by Zahra Girard
Just thinking about her steadies me. Keeps me from shooting off my mouth too much. I latch onto the thought of her and ride the waves of anger cresting and breaking inside me.
“So, where are they holding these Russians? You don’t expect me to fucking break into a prison or some shit, do you?”
“Eoghan’s looked into it. They’re at Boston Samaritan under observation until the DA decides what to do with them.”
I make my way over to my liquor cabinet and pour myself a generous dram of whiskey and slam it down.
I don’t have much in the way morals, but breaking into a hospital to murder some shitheads in their sleep still feels wrong.
Yeah, these Russian fuckers deserve it for what they wanted to do to Riley, but still, it’s a hospital.
This does not feel like the kind of thing Lochlan would be ok with. Though it’s not like I really have a choice in this. I can give Liam all the shit I want, but the only one who could really overrule him is Lochlan.
“Fine. I’ll head over there tonight.”
“Connor, that’s not all. Eoghan told me that there were a couple of college kids at the bar, and that they might’ve seen what happened. One of them’s at the hospital, too. Take care of him.”
That whiskey I just downed is trying to claw it’s way back up my throat.
Kill a kid? Are you fucking kidding me?
“They didn’t see shit, Liam and you know it. They were just a bunch of drunk shitheads who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You really expect me to put a bullet in some dumb twenty-one-year-old’s head because of some hunch you have?”
He clears his throat and sounds like he’s sporting his big-boy pants. “Eoghan’s going to take care of the others. Now, you can either do what I tell you, or I’ll have Eoghan hit the hospital, do what you’re not man enough to do, and then come pay you a visit.”
Instinctively, I put my hand on my gun. “You fucking gobshite, I’ll handle it. But you better watch your tone before you end up saying something something you’ll regret.”
“Go do your job, Connor Halloran.”
He loves to remind me of just what he thinks my place is in the family, and how I’m not truly a MacCailin.
The line clicks dead.
“Get fucked,” I mutter into my phone.
* * * * *
This isn’t my ideal way to spend a night.
But here I am. Skulking around in a hospital, doing my best to avoid security cameras and the attention of tired nurses and security guards who just want to make it through a late-night shift without having to deal with any of the shit that usually happens in the ER at one in the morning.
Eoghan’s information was good.
The Russians are in the rooms he called out, all right next to each other, and no one was really keeping an eye on them. Which makes sense, seeing as how the two men who survived were cuffed, sedated, and they’ll be lucky if they’re able to walk on their own anytime soon.
I woke them up before I killed them.
Just to tell them why they had to die and what pathetic little shits they are.
And to see the look on their faces as it sunk it.
No one fucks with my brother.
But now, here I am, standing over the hospital bed of some kid I don’t know, about to wake him up, too.
He’s on a ventilator.
From the looks of him, that stray bullet must’ve punctured a lung.
The room is so still, and he’s so pale that, if it weren’t for the persistent beep of the machines hooked to him, I’d swear he’s already dead.
I put my hand on his shoulder and give him a quick shake.
It’s a little while before he stirs and two foggy eyes open.
“Hey, kid,” I say. “Can you hear me?”
I think I see him nod.
He looks confused.
“Look, I don’t want to do this. I know, and you know, that you didn’t see anything. You were just in the wrong place at the worst possible time.”
Foggy eyes narrow and his brow furrows.
The heartrate machine starts beeping faster, like a mechanical cry for help.
He knows what this is about.
“I want you to understand that I’m doing you a favor. Right now, your other friends are probably dead or dying. So even though it’s going to seem to you in a second that life’s decided to fuck you over, realize that you’re actually getting off easy. The guy who’s visiting your friends is putting them through a kind of pain that you can’t even imagine. He’s good at his job. Real good.”
I don’t know why I’m talking to this kid.
It’s certainly not for his benefit.
There’s no way he’s getting out of this. He’s going to die. I may not like the job, but I’m still going to do it because I know the consequences if I don’t.
Though this kid is not the type they usually send me to kill. He’s not in a gang, he’s not a crooked politician, or a dirty cop that’s suddenly decided to grow a conscience. I’ve got no problem killing those kind of miscreant assholes. They knew what they were getting into.
But this one? He’s just a dumb fucking kid.
With kind of a stupid-looking face and a piss-poor attempt at a mustache on his upper lip.
Seems to me his looks are punishment enough.
But he’s still got to die. That’s my job. I’m a MacCailin man, and this kid, dumb as he is, threatens my family.
That’s what I tell myself. Still doesn’t make this feel right.
I settle my gloved hands over his mouth and nose, holding him firm while the persistent beep of the heart monitor slowly fades.
He shakes a few times, throwing his head from side to side.
There’s no point to struggling. I hold his face tight, so tight I can hear his jaw pop.
Foggy eyes bulge, the heartrate machine slows to a dull, slow trill.
He’s thrashing in my grip, his eyes bugging out, his hands weakly trying to pull mine away from his face.
But I can’t do it.
