by KB Winters
Colin sighed. “Yeah, but why does it gotta be so hard to find a true Irish woman? One who can hold her Guinness and put up with some of me shenanigans now and again? These American women are weak, Flynn.” Colin raised the pitch of his voice, a falsetto sound as he waved his hands around like a helpless lass. “Ooh, your beer tastes like tar, so I’m goin’ to drink this shit that tastes like horse piss instead.’”
“Oh, Colin,” I laughed. “You wouldn’t know what to do with a true Irish lassie if one fell into your lap. Seems to me you’d be in way over your head.”
“Like you’re one to talk?”
I raised an eyebrow at him as I took a drink of my beer, savoring the taste of it. “I’ve had my share of Irish women, Colin. Trust me on that. And believe me when I say they’re like an entirely different breed. Maybe you need to start slower–a woman with some training wheels on ‘er first.”
“Yeah, but your mum doesn’t count, Flynn.”
It was only meant to be a joke– just a little good natured ribbing between mates. And I knew Colin hadn’t really meant anything by it, but when I sat my mug down on the bar, Colin knew he’d crossed the line. I could see it in his eyes, and I knew he damn well could see it in mine.
From behind me, an old drunk chuckled, “Aye, that lass was a fuckin’ cock tease on legs. Lord rest he—”
Without hesitation, I lifted the heavy mug and smashed it against the cunt fucker’s head. His body sagged to the floor with the force behind my blow. “Lord rest her soul? Was that what you were about to say after disrespectin’ the departed?” I stomped my steel toe boot against his chest, hearin’ the crunch of his ribcage beneath my weight. I saw motherfuckin’ red. “Disrespectin’ the memory of me mum? Of a fuckin’ O’Brien?”
Strong arms wrapped around my chest and grappled me away from Barney, the old drunk. Barney rolled to his side, moanin’ in agonizin’ pain as he spat crimson from his lips. “Let it go, Flynn. He’s sloshed,” Colin coaxed, pullin’ me back to the counter, Red, Emmet, and Sean rushin’ over to the scene.
“I-I’m sorry, Mr. O’Brien,” Barney pleaded, his split lip tremblin’. “It’s the Guinness talkin’, I meant no disrespect.”
My self-control was nil, especially where me mum was concerned. Colin would reap what he sowed with his callous remark, but he’s family, me underboss. This stupid fuck, Barney, he’s fly shit, scum on the filthy tiled floor of the fuckin’ bar. If I didn’t put his shit in place when a stupid remark—no matter how trivial or large—was made, I’d look weak. The fuckin’ boss of the O’Brien Syndicate can not—will not—look fuckin’ weak.
“Aye, Barney, fuckin’ sorry? Get up before you stain the fuckin’ floor. And since your dumb ass wasted a perfect whiskey, you can buy my next round.”
He slowly staggered to his unsteady feet, tightly graspin’ his side as he painfully winced with each slow sputter forward. I returned to my stool at the bar, motionin’ for ‘ nother round.
“Fuckin’ hell, boss, you did a number on the poor lad, aye?” Red laughed as he sidled up beside me on a stool. I dismissed his comment with a wave of the hand, turnin’ me attention to the dark amber liquor sittin’ in front of me.
My men ordered their drinks, each takin’ their places at the bar near me.
“Your old man would be proud,” said Sean, one of the younger guys.
I shot him a piercing glare, my brow cocked. I’m sure he meant well enough, but it’d been a long day, and the whiskey was barely cuttin’ the edge of tension weighin’ on me shoulders.
“He is proud,” I said, sitting up tall. “He’s not dead yet, though, and you’d be right to remember that when speaking ‘bout him.”
“Right. Yes, I know that–”
I was wound tight and ready to fuckin’ snap, and Sean’s cheeky remark was almost my undoin’. I stood tall, my shoulders broad and wide as I sized this cunt up. “The fuck did I just warn ya, soldier?”
Red–the brotherhood’s enforcer—stepped between Sean and me, obviously trying to take my focus off the kid and defuse the situation. Red had been with the syndicate since my father had been in command, his loyalty to the brotherhood unwavering. He’d taught me much over the years, learning my many ticks of anger. “You’re living up to his legacy, Flynn. You’re everything your father ever hoped you’d be as a leader.”
