by KB Winters
And Tyler wanted to try everything in his power to clear his name one hundred percent. Which meant he was grinding poor Aidan to get it done.
Except there was no way to prove he wasn’t guilty. He’d been caught on tape bashing the victim’s face in. Witnesses saw him do it. There were even videos on the internet of the whole fight. No one could deny he killed that man. He was damn lucky he’d only been charged with manslaughter and should be grateful Aidan was going to keep him out of prison. But all he cared about was getting back in his daddy’s good graces—and back into his will.
I rolled my eyes and chuckled, sipping my coffee. I glanced at the note I’d left for myself the day before. Just a name—Amon Flannigan—and a question mark. I tried to forget about my run-in with that creeper, but it was hard to forget such an intimidating man. I’d have to make sure I didn’t forget to deliver the message to Aidan because I didn’t want to have to deal with him again.
Aidan walked into his office, leaving his door open as he continued talking. I watched as he placed his briefcase down next to his desk and then sat down in his chair. He was no longer listening at this point, I could see it in his eyes. He was already thinking of something else, something more important than entitled brats more concerned with their inheritance than paying their dues for killing a man.
“Ty—Tyler, I have to go. Yes—now. I need to finish preparing my opening statements for tomorrow.”
I chuckled to myself, glad Tyler had called Aidan’s cell phone rather than the office so his incessant neediness wasn’t interrupting the start of my day.
“I’ll see you in court tomorrow, an hour before the trial begins. And don’t worry, everything will be just fine. Trust me.”
Aidan put his phone down on his desk and sighed, “Jesus Christ, not what I wanted to deal with first thing in the morning, Mags.”
He was talking to me through the open door, even as I tried to not stare. He knew I was listening, and he didn’t mind or else he’d have closed the door.
“Yikes, that sounded rough, boss,” I said, cringing as I spoke. I looked down at my note and figured now was as good a time as any to pass on the message. “By the way, someone stopped by yesterday after you left. It didn’t seem urgent so I didn’t call, but he asked me to tell you he stopped by.”
I bit my tongue, leaving out the part about how intimidating and creepy he’d been.
“Who was it?” Aidan asked, already looking over the files on his desk. He sounded bored.
“Amon Flannigan?” I said. “The name doesn’t ring a bell, and he doesn’t appear to be a current client of ours.” Aidan’s brows drew deep, creating creased lines around his eyes as he shook his head. He looked… perplexed.
“Wait, what’s his name?” Aidan asked.
“Amon. Amon Flannigan,” I said, glancing into Aidan’s office. “I’m guessing by the look on your face, you know him?”
“Yes, I know him,” Aidan responded, his voice sounding a bit more annoyed than usual. He typically kept it together, acted calm and charming no matter what the conversation was about, so to see him unravel even slightly was a bit unnerving. “Unfortunately, so.”
“He didn’t tell me what the meeting was about, but perhaps you should call him?”
“He can call me if he wants to,” Aidan said. “He knows damn good and well how to get in touch with me. No need to come here except to be a feckin’ arsehole.”
This was a side of Aidan I didn’t see very often. Mild annoyance when technology didn’t work as it should, sure, but outright disdain for someone? Hate and anger in his eyes? The vulgar spew of his tone. Never. Not even some of the most obnoxious evil murderers we dealt with evoked that type of response from him.
But I knew it wasn’t my business to ask.
“Okay then, I just wanted to pass it along since he asked me to,” I mumbled.
Picking up the note, I crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash can, hoping I might forget about Amon Flannigan just from that simple act.
If only it was that easy.
Chapter Six
Aidan
Maggie stepped out for the rest of the day for classes, so I was alone in my office. I looked at my watch and saw that it was coming up on two o’clock. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything yet. I looked back at my computer screen and decided I’d finish this bit of research for a case and then go to the deli down the block and grab a sandwich. My stomach growled again to lodge its complaint about the delay.
After another ten minutes of reading, I sighed and leaned back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. Tyler was a troublesome client. Or put another way, a royal pain in my ass. His father paid me well, but made it clear there was no more money in the offering, which meant I needed to dispose of Tyler’s case quickly. It also meant—at least to Tyler—that I needed to get him off scot free.
Which was my dilemma. There was no way he was coming through this unscathed. Yeah, killing that man might have started out accidental, but the fact remained—the victim’s blood was on Tyler’s hands, literally. If he thought I could wipe that off his record completely, he was foolishly mistaken.
I chuckled to myself. Gotta love the spoiled, rich arsehole kids of the elite. They think I can move mountains simply because they snapped their fingers, stomped their feet, and threw a tantrum. But as I reminded myself time and again when I wanted to slap the piss out of one of them—their families paid the bills quite handsomely.
I might be able to help this little brat avoid jail time—in fact, that was pretty much a slam dunk at this point—but I found nothing in case law that would help me keep it off his record. Not that I actually thought I’d find anything, but I was being paid to do my due diligence. And because I took pride in my work and wanted to keep my reputation sterling, I always did my due diligence.
And unfortunately for Tyler, I hadn’t come up with anything.
