Brody: The Callaghan Mafia #2

by Rylan, Savannah

  But those curtains. Those French double doors. The balcony the room boasted of. It called to me.

  No. It’s too dangerous. You can’t be seen.

  I tapped his credit card against my lips. My cell phone pressed dangerously against my stomach. It had taken some swift finger work to tuck that thing into the band of the pants I had put on. But I figured the phone could be used to my advantage. I still had a plan to execute. An end goal to accomplish. And now that I had my hands on Brody’s credit card, I could certainly use it to my advantage.

  And to my enjoyment.

  A grin slid across my face. I mean, Brody was hot. Very, very sexy. Why not have a little fun while I was trying to get my hands on what was rightfully mine? I could wear some sexy little numbers, get some great outfits for me to take back home with me, and have some outstanding sex. All the while, trying to figure out how to get my hands on what I needed in order to sustain and protect myself.

  That woman had something to do with it.

  Fiona. My father’s wife. I still wasn’t sure she didn’t have something to do with the death of my father. That woman had always been a viper. A sneaky little snake. The way she looked at him. The way she always slithered between the two of us. Every time she didn’t want to come to Switzerland with my father, she always tried talking him out of it. She was good, that way. She accomplished it on a few occasions. Convincing him not to come see his only fucking flesh and blood.

  There were so many things Fiona had talked my father into over the years. Things that didn’t seem like him at all. Like the purchasing of those brownstones. Not just the one she called the “family home.” But all those damn ones on the block. That wasn’t something my father would have done. He was a minimalist at heart. Never wanted for anything more than what he felt was needed or deserved. He didn’t have a closet full of suits he never wore. He didn’t have racks of shoes he only wore once. He didn’t frivolously buy diamond-encrusted watches, sunglasses, and accessories to flaunt his wealth to the masses.

  Fiona, on the other hand…

  I’m going to figure you out, woman.

  I walked over and flopped down onto Brody’s bed. I closed my eyes and drew in his scent. My mind imagined him there with me. Pinning me down. Kissing me furiously. Rising my body to an occasion he wanted. Oh, how he had rocked my world. My nipples already stiffened at the memory of him. But that arousal gave way to the thundering of my heart. The shaking of my hands. The weakening of my knees as I laid there with my legs dangling off the edge of the bed.

  “What if he finds out about Liam?” I whispered.

  I was potentially sitting in the lion’s den if he figured out what really happened. That my kidnapping was the result of me trying to finagle things and enlist help to get me what I wanted. What I needed, really. The money I was owed. The money I knew that man’s mother talked my own father out of handing over to me after I graduated college.

  I sat up and gazed out into the living room, trying to figure out where the hell I went from here.

  What would the family think about this little arrangement? Surely, Brody couldn't keep it a secret for this long. Surely, it would eventually slip out that he was harboring me for one reason or another. I shook the thought from my mind. No. I had to stay on task. I had to make sure I kept my eyes on the prize. With my father dead, I was surrounded by nothing but cash. Which was the only thing that would protect me nowadays. I didn’t have Dad to swoop in any longer. I didn’t have Daddy Dearest to send scout patrols to find me if I dropped off the radar for a long weekend away. I didn’t have the light of my life to station bodyguards randomly at my door whenever things got hairy with the family business.

  “Daddy,” I whispered.

  My eyes welled with tears. I hunched over, cradling Brody’s credit card in my hands. Most people would’ve been upset at being sent away to boarding school. Hell, most of the kids I went to school with did resent their parents for it. Hated them, in fact. I didn’t, though. I knew, from a very young ago, that I’d always be in harm’s way if I were to stay at my father’s side. I knew, even from seven or eight years old, that Daddy was doing what he could to protect me. Which was why he sent me to the one country on the planet where he knew I’d prosper the most.

  While still being kept under his protection.

  “Daddy,” I whimpered.

