by Winters, KB
To prove me a liar she said nothing. Several minutes passed in absolute silence, and I wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her until she snapped out of this funk.
But I couldn’t. “Is it so bad being here?”
“Yes.”
I looked around her room, bare but well appointed. All the bedding was top quality, high-end brands and the furniture was all handcrafted and shipped from Europe. It was the height of luxury and any woman, hell any person, would feel happy to be here.
“You’ll be safe here.” I reminded her.
“From the Milano family. Maybe.”
She wasn’t wrong. At least not from her perspective. In her same position I was sure I’d be a little shit as well.
“We’re not gonna hurt you, Margo.”
Blue eyes glared up at me, icy and angry. “Well sure, I’ll just take your word for it then. Great. Glad we cleared that up.”
Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on me but I refused to give in to her anger because I wouldn’t change her circumstances. I couldn’t. “You need to eat.”
She stared at me for a second, and I thought I saw her gaze soften as she looked at me before a hard look crossed her face. Then she opened her mouth her gaze never leaving mine and yelled, “Shut up! You already got what you wanted. The old man is doing better because I’m checking on him. So please, just leave me the fuck alone.”
She looked so miserable, so resigned to her fate that I felt bad for her. But my loyalty to my family wouldn’t allow me to do anything about it. “You’re a guest here.”
“Prisoner.”
“You’re not a prisoner.”
She crossed her arms, fiery red brows arched in disbelief. “Then I can leave whenever I want?”
I let out a long-suffering sigh and she smirked. “That’s what I thought so spare me your guest bullshit.”
“Call yourself whatever the hell you want, but you can’t die on our watch.”
“Well you should have thought of that before you kidnapped me.” She wasn’t in the mood to give one fucking inch, which would only make her stay here tougher for everybody—but mostly for her.
“I’m not the enemy, Margo.”
“Funny,” she sneered, “because that’s exactly what you look like from where I’m standing.”
“That’s too bad because I’m only trying to help.”
“You’re trying to help your uncle, not me. Don’t pretend otherwise Rourke, because I’ve already got your number. At least your cousins are asshole scumbags on the surface so you know what you’re getting. You? Oh, you’re a piece of work all right. You pretend to be decent and come to find out, you’re a douchebag just like the rest of them. That’s worse. I trusted you.”
She shook her head, the look of disgust on her face so palpable I could feel the disappointment on my shoulders.
“I am a nice guy,” I insisted for some insane damn reason.
“All evidence to the contrary notwithstanding?”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes before turning her back to me to gaze out the window. “I don’t need you to be anything, Rourke. Just gone.”
That was as resounding a rejection as I’d ever had, and I didn’t plan to stick around for more. “Suit yourself.”
“I always do.”
Her words were quiet but I heard them seconds before I closed the door behind me.
I turned for the stairs and nearly ran into Shae’s girl, Ivy, and the tray of food in her arms. “Don’t bother, she’s still refusing to eat.”
Ivy sighed like she was personally hurt by Margo’s refusal. “I know, but I’d still rather offer it to her and let her refuse if she wants.”
I didn’t know Ivy well because I didn’t get too close to anyone outside the family and she hadn’t been around long enough for me to give a damn.
“She’s having a rough time here so if it’s all the same to you, I’ll ask her.”
“Whatever.” I answered. She could rot in there for all I cared.
Chapter Twenty - Four
Margo
Someone was outside my bedroom door. I didn’t know who it was, but I could tell they were nervous. Or reluctant to come in given my shitty behavior since I’d arrived here. Whoever it was and whatever they wanted, I didn’t care. Another day had passed where I slept in short, thirty-minute spurts because that was how long my body let me sleep before a noise woke me up and reminded me where I was.
Why I was here.
I’d woken up at three in the morning and six hours later I still sat out on the balcony staring at the trees blowing in the wind and listening to someone gather the courage to disturb me. It was probably one of the women tasked with trying to force me to eat. Or change my clothes, two things I was committed to not doing. I was well aware that I was being childish, but I didn’t care. Couldn’t care, really. I was over this life and the danger that came with it.
As soon as this was over, if I made it out alive, I was leaving Rocket and changing my name.
Goodbye Rocket.
Goodbye Dad.
Goodbye Rourke.
Eventually the door opened and the curvy blonde stepped inside, with big angry asshole, Eamon. “Morning. Are you hungry today?”
I was starved and pretty sure I could only make it another twenty-four hours or so without food before I either passed out or started to hallucinate.
“No thanks.” Just because the women were stupid or brainwashed didn’t mean they deserved my scorn so I decided to be civil.
“Are you sure?” Concern and worry colored her exotic eyes, and I could imagine what she saw when she looked at me, my pale skin and pronounced purple crescents under my eyes, sunken cheeks and that overall gaunt quality that came from too many days without sustenance.
“You look like a stiff wind could carry you away,” she said timidly.
Her turn of phrase made me smile and think of my mom. She would always tell me that because I was so skinny as a kid. I didn’t get boobs or curves until the end of high school.
“I’m sturdier than I look,” I answered, doing my best to ignore the tantalizing aroma of the food she’d brought.
