by Holly Hart
“Casey,” I reply, biting my lip, “And don’t call me by that other word: it’s rude.”
His mouth bobs up and down a couple of times in disbelief as his little brain tries to process what I just said. While the rusting gears are slowly ticking over in his brain, I brush past him. He grabs my arm, and his fingers dig in tight.
My body jerks back from the force. “The fuck did you just say to me?” Lenny growls. A little spark of fear ignites in my stomach, but I push it away. Now I’m here, actually doing this, it doesn’t seem like such a smart idea.
Run away, a little corner of my brain whispers. But I push that thought away too.
“I’m here to see Vince,” I say, pleased that there’s not a hint of nerves in my voice, “not you. Are you sure you want to get in my way?”
Lenny shakes his head. It’s a slow, clunky movement. “I tried to warn you,” he says, leaning forward so his lips are only a couple of inches from my ear, “bitch. When Vince sends you back my way – and he will – you best believe I ain’t going to have your best interests at heart.”
I try to think of a witty response, but my well’s running dry. I just shrug, and look down at Lenny’s fingers on my arm. “Do you mind?”
Lenny releases me, and I roll my shoulders to loosen them up.
“Bitch.”
I don’t look back.
By the time I make it to the door that leads to Vince’s back room, it’s not just a little spark of fear that’s burning in my stomach. It’s a full on conflagration – a hill fire, and I don’t think I’m qualified to put it out. I swallow a pool of tepid saliva, and the damp sound reverberates in my ears like a wringing sponge.
“Come the fuck in,” Vince barks. I take a deep breath and push against the door. It moves slowly, hinges squealing, and feels fifty pounds heavier than it did the night before. I know it isn’t, it can’t be, but it sure feels that way…
“Da-fuck you wearin’?” The Morello enforcer growls at me. It’s the first thing he says. “Didn’t I tell you to ‘dress to impress’?”
“Impress who?” I say, but the retort dies in my throat, half choked. “I’m not here to work,” I mutter, trying to steer the night back on track.
Vince cocks his head to one side. “Oh?” He says with his voice pitched up an octave, and sounding like a man I should be very afraid of. I know that I’m walking a fine line now. It’s becoming increasingly clear just how absolutely, entirely, goddamn stupid my plan was from the beginning. I’m starting to wonder whether I’ll even get out of this mess alive.
“I didn’t realize that this was a negotiation,” he growls, dawdling over every word. I can tell he’s enjoying himself now. It’s the glint in his eyes that gives it away. It’s like he’s one of his fighting dogs, and he’s got the taste of blood.
“What have you got in that little bag of yours, a union rep? For your sake, I hope so; either that, or a change of clothes.”
A man in the background laughs, and I flinch. My eyes dart to the corner to see Tony, and he cradles his belly at my obvious discomfort, bent double by the force of his amusement.
Vince’s eyes follow mine to his man in the corner, and then back to where they started. In the dull gloom of his counting office, they look black, and the sight chills my spine.
I take a couple of nervous steps toward the counting table, and dump the black canvas case onto it. The sips clattered against the wood, and a pile of creased five dollar bills flutters in the slight wind it causes. Tony stops his laughter and watches, his eyes flickering with interest.
“What’s that?” Vince asks.
“My freedom,” I reply with more confidence than I feel. “The full fifteen, plus interest. Every penny I owe you.”
Vince leans back in his chair. “Bullshit,” he says, jerking his chin at me. “Where the fuck would a girl like you find fifteen grand?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, turning on my heel to leave, the warmth of success now heating my belly. “All that matters is you’ve got your money.”
“The fuck do you think you’re going?” Vince barks, and I turn to see Tony pushing himself laboriously to his feet, using a shotgun for leverage. Tendrils of fear prickle the underside of my legs – an ancient part of my brain screaming at me to run. I can’t, I’m locked in – those tendrils now vines tying me to the floor.
“We’re done,” I stammer. “You’ve got your money – that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
Vince nods towards the door, and Tony moves his massive bulk in front of it – blocking my exit.