  Tears streaked my cheeks. I closed my fingers over the credit card and closed my eyes. And then, I wept. I openly wept for the death of my father. The loss of the only shred of family I’d ever known. I laid down and curled up, soaking the sheets underneath my cheek. I hadn’t properly cried. Not since the news had been delivered to me that my father had been found dead. I cried over not knowing the details. I cried over the holidays and birthdays I’d never share with him again. I shook, snotted, and wailed out into the bedroom.

  Ridding my body of the demons that were my emotions.

  The number one rule my father always taught me was about those pesky emotions. Never let them override logic. Which led to rule number two.

  Get them out when necessary.

  I scooted myself up the bed and slid under the covers. I pulled them up to my chin with the credit card digging into my palm. I gripped onto anything that rooted me in reality. Anything that reminded me of where the hell I was. Of where the hell life had taken me. I had to stay strong, yes. But I also had to expel these emotions. Because if they caught up with me? I’d start making more mistakes.

  With Liam being my first mistake.

  As the tears died down, I drew in deep breaths. I regulated my breathing before reaching for some tissues. With a few blows of my nose and the clearing of my voice, I sat upright. Ready to tackle the next hurdle in front of me. Because, now? I had to rely on myself. I’d be the only reason I survived this world with my father gone. And he taught me well how to use my instincts in a mob-like world.

  Time to start using them, Abby.

  Why my father taught me all those things before handing his empire over to some boy was still a question that needed to be answered. And despite all the love I had for my father, I knew why. My father was still a traditionalist at heart, which meant no woman could ever rise to the prominence of a man. Not in this world. Not in this darkness. Women were meant as totems. Supportive roles beside men who ran the underworld at its finest.

  So, naturally, I got passed over.

  “Fucking Declan,” I murmured.

  It would’ve been one thing had my father, well, born a son. Even with Fiona. But there was only me. His daughter. The one he confided in during some of his darkest hours. I knew some of the grimiest secrets of the clan families. I knew some of the most disgusting things my father had ever done to them. My father taught me well. As well as he could, anyway. He taught me how to read people. How to think like a mobster. How to talk myself out of situations if the need arose.

  And if my mouth wasn’t fucking gagged.

  He never taught me how to fight for myself, though.

  Because apparently, a man’s job was to fight for his woman.

  “What a bunch of bullshit,” I murmured.

  Passed up to take over a business that was rightfully mine in blood. What a fucking nightmare. And to someone who wasn’t blood-related! Sacrilege! I mean, come on. Giving them our last name? Had my father really been that desperate? I usually understood his motives for shit like this. But I had to admit I didn’t understand any of this. I didn’t understand why I couldn't sit at the head of the Callaghan Family. I didn’t understand why the fuck some asshole who came along with some bitch he married got to sit at the head of the family, but me—his flesh and fucking blood—couldn’t.

  I need to screw my head on straight.

  Then, the feeling of the credit card came rushing back to my mind’s eye.

  I loosened my hand as the pain ricocheted throughout my system. I saw the deep indentations in the palms of my hands that the card made, already bruising in some parts. Fuck. Brody wouldn't be hap
py about that. Then again, it wasn’t his to be happy or unhappy about. I didn’t know what kind of game he thought he was playing. But two could play it. And I’d be happy to spend his fucking money if it meant playing him like the fiddle he was.

  Like the fiddles they all were.

  So, I reached for the hotel room phone and dialed the front desk.

  “Front desk, how may I direct your call?”

  “Yes, hello. There’s a spa in this hotel, correct?” I asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. A full-service spa with all the amenities. Shall I book you something?”

  “Oh, you can book me something from where you are?”

  “Mhm. Just tell me what you’d like, and I can either charge it to the room or take another card number from you.”

  “Wonderful. Are you ready? Because I’m booking myself an entire spa afternoon.”

  She giggled. “Lucky you. What would you like to have done?”