Eamon sighed heavily, demonstrating his nonexistent patience with me. “You think this is going to end well for anyone if you die of starvation?” he asked, sounding as surly as he looked.
He raked both hands through his hair and blew out a breath, probably trying to hide his inner monster from the pretty blonde.
“If I die of starvation, believe me I won’t care what happens to any of you.” I turned to the blonde. “No offense.”
“None taken, I think.” Her gaze swung from me back to Eamon, curiosity burning in her eyes.
“Not even your father?” Eamon asked.
I barked out a laugh. “Just because you’ve joined the family business doesn’t mean the rest of us think our fathers are noble men. He’s the reason I’m in this hell hole so I can only hope he takes some of you with him if he doesn’t make it out of this mess.”
Eamon stared at me for a long second. “That’s cold.”
“No different than holding someone against their will and then pretending it’s a favor. I don’t want any food, and I don’t give a damn if I die, if you die or if she dies. I. Don’t. Fucking. Care. Got it?”
“You will,” he insisted, tugging the blonde out the door.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
Finally the blonde stopped Eamon from herding her through the door and pushed at his chest.
“That’s enough!” She looked at me with her arms crossed, doing her best impression of an intimidating person. “They are just trying to help.”
“Spare me the defense of your boyfriend, sweetheart. I didn’t ask for their help, and I don’t want or need it. If you need to think something else to keep your conscious clear, keep it to yourself.”
“Watch your mouth,” Eamon snarled and got in my face.
“Or what? You gonna beat me up? Rape me? Kill me? Jus
t get on with it already or leave me the hell alone!” He glared at me and his sidekick tugged at his arm. Clearly this woman wanted to be here, seemed happy to be at his side, which meant she didn’t care what kind of man he was. I laughed at the irony.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I told her but kept right on laughing because if I didn’t, there was a good chance I’d snap and murder everyone in this godforsaken house and end up behind bars.
“Tell me,” she insisted.
“Nothing I say to you will matter so don’t worry about it. Just leave me alone.” It was her funeral if she chose to stay with these killers and that was her choice.
“You’re safe here,” she insisted a little too brightly.
“I’m not safe anywhere I can’t leave. Maybe you can live like that, but I can’t.”
She frowned. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
She was right. “That’s why I’m not sitting here pissing on your leg and telling you it’s raining. Newsflash, you don’t know a damn thing about me either, chick, so don’t presume to tell me who I should trust and where I’m safe because you don’t know.”
“Stop!” Eamon shouted.
I laughed and looked her in the eye. “Better get out of here before you find out what your boyfriend is really like.” I glared up at him with a smile in my eyes. “She might run away if she knew you were gonna hit a woman because I refuse to stand up. Or maybe she won’t? Maybe she’s as sick as you are? Want to find out?”
“We should just fucking let you go,” he replied.
“No arguments here!” At least out there in the world I knew there was no one I could trust, and I never let my guard down. In here everyone pretended to be better than they were. It was a house of make believe. A fucking fantasy world.
“Anytime you want to drop me on the side of the road, let me know. I’ll be really cooperative.”
“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath, and I smiled when his girlfriend, Layla, called him out on his language. She might not be a complete idiot, but something was wrong with her to end up with a guy like Eamon Connelly.
At least if I slept with the bad guys, I had enough sense not to go and fall in love with them. God, talk about jumping from the frying pan into the fire. What a mess that would be.
Thank goodness I was smarter than that.
Chapter Twenty - Five
Rourke
“We need to figure out our next move.”
I was so sick and fucking tired of sitting at Patrick’s, waiting. For what? We had no fucking clue. Daniel was too much of a pussy to make any big moves while we had Lorenzo on lockdown, and Patrick was much too shrewd to do anything drastic unless he had a good reason to.
“We aren’t accomplishing anything sitting around this house all day,” I said.
Patrick nodded from his place at the head of the dining room table, piling sandwich ingredients from the platters of meat and cheese, vegetables, vinaigrette and other condiments Ma had laid out.
Carefully, one by one, he stacked ingredients on the thick hoagie bread until he was satisfied with the result, adding nothing but salt, pepper and red wine vinegar on top. The old man had to practically unhinge his jaw to take the first bite, but when he did, his eyes closed and an almost carnal moan escaped. Shae, Eamon and I exchanged uncomfortable looks.
“I don’t need you to tell me what I already know, boy. Tell me something new. Something I don’t know.”
This whole thing was a shit show, but I had a feeling my uncle knew that, too. “Do we know where Daniel is holed up? Because we need to get the lines of communication back open now that we have Lorenzo, see if these fuckers are capable of being reasonable.”
“I don’t know,” Shae began around his own turkey club, “I’m kind of in the mood to be a little fucking unreasonable.”
I knew he was thinking about Ivy and what the Milanos had done to her brother just to send the Connelly family a message.
Patrick’s lips twitched with amusement. “If it comes to that you have my permission to enjoy yourself fully.”
Shae flashed a satisfied smile and took another big bite of his sandwich. “Thanks.”