“Better,” he smiles with satisfaction. “Now we can talk.”
I glance at the door, calculating my odds of getting out if I make a break for it. “You got what you wanted!” I protest, eyes whirling around the room and searching for another way out. Cold fear grips my stomach now. I know I’m screwed. Terrible images of what Vince has planned for me start to speed through my mind like an old-school projector: graphic and incessant.
The window’s not boarded – but it’s closed. To get out I’d need to hurl myself through it, and I’m no action hero. I’m just a girl who met the wrong crowd at the wrong time.
Vince’s eyes drink my body in. His nostrils flare, and he reminds me of a pig at a trough: greedy and hungry.
“You said that’s what I want,” he says, licking his lower lip. “Not me. I never did. You know what I want, bitch?”
I shake my head … but I do know. I know exactly what he wants. It’s the same thing Tony wants, and every man I’ve ever met – hell, even Declan – wants. He wants me: my body, to be precise. He doesn’t care about the thoughts and memories and dreams my body contains: everything that makes me, me. He just wants my flesh, my body, and my pride.
“Sit down,” Vince grunts. I try, but my legs are frozen. A grimace flickers across his face, and he nods at Tony again. His minion obediently pushes me into a hard-backed wooden chair with his rough, callused hands. A far-off part of my brain whispers, a niggling, insistent thought, but it’s too faint to pin down.
“Please,” I whimper, “just let me go.” A vision of my future flashes before my eyes. It’s not a camera reel this time. It’s just a single still: my body, face up in a ditch; my features, white and cold.
“First, business,” Vince beams. He’s in his element now. The sound of the fighting dogs barking and yelping in the background adds a sinister ingredient to the threatening brew, but it’s not nearly as terrifying as the beast sitting in front of me. “Where did you get the money?”
My mind scrambles for an answer. I don’t know why, but something is telling me that if I tell the truth, I’ll close off my last chance to get out of here alive. Declan’s expression when I mentioned Vince told me that he knew him … and that it wasn’t a friendly relationship. I would bet money that the feeling was mutual.
Besides, Vince has interrogated a hundred men, I guess. He’s probably got a keen eye for a lie. Still, if I can’t tell him the truth, then maybe something close; something close enough that it rings true without giving the whole game away?
“I –,” I stammer, “I did what Lenny said! I sold myself, my body to –,” my mind reaches again, “a banker!”
“So you admit it?” Vince smiles like he’s won the lottery. “You stole from me?”
I’m struck dumb. It’s my turn to copy Lenny now, and my mouth hangs open like a goldfish.
“Oh, yes,” he says, baring his teeth. “Didn’t I tell you? You’re mine, bitch. You eat when I say, and you sleep when I say. You drink; talk; drive; and you fuck when I say!” He punctuates the words by slamming his open palm down on the table, and I flinch backwards every time.
But even as the sound assaults my ears, he changes his tone. It quiets, and I almost have to strain to hear it. “But maybe,” he whispers, “maybe there’s something we can do. An agreement, let’s call it.”
I close my eyes, blinking back salty, terrified tears. One rolls down my cheek and I feel it cool
ing as it falls. Tony kneads my shoulders. I guess it’s meant to be reassuring, but it makes my stomach turn instead.
“What do you want from me?” I moan.
The sound of a belt unbuckling is my only reply.
10
Declan
“Dec, this is crazy,” Kieran mutters to my left. His head’s in the footwell, so his words are muffled; but to his credit he’s not letting his reservations get in the way.
“She’s mine, brother,” I reply, changing down a gear as we spin round the corner of a red brick building. The same corner I nearly plowed against last night driving Casey back to my place.
“Yeah, you’ve known her what, a day?” Kieran spits back. “There’s plenty more fish in the sea. Hell, pick your own metaphor, I don’t care. This isn’t about her, is it? This is about Vince –”
I shoot him a dark, threatening look, holding his gaze until he starts to sweat. The engine roars underneath me; I feel a wave of adrenaline flooding my body and starting to affect my decisions. I hear what Kieran’s saying, but that doesn’t mean I have to listen. Vince Amari and I go way back, but this isn’t about him. This is about Casey: MY Casey.