I stared at the computer screen, hoping for inspiration to strike when a noise in the outer office drew my attention.
“Mags?” I called. “Is that you?”
The door to my office was barely cracked open and the blinds on my windows were down, so I couldn’t see anybody in the lobby. The noise came again.
“Mags?”
The warning bells in my head sounded as I got to my feet. Somebody was in the outer office and was doing their best to not be heard. I crept around my desk and tread as lightly as I could to the door. I peeked through the narrow crack but still didn’t see anyone. Damn! I should’ve grabbed my piece.
Suddenly the door shoved inward with strong momentum and knocked me backward. I stumbled and almost went down before catching myself on one of the two chairs in front of my desk. My eyes widened as adrenaline pumped through me. I looked up to see a man in a gray hoodie standing in the doorway. The shadow cast by his hood obscured his face, but I had a damn good feeling it was the same guy I’d seen lurking around in the parking garage.
“Who the fuck are you?” I snarled.
He didn’t answer, but reached toward the small of his back. I didn’t need to be a fortune teller to know what was coming next. I was positive if I didn’t get to him before he pulled the gun, I was going to have two holes in the chest and one in the head. And I wasn’t going to let that happen. My death wasn’t going to be made to look like a random robbery gone wrong—that was the way executions like this played out to avoid drawing unwanted attention.
Every fiber of my being was on red alert, telling me this guy was a professional hired to kill me. But who’d hired him? And why? A rival within the syndicate? One of the other organizations sensing weakness in our outfit and trying to capitalize on it? Who in the hell would want to kill me? It wasn’t like it was common knowledge that I was stepping into Flynn’s shoes yet. Or maybe it was a pre-emptive strike to keep me from taking over the family business.
I didn’t know and didn’t care—I needed to act. I launched myself at the assassin as he was bringing his weapon—a shiny,
chrome nine millimeter with a silencer attached to it—to bear. He grunted as I crashed into him and stumbled backward. His foot caught on the edge of Maggie’s desk and he went down, taking me down with him. I landed on top of him and heard the rush of air leaving his lungs. Unfortunately, he didn’t lose the gun when he fell.
I grabbed the man’s arm as he brought his gun to bear and used my leverage to keep him from pointing it at me. He threw a punch that caught me in the side of the head. He hit me so hard, I was momentarily breathless and seeing stars. But I still somehow managed to keep him from being able to train his gun on me.
“Who sent you?” I hissed through gritted teeth.
The man said nothing but threw another punch that I managed to block with my other arm. I sat astride the man and tried to figure out what to do next. We seemed to be at a stalemate—he was pinned beneath me, and I was holding his wrists in my hands. How the hell was I going to get out of this?
We were both straining hard—the assassin to free himself and me to keep him from getting free. If he broke loose, I was a dead man. Sweat dotted my brow and a knot formed in my stomach—the man was strong. Really strong. I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to keep him pinned.
“Who feckin’ sent you?” I repeated.
Using his lower body for leverage, the man bucked upward and threw me off. I flew backward and landed on my ass. Knowing I had to move fast, I scrambled backward as quickly as I could, crab walking back into my office just as the man sat up and squeezed off three shots.
The bullets tore into the wall next to the door just as I’d passed. A splinter of wood shot out and stuck me. I felt the warm, sticky blood flowing down my cheek. Rolling to my right, I got behind the wall and jumped to my feet. And not a moment too soon as the gunman was right behind me.
He entered the room with his gun held out in front of him and turned in my direction. I grabbed the first thing I could get hold of—a potted plant, as it turned out—and hurled it at him like I was throwing a fastball. The man jumped backward to avoid getting hit by the flying plant. It gave me the split second I needed to launch myself at him for a second time.
I drove my shoulder into his midsection as hard as I could. He grunted as I carried him backward like a linebacker wrapping up a ball carrier. We crashed into a bookshelf, spilling books and knick-knacks to the floor and on top of us.
I slammed him into the bookcase again, driving my shoulder into his stomach even harder now that I had a little leverage. I grabbed the hand he had his gun in and slammed it against the bookcase, too. The man beat on my back with his other hand, but the blows didn’t faze me. I was using the only advantage I had—the intense and frenzied desire to stay alive.
No matter how many times I cracked his hand against the wood of the bookcase, I couldn’t dislodge the gun, so I did the only thing I could think to do. Using all my strength, I drove my knee into the man’s crotch. He let out a strangled gasp and a small moan as he started to crumple forward. Grabbing him by the back of the head, I brought my knee up and drove it into his face with an unwavering brute force. Feeling the bones in his nose giving way, I threw a punch to the side of his head and his body slumped against the ground.
The gun clattered to the hardwood floor and spun away from me. As blood poured from his nose, the man grabbed his wounded crotch, and I rushed over to pick up the gun. I stood up and turned around as the man slowly staggered to his knees, digging at something on his ankle—a second holster.
His hood had fallen off, and I finally got a look at him. I didn’t recognize him in the slightest. He had dark hair, darker eyes, and a hardened face that looked cold and cruel. By the look in his eyes, I could see he was a man who took immense pleasure in killing others—a cruel and vicious killer.