“If Daniel isn’t in the mood to be reasonable then we have to get back out on the street and do everything we can to ruin them. And their name.”
There was a part of Patrick that liked having his family all under one roof. Since Lorenzo Milano was in our possession, he had no reason not to take his time.
“When Conor gets back, I’ll have him track down Daniel.” His words were spoken with finality but as if to make the point with an exclamation mark, Patrick took another big bite of his sandwich and shoved in a few dill pickle chips afterwards. Discussion over.
“Send the ladies in,” he barked out to no one in particular.
Seconds later the double doors of the dining room flew open violently. Eamon, Shae and I all stood as one and aimed guns at the intruder. His laugh sounded first, but then Conor appeared with an even bigger laugh.
“Oh, Jaysus, this looks even better than it sounded.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together gleefully before his gaze landed on the table. “Just in time for lunch.”
Conor was a whirlwind, breezing into the room as we slowly put our guns away and sat back down.
“I haven’t eaten in days.”
“You’ve been gone for days boy, where the hell have you been?” Patrick’s voice boomed in service of his frustration.
Conor, to his credit, didn’t look at all put out by the old man’s tone. He grabbed a sourdough roll and piled a little bit of everything onto it including a big juicy pickle. And jalapenos. He still ate like a poor college kid, but you couldn’t tell by looking at him.
“Good info takes time, Uncle P, and what I got is good. Really good,” he said. He bit into his sandwich just as Patrick asked the obvious question.
“Well, what is it?” Patrick’s patience was thin in the best of times and right now it would make a razor look plump. “Dammit, Conor why do you play these games?”
“Because you make it so rewarding, Uncle.” Conor poured two fingers of Jameson into a glass, taking a big glug to wash down the rest of his bite. “Now on to the Milano assholes. They took Margo Byrne because Donovan Byrne refused to withhold Connelly money. Lorenzo had her taken to force his hand.”
Patrick nodded and looked to Eamon. “I want full security on all our properties. A full display so those pricks know we’re not fuckin’ around.”
Without another word, Eamon was on his phone and giving orders. His eyes swung back to Conor. “How’s old man Byrne responding to all of this?”
“Same as us,” Conor replied, struggling to get his mouth around his monster sandwich. “Security is tight and very present. Armed guards everywhere, which means he’s taking the threat seriously.”
That was my thought as well, but Patrick had been in the game too long to take anything at face value.
“And what about his personal finances?” I asked.
A prudent question since it was no secret that Donovan Byrne loved to gamble. He put money on table games, slot machines, horse races and all kinds of sporting events. The man lost more than he won but never got in too deep. Just deep enough.
Finally Conor finished his sandwich and immediately began to make another one while he told us what he knew.
“Same as it ever was. Donovan pays off the same amount every week, including this past week. Just enough to keep getting a seat at the good tables in town. He’s also no friend of the Milanos, and now that they’ve taken his only kid he’s not in a cooperating mood.”
That was interesting since I’d gotten the impression Margo and her father weren’t close. Given how she felt about her old man’s business, it was no surprise, then again she’d nearly gotten herself killed just to talk to him.
“Do we need to worry about Byrne?”
Conor shrugged. “As much as we need to worry about an
yone, but in this battle we’re on the same damn side.”
“You’re sure about this?” Patrick asked.
Conor had dropped his usual bluster and arrogance. His serious expression made him look a decade older and twice as lethal.
“I’m not unsure. The Milanos need an ally if they want to take us down and right now, thanks to Byrne, they don’t have one.”
Byrne cleaned more than half the money in Rocket, which meant he was in the best position to kneecap them financially.
I didn’t want to think too hard about the relief I felt knowing that Margo wasn’t a plant or some other sideshow that would end up hurting the family. A palpable weight had lifted from my shoulders when Conor confirmed that her act wasn’t all a lie. A hoax. A betrayal. Especially since I had done just that to her.
“I’m happy to hear that.” Uncle Patrick raised his glass filled with some obscure Irish whiskey he was particular about and a wide smile split his face. “You never let me down, Conor. Excellent damn work.”
“Does this mean I get some of your fancy whiskey?”
Patrick shot him down with a look, and Shae grinned in anticipation of his father’s comeback.
“I don’t know Conor, does that mean you’ve finally learned how to drink whiskey like a man?”
The table erupted in laughter as Conor blushed.
“Damn straight I have,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “So can I have some?”
Patrick reluctantly poured about a finger and a half before he shoved the glass in Conor’s direction. “If you chug that blessed whiskey, so help me God I will end you right now.”
Conor grabbed the drink greedily and pretended he was about to shoot it back before taking a small sip. “Damn that’s good. Goes perfect with an everything sandwich.”
Like the animal he was, Conor returned to inhaling his food and drink with a wide, satisfied grin.
Patrick was in a good mood as his gaze swung to me, shrewd and assessing. “I want the Byrne girl down for a meal. Now.”
Why me? That was the silent question I sent to God, the universe and anyone else who cared enough to listen, because it must be some damn cosmic punishment. I pushed my chair back and left the dining room, preparing myself for another battle with the hot redhead who hated my fucking guts.