Brody: The Callaghan Mafia #2

by Rylan, Savannah

  “Mr. Callaghan! Mr. Callaghan! Do you need anything!?”

  I didn’t answer him, though.

  I needed for none of this to be right. I needed for none of this to be true. And yet, here we were. Staring down the one barrel I thought wasn’t possible. I mean, I had this woman in my bed. Against my body. Writhing and crying out in pleasure. I had her in my arms every morning. Against my muscles every night. I wined her. Dined her. Protected her. Promised her the world in exchange for her following my simple rules to keep her alive until I could figure out who the fuck decided to assault our family from all sides.

  Never did I think our own family would eat itself alive.

  “Mr. Callaghan!”

  I slammed my hand into the elevator before turning around. Staring down my bodyguard at the other end of the hallway.

  “I need you to stay here and call me if Abigail returns!” I roared.

  “Anything else!?” he called out.

  I slipped into the elevator. “Call for a priest!”

  “What!?”

  I slammed my hand into the button for the front lobby. If any of this was true, it would take an act of God to keep the devil inside me at bay. I was ready to cut this woman off. Ready to throw her to the fucking dogs. Ready to hand-deliver her to Liam Maguire my fucking self before telling her this family didn’t owe her a goddam dime. Not after what she’d pulled. And that was if I kept myself from killing her the second I laid eyes on her.

  Because she didn’t need the protection. Not really. The Maguire Family was probably providing her with that.

  Which explained why the bodyguard I hired for her was standing at the door of an empty goddamn hotel room.

  13

  Abby

  Great. Again.

  I shivered in the cold as darkness surrounded me. The smell was dank. Water dripped in the distance. And as I sat there, stripped down to nothing but a silk slip I had on underneath my dress for lunch, I scoffed.

  “You're an idiot,” I murmured to myself.

  Fifteen minutes. That was all it took for me to get taken. Again. Fifteen minutes at Dashel’s Club and one trip to the women’s bathroom. And now, I had my wrists and ankles bound again much too tight. Tight enough for the tips of my appendages to fall asleep.

  “Fuck,” I whispered.

  I regretted scolding the bodyguard as I left the penthouse. I regretted not taking him with me at all. I’d gotten upset with him. Pissed off by the lack of personal space and wanting quality time with Brody. Hopefully, to make him see that I regretted my decisions. That I wanted to stay in his good graces more than I wanted any sort of money or happenstance revenge.

  I should’ve just let the man come with me.

  It all happened so fast I didn’t know who swiped me. No cologne to sniff when you’re knocked out by chloroform. That was all I remembered. Coming out of the ladies restroom, then something coming down against my mouth. I didn’t even have time to struggle. Or fight for myself.

  “No wonder Dad named Declan,” I murmured.

  I sighed as I sat back. The wall behind me was cold and wet. I didn’t know where I was, but I assumed underground. Then again, I hadn’t made any right decisions up until this point. So, for all I knew, I was soaring high in the sky somewhere. Waiting to crash-land and erupt into flames from the falling wreckage. The smart assumption was Liam. I’d been taken by him or one of his cronies again. Especially since I stashed the phone underneath the mattress after turning it on silent.

  “I should’ve put the damn thing down the garbage disposal,” I hissed.

  I tugged at my wrists. I tried forcing my ankles apart. And the more the zip ties cut in, the more blood trickled down my skin. I hurt. But not as much as my heart. I was scared. But not as fearful as I was of Brody. Lord only knew what he thought of me not showing up at that restaurant. For all I knew, he knew. For all I knew, he thought me abandoning him at lunch was me running away. No bodyguard. Not taking any of my stuff.

  You’ve really done it this time, Abigail.

  My father’s voice ricocheted off the corners of my mind. I physically winced at his voice. I sighed as I leaned my head back against the wall, my body overtaken by the cold. Shaking. Puckering. Dropping my body temperature as my jaw clattered uncontrollably.

