by Zahra Girard
It’s damning stuff.
My article practically writes itself.
I lay it all out. Every last cent in this web of corruption spills onto the page and, when I’m done, I’m left with a story that I’m proud of. A story that will make a difference
At least I can salvage that out of this mess that my life’s become. Imagine the look on Greg’s face when he reads this.
That thought makes me feel a bit better.
I feel vindicated, in a way.
I know that, even though I got close to someone who’s done some truly terrible things, even though I allowed myself to fall for the delusion that I could make it worth with a killer like Connor, I’m back on the right track.
I’m redeeming myself.
I’m taking control of my life again.
I’m not a captive anymore.
I’m making a difference.
That’s what I always wanted. Right?
I load my article into an email and get ready to send it off to my editor, Greg.
He’s going to flip. This is the kind of real journalism that will make him shit his pants and then apologize to me, over and over again.
Suck it, Greg.
I hit send.
As soon as my article goes to press, it’ll just be a matter of time before the MacCailins are rotting in prison.
Reclining back on the couch, I immerse myself in thoughts about how it will all play out.
There’ll be an investigation, for sure. The FBI will be involved, most likely. City hall will probably get cleaned out, their books gone over with a fine-toothed comb and likely other crime families will see themselves facing hefty prison sentences.
I’ve done something good.
It takes me longer than I’d like to admit before I think about the more immediate consequences. I got so wrapped up in getting out there the information that Elliot Meyers died to get to me — and getting revenge on Connor — that I didn’t stop to ask the more pressing questions like what this story will do to my chances to keep on living.
Shit.
Elliot tried to warn me.
Connor tried to warn me, too.
Basically, I just put a big old target right on my forehead.
The MacCailin’s don’t have a light touch when it comes to handling people who threaten their organization. People like me. Hell, I watched firsthand as Connor dealt with Elliot.
I’m in danger.
Anyone around me is now in danger.
I need to run.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Connor
My phone rips me awake.
Groaning, I sit up.
Evelyn Thomson has the appetite of a hellcat. She might look like an angel, but angels don’t behave like that.
My body hurts.
My dick aches.
I think it’s empty.
How the fuck does that happen?
She, great reporter that she is, has me asking the hard questions, like: is it possible to cum so much your dick stops working?
Sunlight’s beaming through the window, shining down on my bed and the empty space beside me.
Huh, she must be up already.
Though I don’t hear any noise from the living room, and I don’t smell coffee. Which is just insane, considering how late we were up last night, and the fact that she’s probably hung over as shit right now.
Though it’s nothing a little colcannon, eggs, and bacon can’t fix.
I answer my phone.
I don’t even have a chance to speak.
“Get over here. Now.”
Lochlan’s voice makes my blood run cold.
“What happened?”
“No questions. Just do it.”
The line goes dead.
This is too fucking much to wake up to.
I throw on some clothes, run my hands through my hair so it looks intentionally messed-up instead of like I’m some lazy shite who slept half the morning away, and pour myself a glass of whiskey.
I chew some coffee grounds, chase it with the brown liquor, and get my ass on the road. When Lochlan calls, it doesn’t matter if you’re balls deep in a Victoria’s Secret model, you come.
Like always, Eoghan’s planted in his usual spot in the doorway of the Kilkenny Rose.
He looks concerned.
“Hells broken loose, boy,” he says, putting his hand on my shoulder and holding me still as I try to barrel past him. “Be careful in there.”
That stops me.
“What’s wrong?”
There’s nothing about this morning that I like so far. I’m dizzy. Just a few hours ago, I was having dirty, emotional sex with a woman who’s reached inside me and touched a part of me I never knew I had. And now, I’m answering the call of a furious Lochlan MacCailin. A call that can only mean one thing: someone is going to die an ugly death.
Easy enough to say, every hair on my Irish body — from the back of my neck to my blarney-stone-kissing ass — is at attention.
“Somebody talked.”
I take a step back.
“Bull shit.”
Eoghan leans in, his voice low. “Lochlan and I still keep a few friends in the newspaper business, from way back when newspapers used to mean something. The Boston Times just got a scoop about us, about our family.”
It takes everything I have to keep wrangle my nerves under control.
There’s only one person who could’ve had that scoop. Evelyn.
My mind can’t process why could betray me like that. I can’t afford to even try to think about it. This is bad.
I have to keep my cool so I can keep myself alive.
Right now, I’m stepping in to a nest of vipers and it’s going to take everything I got just to make it out of here alive.
Eoghan reads my twisted mug like a book.
“I’m gonna tell you this cause you’re a good kid, Connor, but Lochlan and Liam are both hunting for answers. Liam’s on the warpath, especially. So even though I covered for you last night, taking care of that college kid for you, this is a mess that I can’t clean up alone. Your family may need you to do a fair bit of killing before this is all over. You understand me?”
“I’m in this as much as anyone, Eoghan,” I say, surprising myself with how level I sound.