“Eyes on the road, Dec: Yer tryin’ to kill us both?”
“Are ya with me or not,” I bark, stamping on the brake. “If y’aren’t, then ya can get the fuck out of my truck. I’m doing this with yǝ – or without.”
The truck’s huge tires kick gravel up on either side as it screeches to a halt, and I hear them pinging off the chassis. This truck’s my baby, and the sound of the stones scratching my paintwork would normally have been a dagger through my heart.
Not tonight.
“Yǝ know I am,” Kieran protests. “I’m yer brother, Dec: yer goddamn twin! I’ve been with you longer than anyone! Yǝ think I’m abandoning you now? But –”
“But. What?” I growl back. Our eyes are locked in an epic battle of wills. I’ve fought Kieran a hundred times. It’s what brothers do. He’s won fifty, and I took the other. We’re twins. We’ve been evenly matched in every way except one: desire.
I want this. I want her. So nothing is going to stand in my way; not even my brother.
But he doesn’t fight me on it, not tonight. He can see the need that’s burning in my eyes.
Kieran tries to stop me one last time, but we both know it’s a Hail Mary, and that it hasn’t a hope in hell of succeeding. I’m set on this, no matter what the outcome.
He reaches over the center console and grasps my arm. “Deartháir.” Brother. “You know I’m with you in this, through whatever. Just think about this, about what you’re doing. Dad wants you to set up a meeting with Micky Morello, not start a war with him. I just need to know why you’re doing this. Why are you moving so fast over some broad?”
He’s right, of course. He’s right.
Inside, I know this is the last thing I should ever be doing. I’m risking almost a century of the Byrne family’s control over this city at a time when we’re weaker than we’ve ever been: of course ; but …
There’s more to life than power and control and authority. Other words count as well. Words like: desire, longing, and…
Hope.
Hope that there’s more to my life than drinking and fucking and fighting. Oh, I’m drunk all right. Except this time it’s on Casey, not liquor. She’s doing something to me that I can’t explain. I barely know her, but she’s already affecting me: changing me.
“I …” I say, struggling to put the battle raging inside my head into words. “I don’t deserve you, brother. I can’t explain this, either. Not yet. But I need you by my side.” I stretch out my palm.
Kieran clasps it without hesitation. I know he doesn’t want to be here. However, that’s what family does: stands by your brother’s side while he does something stupid.
He grins ruefully. “Then I guess we better not get caught.”
You can hear the dogs howling from out here. It’s a sound that sends a chill shivering down my spine. We haven’t allowed dog fighting in Byrne territory since the sixties. Irishmen have standards. We have traditions, rules, and obligations.
Rules like:
If you kill a man, look him in the eye.
If you screw a girl, you are responsible for her care and needs.
And you don’t fuck with animals.
“Bastards,” Kieran spits. He’s not a man who lets himself get worked up by much – but he loves dogs, my brother.
“They’re Italians,” I growl back. “What the fuck do you expect?”
“You say they’re Italians?” He laughs silently, without a hint of mirth on his face. “Fucking animals is what they are. Hell, even animals wouldn’t do that to each other unless they’re forced into it.”
I glance down, only to see Kieran’s fingers clutching reflexively an inch from the weapon strapped to his hip. I grimace. I wish I’d known it was a dog fight the Morellos were holding here tonight. I might have chosen to bring another one of my brothers. When someone drops dogs into the mix, my twin loses all sense of reason.
Hell, who am I kidding? There’s no one I’d rather have by my side on a night like this.
“No guns, kid brother,” I say, patting his arm. “We go in and out without anyone being the wiser. Got it?”
“Got it,” he grunts. I’m not convinced, but I know better than to argue. I won’t change his mind, and besides, it’s him that’s doing me the favor.
“Faces on.”