“Thank you, Red,” I said, feeling myself calm down–if only a little bit. I exhaled and scrubbed my hand over my face, then tossed back the shot of whiskey. “I’m just glad this deal with the Russians is working out. It’s not just for me, it’s for the benefit of everyone, you know.”
“Trust us, we know.”
The Russians had been posing problems, and we’d not been on the best of terms with them for a while. We had hoped that this deal would change that. Less killing, less of our brothers being murdered by the angry commies–less of their brothers dying in retaliation strikes. And of course, a substantial income brought in from the deal made it all the sweeter. There’s no question that it was a win-win for all sides.
“So what are we waitin’ on? Let’s get some drinks and celebrate!” Red said.
I shot both Colin and Sean a look that said they were lucky for now, a look that said maybe next time they’d choose their words a bit more carefully. But I wouldn’t forget, and their penance would be costly.
***
“Whatcha starin’ at?” I asked Colin, who was staring blankly over at the corner of the nearly empty bar. The crowd had died, leavin’ only stragglers and the usual customers. Red and Sean were playin’ a game of pool while Colin and I were still seated at the bar, nursin’ a bottle of whiskey. “Another college girl catch your eye again?”
“Yeah, what a ride, that one,” he said. “True redhead at that, I believe.”
My gaze roamed the room, the haze of alcohol blurrin’ my vision until I settled on who had caught his drunken eye. Though she wasn’t just a girl, pure feminine beauty stared back at me. All woman. Long, red hair that fell over her bare shoulders– shoulders that were dotted with just a kiss of freckles. Her green eyes shone like emeralds and her skin was milky white, almost as flawless as pure alabaster. She shook her head unlockin’ her gaze from mine and casted a shy smile in our direction.
“What’s a woman that fine doin’ in a shithole like this?” I asked.
“I dunno, but I’m about to give her some company,” Colin said, drainin’ the contents of his glass, fortifying his courage. “Us redheads have to stick together, ya know? To keep the genes goin’ and all dat. Remember that, Flynn. I do this for my people.”
Uh huh. I grinned as I leaned back in my chair, eager, ready to watch him make an absolute fool of himself. Watching him go down in flames was always the highlight of any evening for me. And this girl was much too pretty, much too refined for the likes of him.
Hell, she was much too pretty for a place like this, which made me wonder why she was here in the first place. Slumming maybe? Trying to get the true Irish experience on St. Paddy’s Day? If that was the case, maybe Colin had a chance. A small one, but a chance nonetheless.
As Colin sat down next to her, the woman looked nervously around the bar, almost like she was looking for an escape. Our eyes met, and I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. I knew when a woman was pleading for help. As much as I loved my cousin, I couldn’t let him act a fool. At least, not this time.
Besides, I still needed to get even for his stupid joke about my mum earlier. Watching me swoop in and steal his precious redhead would serve the bastard right.
As I walked over to their table, the girl looked up at me while Colin scowled. “Is my mate bothering you, miss? I know he can be quite the wanker.”
“Oh no, it’s fine,” she said, but her eyes said otherwise. She had no interest in Colin, and there I was to save the day. What a hero I was. “The name’s Ava, by the way.”
I opened my mouth to give her my name and thought if she didn’t recognize me, the notorious and uprisin
g boss of the O’Brien syndicate, then that was a fact better left to be discovered at a later time. “Ian.”
She placed her small, delicate hand in my rough, calloused one, and an unfamiliar spark zapped me. I was momentarily taken aback, never having experienced something so magnetic with a woman before. Ava motioned for me to take a seat, and Colin turned a shade of red that rivaled his hair. The hard set of his jaw and the furious look in his eyes told me that he was pissed. The daggers he shot in my direction told me he wanted to kick me arse for intrudin’.
There was a brief moment of impasse left unsettled between Colin and me, the war waged between our hardening stares was intent and vengeful, but we both knew who’d come out ahead. I’d done kicked his arse more times than I could count. He never won a fight with me–no matter how drunk we were at the time.