Nodding, he looks like he buys it.
Inside, broken glass is everywhere. The shattered remains of pint glasses lie in heaps throughout the room. Spilled beer pools at the base of the bar, and an empty bottle of whiskey lies tipped over on the pool table. Clustered around it, Lochlan, Liam, and Davin stand at odds, shouting at one another. They don’t notice me.
Riley sits over by the bar. I join him, helping myself to a glass of peaty scotch to cool my nerves.
“Morning, brother,” he says, voice slurring.
“Morning,” I say, finishing half my glass in one gulp. There’s a long way to go before I’ve caught up to him.
“Here to join the fun?”
Nothing here is fun.
Looking back over my shoulder, I take a minute to marvel at the sight. Their words might be inaudible — just a screaming, obscenity-laden tirade — but it’s obvious what’s happening. It’s more than just a spirited argument.
Liam and Davin sure have balls, I’ll give them that.
No one talks to Lochlan that way.
“What the fuck is happening, Riley?”
Refilling his glass, he gives me a wry smile. “Dad and Liam have a difference of opinion about how to handle the leak.”
“Yeah, I get that. I’m not blind.”
“Dad thinks it’s enough to bury the story and take care of this reporter. Which sounds like something right up your alley, Connor.”
“How so?”
“Eoghan got a bit of info about her. Some young lass: Evelyn Thomson. Works for The Boston Times. She’s the type you’d go for, too: she’s female and breathing.”
My Whiskey Gal’s a lot more than that.
Even now
, my cock stiffens thinking about her curves.
Even now, there’s a part of me that cares for her.
Even now.
“What about Liam?”
Just mentioning that asshat is enough to work like an anti-viagra and tame the erection that’s growing in my pants.
Well, that and the feeling of backstabbing betrayal that leaves a taste like charcoal in my mouth.
She really did it. This is really happening. I trusted her, I saved her life, I risked so much to keep her safe, and she fucked me. Well and truly fucked me.
So why is it I still care about her?
Riley swirls the whiskey in his glass and stares into the whirlpool. “Liam thinks dad’s being too soft. He thinks we need to send a message. This Evelyn gal’s going to suffer, and so is her family and anyone that might have even heard about this story.”
“Seems a wee bit reckless to me,” I say.
This conversation calls for another drink.
Riley nods. “Dad thinks the same. And since when have you known him not to murder anyone who would wrong us? But Liam and Davin are both pretty set. This will be messy.”
Behind us, there’s a commotion and I turn just in time to see Davin take a swing at Lochlan. The old man ducks it and has his gun out before I can even blink. A second later, the door slams as Eoghan bursts in, his pistol out as well and trained on Liam and Davin.
“Calm down, you little shits,” he growls.
The two younger men freeze in place.
Riley and I watch, stunned, as Lochlan steps right up to Liam and cracks him across the face with the butt of his pistol. Three times he brings the cold steel crashing into his son’s face, until Liam’s nose resembles a broken spigot, spurting blood all over the wood floor.
On the third strike, Liam crumples to his knees.
Lochlan turns to Davin and delivers the same brutal, bloody beating as he did on his eldest son.
“You two fucking cunts have my blood flowing in you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t gut you right here. This is my family. And until my corpse is cold in the ground, you will fucking listen to me.”
His voice echoes like thunder in the still silence of the bar.
Then, he turns his eyes to me.
“Connor.”
That and a quick crook of his hand is all it takes to have me on my feet, unthinkingly following him to his back office.
The door shuts behind us.
“Sit.”
Without hesitation, I sit my ass down in the chair.
My mind is racing almost as fast as my heart is thudding in my chest. All I can think about is that Lochlan is probably going to send me to kill Evelyn. What the fuck will I do, then?
She betrayed me. She betrayed my family. But can I really kill her?
No, I can’t.
Unblinking eyes take hold of mine, wresting my thoughts back to the present.
His voice is blood-chilling. “Tell me why you lied.”
Those words coat me, like a thick, venomous slime. I’m tainted, now. Lochlan knows I’m a traitor. I’m as close to death as I’ve ever been, and one wrong move will lead to me finding out how it feels to be a maggot-ridden corpse in a drainage culvert.
I don’t want that.
“What are you talking about?”
He points his gun at me, the muzzle aiming just barely to the right of my face.
Three times, he pulls the trigger.
Three times, bullets explode just past my ear to bury themselves in the wall of his office.
Three times, the concussive bang makes me flinch.
“I lifted you out of that shithole pub and I treated you like a son. I made you rich. I made you powerful. And this is how you treat me? This is what you do to your family?”
There’s pain in his voice like I’ve never heard before; rage like I never want to hear again.
“I didn’t—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence. Lochlan won’t allow it.
Another bullet rips by my face and scatters my words like the wind.
“I’ll be damned if I let you lie to me again. I heard from Ryan’s mother that you’ve got a new girl, and her description just so happens to match up to this reporter’s. Do you think I’ll let you destroy everything I’ve built just for some pussy?”