  “Maybe I’m in Antarctica,” I murmured through my shaking.

  “Family always comes first. Remember that. Even when you get angry with me. Remember that family is there when no one else is.”

  My father’s voice continued to haunt me as tears worked their way out of my eyes. It hurt to cry. It hurt to move. My chest hurt to jump and it hurt to breathe. Then again, I deserved the pain. After allowing my anger, my depression, and my desolation to guide me for so long, I deserved the pain I was in.

  Especially after trying to deceive my own family.

  “I never should’ve betrayed Brody in the first place,” I whispered.

  I let anger, confusion, fear, and betrayal consume me. I allowed it to justify my selfishness. I allowed it to justify how entitled I felt to my father’s world and his empire once he finally passed on. I mean, even if I wanted to take over his throne, look at me! I didn’t have the skill set. I didn’t have the knowledge. I didn’t have the connections or the wherewithal to pull something like that off.

  “I can’t even keep myself from getting abducted every damn day!” I exclaimed.

  My voice echoed off the corners of the empty room. I was alone. And cold. Hungry, and practically naked. With blood dripping down my skin and a stomach turning over on itself in sickness, in anger, and in hunger.

  And in fear.

  “Brody?” I asked softly.

  I expected someone to laugh. Or answer. Or poke fun at the helpless woman. But nothing came.

  “Brody!?” I shrieked.

  Tears poured heavier behind my blindfold. Yeah, blindfold. I didn't even get to see where I was anymore. I’d lost that privilege. All I had were my memories now. The lessons my father taught me. His voice, haunting me in my ears.

  “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

  “You wouldn’t be proud of me now, Daddy,” I whispered.

  “Daddy, please let me come home. I don’t like it here,” I cried.

  “Just give it a shot, princess. It’s always hard going to a new school,” he said.

  “But they make fun of me. They pick on me. I miss you. I want to come home. Why won’t you let me come home?”

  “You know it’s not safe for you here.”

  “I’ll follow the rules. I’ll be a good girl. Please, Daddy. I just want to be with you.”

  He sighed. “I love you so much. Even if you don’t realize it now, I need you to know that you’re the light of my life, princess.”

  “Why do they get to stay with you and not me? Is it because they’re boys?”

  “Fiona’s sons?”

  “They get you as their Daddy and I get nothing. How is that fair? Why do I get punished for Mom dying?”

  “That isn’t what’s happening, and you know it. Your mother, she’d never forgive me if you weren’t safe. And after that attack on you, I can’t risk it. I love you too much to risk it.”

  I drew in ragged breaths as the memory assaulted my mind. The panic in my father’s voice. The heartache in mine. I’d been too jealous of my stepbrothers to really take in his words. But now?

  “Oh, Daddy,” I whispered.

  I remembered that attack clearly. Six years old, and someone busted into the house. Took out the bodyguards without a second thought. I remembered diving behind a bookshelf. Being swallowed up by a hole in the wall. Surrounded by darkness. Surrounded by nothing. While men tossed the house, tearing it to bits to find whatever it was they wanted to get their hands on.

  “Come here, princess. Daddy’s home. It’s all right.”

  I still remembered how warm his embrace felt. How tightly he held me whenever that bookshelf swung away from my view. I sighed as I leaned deeper into the wall
. The bleak black night that covered me now reminded me a lot of that hidden room behind the bookshelf. The one I inadvertently found when searching for a place to hide.

  It was my last memory of the house before he sent me away to Switzerland.

  Away to boarding school, with all the money in the world to keep me safe and under everyone’s watchful eye.

  “Brody!” I yelled.

  I’d spent so much of my life angry with those boys. Angry at Fiona, for taking my place. When really, none of that had happened. No one replaced me. No one tried to take over my position in Daddy’s life. I’d simply been hurt. Scared. Afraid.

  Much like I was now.