His hand clasped around the gun in his ankle holster and started to pull it out. Acting purely on my instinct to survive, I raised the gun in my hand and squeezed the trigger. I pulled it again and again and again—watching as the man’s body jerked and twitched as the bullets ripped through his flesh. Blossoms of crimson erupted on his sweatshirt as the bullets penetrated his body, and his eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.
Finally, the trigger merely clicked, signaling the gun was void of ammunition. He remained on his knees, swaying as he stared at me. The front of his sweatshirt now bathed in blood and a thin stream seeped out of his mouth, rolling down his chin. He cocked his head and looked at me. It was as if he was trying to figure out who I was—or maybe, how I’d managed to beat him. The truth of the matter was, I didn’t know how I’d beaten him. It was pure Irish luck and the will to survive.
My body was trembling with an excess of adrenaline, and the knot in my stomach constricted painfully. A wild and wide range of emotions coursed through me—I’d just killed a man. But as I looked at the man in front of me, I realized the one thing I didn’t feel was sympathy. Or sorrow. No, I’d done what needed to be done and felt justified. Righteous, even. This man came here to kill me and somehow, I’d turned the tables on him.
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally slumped to his side and fell to the wooden office floor. Blood pooled around him as his face—his eyes wide and unseeing—began to grow pale. He’d come to kill me, though his luck had expired just as he had at my hands. The bloody hands of an O’Brien. I felt my face flush with triumph and pride.
Feelings that vanished immediately when I heard the gasp behind me. I raised my gun and spun around, my heart dropping into my shoes when I saw who was standing in the doorway behind me—Maggie.
“W-what are you doing here?” I stammered, lowering the weapon.
“Classes were canceled,” she said, her eyes fixed on the corpse on my office floor. “Is he—dead?”
I nodded. “Y-yeah, he’s dead, Mags. He came here to kill me.”
Chapter Seven
Maggie
I stared down at the dead man on the floor with my heart in my throat. My stomach churned, and I couldn’t stop staring. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I couldn’t bring myself to avert my eyes. It was like there was some physical force keeping my eyes focused on the dead man. A few seconds later, Aidan stepped over and pulled me away from the body, forcing me to look up at him instead.
“Mags.”
Aidan gripped me by the shoulders and held me there. His grip was a little too tight for comfort, and the look on his face sent shivers down my spine. His eyes looked darker and more dangerous than I’d ever seen them.
I’m no fool. I knew what it meant walking in on something like this. Especially in a mob family. It meant I was either dead, or I’d just sold my soul to the O’Brien syndicate. Neither one sounded good to me. Even though Aidan and I worked together—we weren’t exactly close. Not close enough for him to trust me with a secret of that magnitude.
“What—what happened? What can I do?” I tried hard to sound strong and then realizing I didn’t want to know what had happened. It was better for me not knowing.
“What can you do?” Aidan asked as he walked to the front office and locked the door. Oh God, is he gonna kill me, too?
“Yes. What can I do to help you?” My heart pumped hard enough in my head, I got dizzy. Is this the end? Am I gonna die? “I, uh…I came back to see if you needed any help with…oh fuck, Aiden. I wasn’t expecting this—” I waved my hand in the direction of the bloody corpse. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”
The look of shock on Aidan’s face was priceless. He probably never expected me to say anything like that, to be willing to put my own freedom at stake for him. Even though I worked for him and was willing to do anything he asked of me, our professional relationship had never been tested like this before. And judging by the look on his face, he didn’t think I’d be willing to compromise myself to help him with something like that.
“Uhm well, for starters—”
“I’ll keep my mouth shut, Aidan. I promise. You don’t need to worry about me.” He had to
believe I wasn’t going to tell anyone. I knew working for him was a huge risk, but he had to believe me.
He stared at me then looked down at the body on the floor and took a deep breath. It was almost like he was contemplating what he needed to do—kill me to keep me quiet—but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
I stood there, his hands on my shoulders, only not as tight as before. I knew what I had to do. I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and blurted, “Trust me, Aidan. I’ll not only keep my mouth shut, but I’ll help you dispose of the body. If you go down, I’ll go down with you. But I promise you, Aidan, that will never be the case because only you and I know what happened here, and it’s going to stay that way.”
I tried to sound confident, as if I’d done this before and it was nothing new. I hadn’t, of course. I’d never touched a dead body in my entire life, and my only experience with dead people was at funerals where they’d been embalmed, cleaned up, and made to look like they were sleeping.
But this bloody mess? This was on a whole other level and a little hard to take in. I had to keep telling myself that it wasn’t real, that it was staged. Just like in the movies. A very realistic movie at that. I had just pledged my loyalty to Aidan, but that didn’t mean I could actually deal with the mess of it all. I’d be lucky if I didn’t throw up.
“Mags, I don’t know—” Aidan let go of my shoulders and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I wouldn’t hurt you—I’m not that kind of man. I hope you know that. It’s just—you shouldn’t have seen this.”
“But I have seen it, Aidan. It’s too late for that now,” I said. “And because I’m here, I’m going to do my job and help you in any way I can. Now, what needs to be done?”