She’s more than that. Isn’t she?
Then why would she do this to me?
I barely open my mouth before, with the pull of a trigger, he shuts me up. Wooden shrapnel from the wall behind me peppers the back of my neck.
“She betrayed you. She lied to you. She’s chose to do this, and now, you’re going to wind up in prison or dead. But you can still make this right. It’s not too late. Tell me where she is, son.”
Every option cycles through my head. There aren’t many. I can fight him — and die — or tell him what I know about the woman who betrayed me.
It’s clear.
She made her choice.
She can live with the consequences.
“Fine,” I say.
He holsters his gun and I tell Lochlan where she lives; I tell him about her best friend and the upcoming wedding; I tell him everything I remember that might be useful.
As I go on, I even see a ghost of a smile on his face.
When I finish, he extends his hand and helps me stand.
“You’ve made the right choice.”
I’ve saved myself, but Evelyn Thomson is as good as dead.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Connor
They leave me with Eoghan while they tear out of the bar on a hunt. It’s only going to be a matter of time before they find her.
It’ll be a long time after that before she’s dead.
They’ll take their time. Make it nasty. Gruesome. It’ll take dental records to identify her.
I sit on a stool at the bar, lost in my head. Thinking about Evelyn, about how and why she would betray me, about how I could be so blind.
What would have made her do this?
I want to know what happened to make her act this way. Was this her game all along? Or did something change? Were the things between us real?
Eoghan sits in the doorway on a rickety old chair that’s probably as old as I am. Gun trained on me, he’s still and almost looks like he’s about to drift off to sleep.
Even so, I know if I make any sudden move, he’ll shoot me without a second thought.
“It’s a proper mess you’ve made, kid,” he says, after a time.
It’s jarring. Neither of us have spoken for at least half an hour. Hell, he’s practically been a statue this whole time.
I turn around in my stool.
“I didn’t want any of this. I just couldn’t pull the trigger on her. I thought I could take care of it another way,” I say.
He shrugs. “Seems to me, when you get a job to do, you do it. Saves you a lot of fucking trouble.”
Like it’s as simple as that.
Usually, it is.
Point. Shoot. Repeat.
But now?
I’m cut-up inside. Reeling. My head is still spinning like an out-of-control gyroscope from everything that’s happened since last night. Somehow, I manage a laugh.
“Don’t I know it? But I seem to remember a wise old man telling me that I should find that someone or something that makes me feel like I’m more than just a killer. That I should cling to her like my life depends on it.”
Eoghan leaves his seat. Slowly, deliberately, he comes to the bar. He grabs two pint glasses and fills them with some beer that’s so black it seems to drink up the light in the room.
One goes to me. It’s thick, rich, and has a foamy head that reminds me of the fog that rolls in from the bay.
We both take a second to appreciate our beer. Because, even in the middle of this fucked-up situation, it’s the right thing to do. We are Irish, after all.
“You saying that’s her?”
I nod. “Might be that it is.”
Cluck
ing his tongue, like he’s my long-lost grandmother or some shit, he gives me a pointed look. “If she were that person, would she really have done what she did? Would she really have tried to take you down? Or the family? I doubt it. I reckon it’ve been smarter just to kill her.”
Even now, as I imagine myself back in that bar, watching Evelyn talk with Elliot, knowing that I should kill them both, I can’t picture it. I can’t do it. I can’t hurt Evelyn.
I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
Eoghan does that thing where he looks at me and seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. It’s fucking creepy is what it is.
His eyes narrow. “You love this girl?”
It sounds so strange, hearing that word out loud.
Love.
It’s one thing to say it in the heat of the moment, when your dick is hard and there’s a beautiful, naked woman right next to you and all you can think about is how fucking amazing it feels to be inside her.
It’s another all together to really sit and think and deliberately state that you love someone.
Especially when the person you’re talking to is a grizzled old killer who’s pointing a high caliber pistol right at your face.
Even so, I know my answer.
“I did. Fucking hell, I still do,” There isn’t an ounce of hesitation in my voice.
Fuck me, I’m thinking about betraying my family for her. Even more than I already have.
I just don’t know how to not fuck up my life.
At least it makes things interesting.
“Best to let her go, kid. Lochlan’s going to put everyone on finding her. Not just his sons, but every gun we’ve got. You need to it’s over. And understand that this is the best way. Anything else is going to put you in prison, or get you killed, and ruin a whole lot of other lives as well.”
I know it’s true. He’s right. Still, I refuse to believe it and Eoghan can see it. He keeps talking.
“You need to do what’s right for the people that’ve stood by you all these years. You’re still a part of this family, even now. Given time, they’ll forgive you.”
I raise my glass and let thick-as-an-oil-slick stout slide down my throat. I wish I could just drown myself in this glass.
I’ve got to accept it. She’s dead. She brought this on herself. She used me, and now she’s going to have to face the consequences.