  “I’d like an hour and a half massage, followed by a facial. I’d like a manicure and pedicure, then a hair appointment as well. Do you have waxers?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Wonderful, I need an all-over waxing appointment. Every shred of hair gone other than my eyebrows and the top of my head.”

  She laughed. “All right. Anything else?”

  “Just a question. Are there any clothing services around here that will bring a wardrobe to me so I can pick out a few pieces? I’m trying to avoid going out today. But I really do need a couple of outfits for an event later. If you catch my drift.”

  “Of course, I do. There’s a fantastic clothing store that caters to just that kind of thing in the area. It’s called Mistriano’s, and you just call them, tell them what you’re looking for, give them your sizes, and they’ll come over with racks of clothes for you to choose from.”

  I smiled brightly. “You’ve been a great help. Thank you so much.”

  “Not a problem at all. So, I’ve got your spa day lined up. It starts in less than an hour, though. That’s the only way I could get everything to fit back to back to back.”

  I slipped out of bed. “Wonderful. I’ll get ready and head right—”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I’m sorry, what floor is the spa on?”

  “Floor nine.”

  Thank fuck, it’s inside. “Wonderful. I’ll get dressed and head on over there.”

  “They’re expecting you. Do you want to charge to the room? Or use a different card?”

  “Just charge this to the room. Thank you.”

  “Wonderful. Just give them your room number and they’ll take you back. I hope you have a lovely spa day, too, Mrs. Callaghan.”

  I blinked. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Then, I hung up the phone and sighed.

  ‘Missus’ Callaghan?

  “Great,” I murmured.

  8

  Brody

  I stormed through the doors of the hotel and grumbled to myself. I made my way for the elevator, anxious to get back behind closed doors. What a fucking day this had been. I’d been lying to my damn brothers all day about my agreement with Abby. Telling them I had tracked her down. That she was simply out having some drinks. Coping with the loss of her father. I looked Declan right in his fucking face and told him I had escorted her back to her hotel room last night before going back to my own room. Alone.

  I had lied right to the head of the family. And not once did I bat an eye about it.

  “This is some nonsense,” I murmured to myself.

  I jammed my hand into the number of the floor my room was on. And all the while, I stewed. We had no leads on Richard’s murder. Flynn was flying back to Ireland tomorrow. And we were without information. We had nothing. No one. No suspects, except everyone. No way to narrow it down, since the body had already been buried. We combed the shoreline where Richard washed up. Looking for anything that might tell us where he had come from or where he had been.

  Yet, there was nothing.

  “That coroner knows something,” I murmured.

  No amount of intimidation made that man budge. He had to process all the evidence and all his findings. Then, we’d know about it. And until then? We just had to sit and wait idly by like everyone else. It was bullshit. The amount of money I threw at that man was outstanding. Hundreds of thousands of dollars, just for a tidbit of information.

  He didn’t budge, though.

  And it made me wonder if someone else was paying him even more to keep quiet.

  “Fucking hell,” I growled.

  The elevator doors opened, and I tore through them. My heavy footfalls seemed to echo off the walls of the hallway as I ripped the keycard out of my pocket. I shoved it into the door and reached for the knob. I turned it, popping open the door.

  But when the heavy smell of floral notes filled my nose, I paused.

  Abby.

  I closed my eyes. I drew in the scent even further. Abby was on the other side of this door. A twinge of guilt wafted through my gut again. One, for lying to my brothers. And two, for keeping a beautiful soul like her cooped up. I mean, I knew it was for her own good, but still. That didn’t make it right. Or fair for her.

  Hopefully she put that card to good use.

  I walked into the hotel suite and I realized quickly why it smelled so much like flowers. And it was because there were bouquets of flowers everywhere. Red roses dotted with white lilies. Sitting in vases of water on tables and side tables and television entertainment systems. On the kitchen counter and on the small table by the door. Preventing me from setting anything down on it.

  “Abby?”