  “I’m sorry, Brody. I’m sorry. I’ve been so lost for so long. Just… trying to find a life. Trying to find a way home. Trying to find a way back to Daddy. And then, he dies. He just dies. No warning. No phone call. I didn’t even know he was missing until Fiona called me and told me he was dead. It was like the blood daughter of Richard Callaghan didn’t matter. Didn’t exist, unless it was pertinent.”

  I bent forward as my tears fell to my naked thighs.

  “No one called me unless it was pertinent,” I sobbed.

  I fell over onto my side. I cried into the grimy floor as my cheek pressed against something slimy. I didn’t care anymore. Whether I lived or died. Because that scared thirteen-year old girl still accusing her father of not wanting her anymore never went away. She never grew up. She just stuffed herself into a more mature body and forced herself to get up every morning. Anguish overwhelmed me. It grew hard to breathe as I coughed and sputtered.

  “I just wanted to be part of the family, Brody,” I said through my broken breaths.

  That was all I wanted. All I ever wanted, really. I wanted to come home. I wanted my father to wrap me up tightly. I wanted Fiona to consider me the daughter she never had, and I wanted to make memories with my Uncle Martin again. I wanted to formally meet the sons my father had willingly taken on. I wanted to find my place among the family, instead of being stowed away like some nasty family secret on the other side of the world.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I sobbed.

  I prepared myself to die. Whoever was watching—whoever was getting a kick out of my anguish—I prepared for them to kill me. Brody would never come after me. Not after abandoning him at lunch. Or, maybe he would. Only to kill me himself. But I knew the truth. I knew Brody wasn’t an idiot. He had probably put the pieces together. Put a hit out on my head. That was how it worked in this world. You betray the family, you die. Especially if you were part of that family.

  At least that’ll confirm I’m part of something.

  I curled up against the floor and let it all out. Years of sadness. Years of loneliness. Years of feeling as if I didn’t matter. For the past three weeks, I mattered to someone. I mattered enough for them to keep me around. I mattered enough for them to want to spoil me. Not because they had to, but because they wanted to. Brody wanted to spoil me. He wanted to protect me. He wanted to keep me safe. And I had betrayed that trust.

  “I don’t deserve you, Brody,” I said through my ragged breathing.

  I coughed up phlegm and snot before spitting it out onto the ground.

  “Please forgive me, Daddy,” I whispered.

  Then, I dried my tears, relaxed against the ground, and accepted whatever fate might befall me. Whether death, or torture, or rape, or exposure. I prepared myself for it. At least, if they killed me, I’d be able to spend time with my father—one on one—in the afterlife. Because honestly? If my living fate didn’t include being in Brody’s arms, then I wanted nothing to do with it.

  Even if the alternative was death.

  14

  Brody

  “Excuse me, have you seen this woman?”

  “Yes, she would’ve been here about an hour ago.”

  “Uh huh. Right over there? Thank you.”

  It burned my blood that I didn’t have a bodyguard to tell me what the fuck had happened. Because the second I got to the table at the club and didn’t see her there, I knew something was wrong. After checking the women’s restroom, questioning the hostess, and pinning all the waitstaff under my watchful eye, my mission shifted. It went from dragging that sorry excuse for a woman into the Maguires to figuring out where the hell she’d gotten off to in the first place.

  In an instant, everything had soared out of my control.

  This was why I kept tabs on people I cared about. This was why I insisted on my methods. Because when I knew someone was in danger, it wasn’t just small danger. It wasn’t little danger. Oh, no. I never intervened unless I thought they were in serious danger. Life-threatening danger. Something in the pit of my gut told me it was that last one, too. The life-threatening danger that forebode of more to come. More issues. More shit to wade through. Like we didn’t have enough to put up with already.

  And now, I had no idea where the fuck to find Abby.

  “Yes, have you seen this woman? Her car is out front, but I can’t find her on the premises.”

  “The bathroom? You saw her go into the bathroom?”

  “Do you have surveillance cameras in this place I could look at?”