“Hey, Colin,” I said, “why not be a good lad get the lady and me a drink? What would you like, Ava?”
Colin seethed, his cheeks growing a darker crimson red as he blew out a heavy huff of air. Fighting was futile, and he knew it. I gave him a look, and he stood up, clearing his throat.
“Yes, Ava. What would you like?”
“Just a cider for me, please,” she said, barely looking at him.
Ahhh a true Irish girl, just like Colin had wanted. The Golden Shamrock had fine cider. It was known for it around the area, actually. At least, to true Irish folk. It might not be Guinness, but it wasn’t a Bud Light either. Colin didn’t say a word as he rushed off to the bar to buy the lady a drink.
“Now that we’re alone, tell me the truth–was my mate bothering you? Even just a wee bit?”
She smiled, looking down at her hands as if embarrassed. “Maybe a little,” she said, biting her lip. “But only because he wasn’t taking no for an answer.”
“Aye. He can do that sometimes, come on a lil’ bit too strong for the ladies,” I said. “Especially the sweet ones like yourself.”
Ava’s eyes sparkled, and as she spoke, there was the barest hint of an Irish accent underneath it all.
“He seems nice,” she said. “He’s just a little too… much. If you know what I mean.”
I nodded. I knew indeed. “So what brings such a sweet lass like yourself to a dive bar such as this? Especially all alone.”
Colin returned with our drinks, and Red called him away. He scowled at me, but he listened. Reluctantly. Colin was a difficult man at times, but he knew his place.
“My dad used to talk about this place,” she said. “And I guess I just wanted to see it for myself. He always loved St. Patrick’s Day and not just for the drinking. For the business it brought in as well.”
“What’s your father do for a living?”
“Did,” she corrected me. “He’s dead now.”
“My condolences, Ava,” I said with all sincerity. “Losing a parent is never easy. It tears a hole in you.”
She raised her eyes and looked at me, her eyes conveying nothing but sympathy. I had obviously only just met her, but I could tell that Ava was one of the good ones. She struck me as a rare breed of women who seemed thoughtful, considerate, and yes, kind.
She seemed to be very refined–classy—not at all the type of woman who ever dated the likes of me—or my kind. But there were ways around that. There always were, it just called for a persuasive act, so to speak. Women like Ava found comfort and trust in a man who had a gentle touch and honest smile. I may have been many things, but I could bend a woman to my will with the façade of an endearing business man.
“Did you lose a parent as well?” she asked, her voice soft.
“My mum. When I was a wee boy,” I said with a sigh. “And my da’ is currently in hospice. Cancer.” Opening myself up honestly would gain her trust.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ian,” she said softly. “Truly, I am.”
As the night wore on, the alcohol flowed and Ava let her guard down with me. She smiled and laughed often, showing off those adorable little dimples of hers. When she stood up, excusing herself to run to the bathroom, I noticed that she was fit as a fiddle. A sweet woman, a great body, and a beautiful face—I couldn’t have asked for better luck.
Colin watched as she walked by, but if Ava noticed, she didn’t say another word. Then he turned a gaze to me that was entirely hateful–one that promised retribution. Ava sauntered by and slipped into the bathroom, out of sight. Colin stood up, his jaw set, and the expression on his face a very unhappy one.
“What the hell, man?” he asked, walking up to me.
“She’s not into you, Colin. Have some pride and stand down, lad,” I said, taking a long drink from my whiskey.
“And she’s into you?”
I held up a slip of paper with her phone number. “I’d say so.”
“Fucker,” he slurred, the comment soundin’ crass and filthy, so I took advantage of it to taunt him some more.
“Don’t worry, I will,” I said, placing the phone number in my pocket. “And I’ll enjoy it, too.”
Before things could get out of hand, Ava returned from the bathroom. She looked at Colin, then back at me, her smile warm and somewhat mysterious.
“Ready to go, Ian?” she asked brightly.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I said and tipped a wink at Colin.
“Have fun, Ian,” Colin called out behind me.
“Oh, I intend to, Colin.” I passed him a knowing glance. “Believe me, I intend to.”