  At first, I didn’t hear anything. And my anxiety ratcheted up a notch. I didn’t hear footsteps. Or breathing. Or giggling. Or talking. I didn’t hear her footfalls or any sort of movement indicating she was even in the damn room.

  “Abby!”

  “Wow, you really do take the fun out of everything,” she said.

  I whipped my head over toward the sound of her voice and watched her emerge from the bedroom. And when she did, my anxiety turned to desire. My guilt turned to gluttonous intent. Her beautiful body, clad in crimson red lingerie, stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Her tits hung softly with lace cascading along them. Her legs stretched for what seemed like days with thigh-high tights pulled up their expanse. My eyes explored her. My hands ached to touch her. Abby’s skin seemed to glisten in the light of the hotel room. Like there wasn’t an ounce of hair on her body to be found.

  And when my gaze finally found hers, she winked at me.

  “I figured you’d make your way into the bedroom eventually. You really missed a pose there,” she said.

  I blinked. “Where did all this come from?”

  “I mean, you did give me your credit card. How else is a woman supposed to entertain herself?”

  “Who delivered these flowers?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come now, Brody. Are you really going to try and background check everyone I might come into contact with?”

  “It’s possible,” I murmured.

  She giggled as she walked toward me, and that was when I heard them. The heels I didn’t even realize she wore. They clicked softly across the floor. Little peep-toe heels with bows on the backs of them. My baby girl looked positively scrumptious. And as her hands fell against my chest, a fire ignited in the marrow of my bones.

  “You don’t know what you’re playing with right now,” I said.

  “Oh, but I think I might,” Abby said.

  “If I lose control, I might not be able to gain it back. Not until I’m done.”

  “Then, I suppose I should help you finish. Right?”

  I growled softly as her hands slid down my torso. She untucked my shirt from beyond my leather belt. Her eyes held mine as her fingers did all the work. Removing my clothes from me. Unbuttoning my shirt. Sliding it off my shoulders. Ripping my belt out from its loops and letting it fall to the floor.

  I wondered what shade of red he
r ass might turn if I spanked her with it.

  “My, my. So pent-up. You really need to relax, Brody.”

  I drew in a deep breath. “Abigail, what else did you do today?”

  She shrugged. “Oh, the usual. Had some racks of clothes delivered to pick things out. Had a complete spa day. Ordered some food. Got every inch of my body. Completely. Waxed.”

  Her hand cupped my cock and I grunted. The animal inside me roared with a need to be released. She wasn’t ready, though. Not for that darkness. Not for that kind of lust.

  But the more she massaged my dick, the more I lost myself in her touch.

  “Come on. Have a bit of fun, Brody. It’s been a long, hard day for both of us.”

  “You thrive when challenging me, don’t you?” I asked.

  She giggled. “I suppose it is a bit… fun.”

  She squeezed my cock a little too hard and my hand shot out. I wrapped it around her throat, closing down on the sides. Her carotids pulsed against my fingertips. Her eyes widened. Her hand fell away from my naked cock. And as I stood there, completely bare for her, I licked my lips.

  “Fine,” I spat.

  I shoved her to her knees and fisted her hair. I gripped her cheeks with my other hand, forcing her mouth open. She moaned as I shoved my dick into her mouth. Down her throat, as she gagged around my girth. Her hands fell against my thighs. She slapped me softly, struggling to breathe. But I held her there. Groaning. Reveling in her warmth. In the tightness of her throat.

  Until she finally adjusted.

  “There’s a good girl,” I growled.

  With her hair tangled around my fingers, I pulled her head back. I slammed myself back down her throat, feeling her gag and wretch. Holy fuck, it was the most incredible feeling. The most amazing sound. And when I gazed down at her, tears streaked her cheeks.

  And a light of amazement in her eyes.

  “You want to be a mess for me, don’t you?” I asked.

  She nodded her head as I fucked her face.