I keep my hold on him for a bit longer. Until he passes out. The heartrate stays steady, a weak blip of life echoing from the monitors.
He’ll live.
I have to get out of here. Now.
I leave by the same roundabout way I came in.
It’s cold out. My breath fogs in the air, turning faded colors in the dull light of the streetlamp overhead.
I’ve parked several blocks away. And I’m halfway to my car before I realize I’m being followed.
“Ok, Eoghan, stop fucking around.”
Silent, but grinning — I can see his busted-tooth smile reflecting the flickering on-off glow of the malfunctioning lamp above me — he steps forward.
“Liam send you?”
He shakes his head.
I relax a little. “Lochlan, then?”
He shakes his head again.
“Came on my own,” he says.
“Why’s that?”
I’m tense again. Eoghan’s old, more than twice my age. But an old gun’s still a deadly gun, and Eoghan’s as dangerous as any.
He comes closer, his arms relaxed by his side. There’s a look on his face like one I haven’t seen before. He’s always so stoic, like an old tree that’s weathered everything that life’s thrown at it.
But now he looks, almost, concerned. Which is weird as shit to see.
“I wanted to see how you were.”
What the hell?
I have to repress the urge to take a big step backward.
“I’m fine.”
He chuckles and it sounds like crackling branches.
“Connor, I’ve watched you since you were a little shit duping arrogant union cunts out of their money. Did you know you were one of the only ones that didn’t try skimming something off the top?”
I shrug. The thought never even occurred to me to try something like that. And not just because I’d seen what Lochlan did to people who trie
d to cheat him.
“What’re you saying, Eoghan?”
“You’re a good kid, Connor. And I know what Liam asked of you tonight isn’t like what you’ve been asked before. There’s a difference between killing some shitheel who wants to sell drugs in your neighborhood, and murdering some helpless kid in his sleep. It makes you get all existential. Makes you question things.”
This is the most I’ve heard Eoghan speak at a single time. Ever.
“You seem to have made it through fine,” I say.
He chuckles again, sounding like branches rustling in the wind.
“You know how?”
“Money? Your guns? Or maybe you’re just skating by on your good looks?”
Eoghan shakes his head. “Let me tell you something. When Lochlan takes Lily out every Friday night, they have a rule: no business. Even on other days, he keeps her out of this stuff as much as possible. You know why?”
I shake my head ‘no’. “I’m not one for riddles, Eoghan.”
“Neither am I. Prefer that Sudoku thing, myself. It’s fun, making the numbers line up right. Helps keep your brain sharp, too. But as for Lochlan, he keeps Lily out of the business because the further along you get in to what we do, the more you need something that’s clean. Something that’s innocent, that keeps you human.”
When did Eoghan become a philosopher?
I liked him better when he was just an old man planted by the door.
“So what do you have?” I say.
“Something — someone — way better than an old man like me deserves.” Another smile and a rustling chuckle. “I’m a married man, Connor. Have been for twenty-six years and three months.”
He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and flips it open. Inside, there’s a folded picture of Eoghan and a woman at least ten years younger than him. She has eyes as green as the hills in springtime and a smile that’s so bright it almost hurts to look at. She’s stunning.
Though what really draws my eye is how happy Eoghan looks. It’s like I’m seeing an entirely different person.
“That’s my Rosalyn,” he says. There’s pride and warmth in his voice like I’ve never heard before.
It’s weird, seeing him this way. His brow isn’t furrowed and he doesn’t look like he’s about to kill someone.
This is a big secret to spring on someone. Especially on a night like tonight.
“Why haven’t I met her, man? Hell, why haven’t I at least heard of her before tonight? I don’t know whether to feel offended, or impressed that an old man like yourself could pull a beautiful woman like her.”
He laughs. It sounds strange, but then, I’ve never heard him laugh before, either. Not like this.
“She’s met Lochlan and Lily, but that’s it. I’d never bring her around you boys because I know at some point, I’d have to break your hands for getting a little too friendly. Then I’d never hear the end of your bitching.”
“So, you’re saying I need to find myself a hot piece of ass and settle down? Does your wife have a sister?”
Grinning, he punches me in the arm. Hard. Hard enough that I can’t tell whether he’s kidding around, or whether I need to dial it back before he tries to kill me.
“What I’m saying, you little shit, is find yourself someone or something that reminds you of the good man you are, even when you might feel like you belong in the gutter. I’m a MacCailin man, through and through but, when I’m with my Rosalyn, I’m Eoghan Flaherty and there isn’t nothing on God’s green earth that her love can’t fix.”
Well, color me impressed. Eoghan’s in love.
I still can’t picture it.
But it helps clear some things up for me. And reinforce what I’ve started to decide for myself. I need to do what it takes to keep Evelyn around.
I shake his hand.
“Thanks, Eoghan,” I say.
He pats me on the shoulder. “No problem, kid. You go home, I’ll clean up here.”
His words really start to sink in, make me think.
