kieran stomped forward and was suddenly snatched back. The collar of his shirt tightened around his neck. He reached for the gun secured at the small of his back and yanked it free of the holster. Material cut into his throat as he struggled to look down. His eyes watered, and he inhaled in shallow pants. Kieran fired into the booted foot lined up next to his. His attacker hopped back. Kieran momentarily lurched, grabbing his knees and sucking in deep gulps of air. He straightened and swiveled to face his assailant.

  Danny Boy Sullivan stood with his leg partially bent as he tried to gingerly stand on his injured foot. Pure hate was evident in his scowl. His nose flared, and his brows came together in one bushy line over narrowed eyes. He held the pool table’s edge in a white-knuckled grip. Kieran lifted his arm and walked up to Danny, pressing the muzzle of the gun to the center of Dany’s forehead.

  “You can’t kill me, boy. I own you.” Danny sneered. “Your da should have strangled you at birth.”

  Kieran pulled the trigger. The recoil reverberated through his arm. His nemesis’s eyes widened as his head snapped back and droplets of blood rolled down his face from the hole. He opened his mouth but he didn’t say a word.

  “Fuck you.” Kieran spat on the supine body, lying with its eyes open.

  He glanced up and took in the chaos happening through the room. Bodies were strewn across the floor. They needed to move before some nosy neighbor decided to investigate and call the police. Krank had a guy in a headlock and twisted hard, snapping his neck. The man dropped in place and Krank kept moving. A cracked door behind the bar caught Kieran’s attention. Esteban smoothly slid a knife across another guy’s throat and laughed before winking at Kieran.

  Kieran used the chest of a body to leap on to the counter and hopped down. He eased the door wider. A storeroom. Crates of liquor were stacked in waist-high columns. Carefully, he moved through the room and turned a corner.

  Rica was strapped to a chair, her head bowed. Some of her braids hung forward, hiding her face. Another one o
f Danny’s crew paced nervously behind her. Kieran raised his arm, stomping forward, he pulled the trigger. The guard touched his chest as a crimson outline bloomed beneath his hand and stumbled to the side into a pile of crates. The small wooden towers crumbled beneath his weight.

  Kieran crouched and tipped Rica’s face up. A slight moan escaped her. The corner of her mouth was a putrid shade of purple, and one eye was swollen shut. He didn’t trust himself to talk--it was all he could do to breathe as his rage slowly reignited.

  She slowly opened one eye. The corner of her mouth lifted. “You should see the other guy.”

  “He’s already dead.” He stroked her face with his thumb. “I’m going to get you out of here.” Kieran rose and placed the semi-automatic nine-millimeter in its holster.

  “You shouldn’t have come.” Her voice cracked.

  Fucking bastard dared to touch what was his. He would use the asshole’s body to start the fire. “No matter where you are, pretty girl, I told you I will always find you.” He reached for her hands tied to the straight-backed chair.

  “But…” She tilted her head to gaze up at him.

  He yanked the cords loose and dipped again to free her feet. Rica toppled out of her seat. Kieran caught her and hefted her up. She rested her head on his shoulder, her breathing labored. “You did good, pretty girl. Leave the rest to me.”

  “Can’t be trusted.” Her words were a whisper.

  “I’ve already taken care of it.” He cradled her close to his chest.

  “Gotta keep you clean.” She inched over, and her lips brushed his neck. “Roscoe.”

  “Motherfuckers are about to meet a version of Kieran O’Shea they aren’t ready for.” He entered the bar., The room was deathly quiet.

  “That was not a fair fight.” Goo chuckled. “Hell, it wasn’t even a good workout.”

  “Martin is getting the gasoline.” Esteban dropped into a stool.