Three
Ava
Once St. Paddy’s Day ended, the bit of Irish inside everybody seemed to disappear faster than a bottle of beer in a room full of frat boys. The streets tended to die down, and the bars emptied out.
Even knowing that as I did, when I walked into the Golden Shamrock, I was still amazed at how much emptier the place was than it had been the night before. Instead of people standing shoulder to shoulder and having to shout over one another to be heard, the place was nearly empty and almost as silent as the proverbial tomb. There were a few men over in the corner at a pool table, and the minute I stepped inside, all three stopped what they were doing to give me the once over.
A few other guys, grizzled old-timers, sat at the bar. Regulars. There so often their asses had worn grooves in those bar stools. And as usual for a few of them, they looked to be drowning their sorrows away in some good Irish whiskey. And at the rate they were knocking back the shots, those sorrows were likely to be drowned sooner rather than later. Of course, those sorrows would still be there when they woke up the next morning, but it wasn’t my place to say anything about that. I wasn’t there to be a counselor for anybody. Not my job.
I looked around the pub, my eyes finally landing on a familiar face sat at a table in the dimly lit corner, men flanking his sides. His dark hair and blue eyes contrasted with his pale skin. Most people thought the Irish were fair-haired people which wasn’t all the way true. The Irish were as diverse as anybody else on the planet.
His eyes met mine and he smiled, a chill running down my spine. There was something in that smile, a predatory gleam that made me glad I didn’t go home with him last night after all. Maybe he hadn’t meant for it to look so… threatening, but there was definitely something darker lurking beneath his good old Irish boy exterior. Something I couldn’t quite place, perhaps something rough and brazen. I couldn’t be sure. It showed in his smile. It was subtle and hard to pick up, but if you were looking for it, it was as plain as day.
To some women, the subtle whiff of danger or rebelliousness might enhance his appeal. To other women, bad boys were like a powerful aphrodisiac. It certainly didn’t make him any less gorgeous. With his strong, defined cheekbones and his chiseled jawline, he could have easily been an actor or a model. He had a refinement and sophistication about him that made him stand out in a place like the Golden Shamrock, which was one step below a crappy dive bar, in my opinion.
I steeled my spine and made my way over to the table, seeing that a deck of cards was being shuffled and cut. “Deal me in, boy
s,” I announced, keeping my gaze on Ian. I pulled out the only empty chair at the table and squeezed myself between the two burly men, watching as the dealer stole cautious glances between Ian and me. Ian nodded to the dealer and sat back with a satisfied smirk on his face.
“What’re ya drinkin’ doll face?” I looked up from my cards to see Colin, the man who’d approached me last night, scooting his chair closer to me. Fuck, had I recognized him before I pulled up a chair, I’d have been more selective in playing a hand of poker with them.
“Whiskey neat,” I replied curtly, turning my attention to my cards. I had a shit hand, but I’d play along just for the sake of doing so. He ordered a man to grab a round of drinks from the bar then called his hand, tossing the cards in the center of the table. I repeated his actions moments later, then watched the game come head to head between Ian and an older man. Ian spread his cards across the table, a full house trumping his opponent’s pair of eights.
“Shite, always the lucky bastard ya are,” the older man proclaimed as he tossed back a swig of beer and stood tall to his feet.
Ian gathered his winnings and smiled proudly. “I’m Irish, I was born lucky, Red. You were just born ugly,” Ian goaded, laughing.
“Aye, that I was.” The man I now knew to be Red tipped his head in agreement. “Another hand?”
Shaking his head, Ian said, “Nah, I’m out, lad.” Ian walked around the table and took my hand, leading me toward a booth across the bar.
“Wasn’t sure if I’d get lucky two nights in a row. Looks like I must have done something right in this life,” he whispered, kissing me softly on the cheek. “Especially after you left so abruptly last night.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, thinking back to my quick exit after we’d shared a cab over to his place. “I wasn’t feeling so good.”
“I seem to have that effect on women,” he said with a wink. “Feeling up for a drink with me, sweetheart?”
“Of course,” I said with a grin. “I actually came tonight hoping I’d run into you again. If for no other reason than to apologize for last night.”