  “No, I’m not police. However, I am with—yes, you—listen—Brody Callaghan.”

  I boomed my name across the club, and everyone stopped moving. I pinned the manager I was talking at with a look of utter madness. I knew how crazy I felt. And I was sure I probably looked as crazy, too. But as I took a step toward the manager, he backed up.

  Until I had him physically backed into a corner.

  “Now, I’ll ask again. Let me see those security tapes,” I said.

  After ushering me back into a small room with a bunch of televisions plastered all over the walls, the manager murmured to his security guard. A paunch man, with his feet propped up and goldfish crumbs tumbling down his rotund stomach. The sight was disgusting. This man was in charge of keeping this club safe? Clearly, I didn’t do enough research into how secure this place was.

  Then again, I also never expected for Abby to show up by herself.

  Stupid woman.

  “Right there. That’s her,” I said.

  I tried not to groan at the salacious dress she wore. Fluttering just beyond her knees. Tight around her tits. Showcasing her curves with her hair falling well past her shoulders. Oh, she came to impress. I mean, those heels. They flexed her legs and made her ass stick out for anyone’s viewing pleasure. And I saw plenty of people on that film footage staring.

  Including the manager I stood beside.

  “Uh huh,” I said.

  I slowly looked over at him and watched the man cower.

  “Keep playing the tape. I want to see when she goes into the bathroom,” I said.

  “You mean, right there?” the security guard asked.

  I whipped my eyes back over to the screen and watched. She sat down at the table I reserved for us. She spoke with the waiter. Then, she got up to go to the bathroom. And once she disappeared down the hallway, I saw a figure move out of the shadows.

  “Pause it,” I said.

  The man hit the spacebar to stop the footage before my next command.

  “Can you back up a few seconds and zoom into the hallway?” I asked.

  “We’ve got a camera in that hallway,” the man said.

  I grinned. “Even better. Pull it up.”

  He switched cameras and the hallway came alive in front of my eyes. It was dark. Hard to make out what was going on. But I saw—clear as day—Abby walk into the bathroom. And I saw—clear as day—someone walk into the bathroom behind her.

  Then, there was nothing.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. That’s all there is,” the guard said.

  “The hell does that mean?”

  The guard started typing on a keyboard. “I’m not sure. It just—stopped. Hold on. I’m about to pick it back up… there. Here we go.”

  He pressed play and t
he footage came alive again. But all I had in view was a figure I didn’t recognize. Who looked to be carrying someone in their arms.

  “Back up as far as you can,” I said.

  “There isn’t much,” the guard said.

  “Just do it,” I glowered.

  “Do as the man asks,” the manager hissed.

  I watched that slice of footage over and over again. And I still couldn't make out who it was. The only thing I knew was how much time had passed. Because while the video archives had been altered, the time stamps hadn’t.

  “Four minutes,” I murmured.

  Not a lot of time to execute much of anything.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out. I had a text message from an unknown number, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

  “I want you to get me a copy of this footage. All of it. From the entire day up until now,” I said.

  “Of course. Right away, sir,” the manager said.

  Then, I opened up the text message.

  Unknown: Two million dollars or you get Abigail’s head back in a box. Your choice.

  I snickered and cleared my phone of its notifications. If she thought she could pull the wool over my eyes again like this, she was sorely mistaken. I held out my hand and waited for the security guard to slap the footage in my hand. And when the thumb drive settled against my palm, I stuck it in my breast pocket.

  “Thank you for your time,” I said.

  And as I exited the club, my phone vibrated again.

  Unknown: You have three hours or she dies.

  I rolled my eyes. “Idiot.”

  I took the thumb drive back to the penthouse and jammed it into my laptop. My phone kept vibrating, and I kept ignoring it. I poured over that footage. I isolated the parts of it that had Abby. I tried to figure out who that fucking shadow was following her into the bathroom. But it infuriated me that the security system had failed for the most important four minutes of the entire footage.