“Faces on,” Kieran agrees, pulling a black balaclava over his head. We’ve got duct tape holding our sleeves down to hide our tats, and for all intents and purposes, tonight – we’re ghosts. Kieran’s leg jiggles nervously. “Come on, let’s go.”
I follow him, cursing myself for not scouting the outside of the building better during my previous visit. On the opposite side of the warehouse to the car park, I vaguely remember seeing a small office. Maybe the foreman’s office, back when this was still a factory. A paint factory, judging from the faded signage that still adorns the outside walls.
“Down there,” I call in a low whisper, and Kieran grasps my meaning instantly, heading down a tight, narrow alleyway. I glance back at the truck, parked in a well of shadows, and confirm what I already know – the grill’s pointed towards the road, and nothings blocking it in. If it comes to a chase, we might need every second.
A faint pool of light illuminates the furthest end of the alleyway, and Kieran’s drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He holds up a clenched fist as he approaches the window, like a soldier on point duty and I freeze. Every fiber of my being is urging me to shoulder him out of the way and look for myself.
But that isn’t the way dad trained us. That’s the quickest way to get yourself killed – and I know that if I die, it’s not just me who will suffer: Casey will as well.
“Tell me what you see,” I call in a low voice. At night, a whisper carries further than just talking. It’s a hard thing to remember, but we’ve worked together dozens of times, Kieran and I. I trust his eyes as well as I do mine.
“A redhead,” the low reply floats back.
It electrifies me: a cocktail of adrenaline, fear, and desire all dump into my bloodstream at once. Suddenly every nerve ending on my body is on fire. I feel every thread of the polyester balaclava scratching my face, sense Kieran’s heat on my face. I’m torpedoed hundreds of years into the past. I’m not Declan Byrne, not now. I’m every one of my forbearers. I’m a Celtic warrior, standing on some foreign battlefield, and ready to save my woman.
“And?”, I prompt. I need more from him than just Casey’s goddamn hair color. I need to know what’s happening to her. Is she –?
“She’s alive. They haven’t touched her: yet.”
Yet. YET?
The chilling word echoes in my skull. Something’s not right. Now, that’s the understatement of the year. Of course it is: if everything was all right, neither of us would be standing here, about to put our lives on the line and throw our
bodies into harm’s way.
If everything was all right, Casey would have done as I told her: stayed in my apartment and waited for me to finish up my business. For some reason, she didn’t. She was too headstrong; too unwilling to let someone else fight her battles for her.
That fight is what I like about her. It’s what draws me to her like a honeybee to pollen. Yet it’s her greatest failing: her biggest weakness.
“We need to get in there,” Kieran says, “quick!”
The urgency in his voice acts like a jumpstart to my heart. I get right the fuck out of my head and ready myself to act. “What is it?”
Kieran doesn’t answer. “We need an entrance, now,” he says. “Is there a way in round the –”
Adrenaline’s flooding my system now; it’s screaming at me that I don’t have time; it’s narrowing my options, and even my vision. Maybe that’s stupid. Maybe I should know that what I’m about to do will cause way more trouble than anything I’ve ever done. Maybe I should know that I’m being selfish, that it’s not just what I want in life that matters. But I don’t have time for any of that. even if I did, I doubt it would change my decision.
“Move,” I grunt, pushing Kieran aside. He looks startled as I push him into the pool of light, and Vince Amari’s sight; but what I’m about to do will cause one hell of a splash either way.
I pull my weapon from my hip and fire a shot into every corner, praying that none of them hit the redhead who haunts my dreams. The second the first shot hammers home, the glass explodes into a patchwork spider web. I’m already moving as the fourth spurt of fire leaves my gun.
Speed is critical. I need to strike while whoever’s inside is dazed and confused by the window exploding. I know Kieran has my back, so I charge forward even as splinters of glass rain down on my shoulders.
I leap through the window, and plant a kick right in the center of some thug’s chest. He stumbles backwards, and a shotgun flies out of his arms and clatters against the floor. There are three people in the room: but only two threats. I go for the biggest one: Vince’s muscleman.