I’m a killer, a murderer, but it’s always been in a way that I can justify. Gangsters, drug dealers, crooked politicians, they all choose the life they live and the danger they put themselves in.
But tonight some dumb kid just found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time and my family couldn’t stand that he might be a liability.
I’m supposed to protect my family. I’m supposed to do my job. Even when it makes me feel like shit. But I couldn’t do it now.
It tears me up inside.
I know there’s somewhere I need to be.
Someone I need to see.
Her.
There’s a smile on my face. Just a small one. But it’s a fucking miracle, considering how my night’s gone.
I’m going to go find the woman who might just be the one to bring out the good man in me. I’m going to tell her how I feel.
I’m going to make her mine.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Evelyn
I make it back to his place before him.
But not by much.
I’ve barely set my purse down and kicked my shoes off before I feel him coming.
There’s a faint ding from way down the hallway as the elevator opens and every nerve in my body comes alive with excitement.
The door’s shut. I can’t see him, I can’t hear him, but I know it’s him.
Talking with Karen helped put things in perspective for me. I know there are risks in being with Connor. I know it’s dangerous. I know he might be mixed up with people that I don’t care for. But I also know he excites me.
And I know, deep inside me and despite all those nagging doubts, that he’s a good man.
So, when the door opens and he enters the room, smiling and standing tall and with piercing emerald eyes that just zero in on me, I don’t hesitate — I launch myself at him.
Our lips meet and the force of my body presses him back against the door, slamming it shut.
This isn’t a time for stupid greetings or asking about each other’s nights.
I’ve spent the last few hours thinking about him, wanting him, and, based on what I feel stirring in his pants, the bulge pressing against my thigh and the muffled groan echoing through his chest as my tongue explores his mouth and my hips grind against him, he’s done the same thing.
I want him.
My lips leave his, moving across his stubbled cheeks to his ear, where I whisper “I’ve missed you,” before I drop to my knees and work open the button and fly of his pants.
“Fucking hell, lass,” he murmurs as I run my tongue around the head of his cock.
It pulses in my hand, throbbing in time with his heartbeat, pumping with lust, blood filling it until it reaches it’s full, impressive length.
I swallow him. Every thick inch.
I can feel his heartbeat against the back of my throat, his fullness gagging me, his passioned moans driving me to swallow him even deeper.
What Connor does is make me feel alive. He brings a feeling of danger to my life that I never would have expected to love as much as I do. When I’m with him, when I kiss him, when I touch him, my body reacts more powerfully than I’ve ever felt before.
And now I’m going to fuck his brains out.
I slip my hands around his back, grabbing tight to his pants and pulling them down to his ankles.
He moans as I come back for air and take hold of his shaft, stroking it, looking up into his surprised, dilated eyes.
A cocky, crooked smile beams back at me.
“Is this how you say hello? Because I could learn to enjoy this,” he says, his voice getting tight, strained, as I squeeze his cock and pop it into my mouth to give it a good, long suck.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” I say.
“That so?”
I run my tongue from base to tip, stopping to lick around the head of his cock, rolling the dab of precum over my tongue before I swallow.
“I know what you do for a livi
ng isn’t something I’ll come to grips with easily, but I think I’ve got a good grip on you, Connor Halloran,” I say, giving his dick another tight squeeze and making him groan. “And I think I like you. I think you’re a good man who just happens to do some dangerous things. I want you in my life, even when I’m no longer your captive.”
A look flickers across his face, for the briefest moment, and it almost seems pained or doubtful.
Maybe I’m grabbing his cock too hard?
I loosen my grip and stroke him, firm, yet gentle.
That look is gone as quick as it came. And if I have my way, that look will be only thing that comes quickly tonight.
I’m taking my time with him.
“You know the kind of life I live, lass. It’s not always going to be safe. Is that what you want?” His voice is low, deep, rippling with heat and his Irish accent.
“I do. Let me show you.”
I open wide and slide his cock down my throat, holding him there, relishing his moan as I caress him inside my mouth with my tongue.
Connor’s hands claps me around my head, and heat surges through me.
He holds me still at first, and I freeze in anticipation, hoping in some deep, dirty part of me that he’ll fuck my throat until he hits his climax and I’m swallowing every drop of him.
Talking to Karen earlier cleared up a lot of things for me. It made me realize it’s time for me to be ok with being a little bit dirty.
His hands tighten their grip.
Connor pulls me back, pulls me away from his cock. His dick comes out of my mouth with a wet ‘pop’ and I cast my eyes up at him.
I’m almost a bit sad.
I really want to taste him.
He roughly lifts me to my feet.
“Strip.”
That’s a command.
Yes, sir.
Piece by piece, I remove my clothes.
First my top comes off and I toss it away, sending it sailing behind me to land on the floor.
Connor does the same, removing his shirt, giving me a view of his perfectly-toned body. He smiles as I watch him and his hand slides down his abs to take hold of his cock.
Stroking it. “Keep going,” he says.
I toss my bra away. I don’t see where it lands.
I can’t take my eyes off his dick.