by Vi Carter
RECKLESS
(PREQUEL)
BY VI CARTER
Other Books by VI CARTER
A BROKEN HEART SERIES
SAVING GRACE
CLAIMING AMBER
TAKING LAURA
WILD IRISH SERIES
RECKLESS (PREQUEL)
VICIOUS #1
RUTHLESS #2
FEARLESS #3
MERCILESS #4
HEARTLESS #5
Chapter One
Michael O’Reagan
“Hand over the bag you little shit.”
The rough material embeds itself into my hand as I clench my fist around the sack. It wasn’t just a sack; it was full of Malone’s money. He trusted me every night to pick it up from behind Duff’s gate and deliver it to Chambers pub. To go to him without the sack, would simply mean … death. Handing it over wasn’t an option.
The moon glints off the sharp edges of the man’s face who moves closer to me. The tweed jacket he’s wearing is two sizes too big.
“You know whose money this is?” I ask pushing down my fear. But it seems to have lodged itself in my throat. I was scrawny for a fourteen-year-old, but I was loyal and mostly I went unnoticed. But not tonight. The other man steps out of the shadows, the moon reflects off a knife in his hand. A toothy grin on his face has me gripping the bag tighter.
“We know who owns it kid.” The guy with the knife says. He’s dressed in rags. A coal man’s black jacket and the markings on his face, showing his desperation as it sinks into his bony fingers that he tightens on the knife.
“He’ll kill us all.” I admit the truth. It’s always better to stay as close to the truth as possible. Lies had a way of making everything worse.
A bark of a smokers laugh comes from the unarmed man who has slipped even closer to me. “He will only kill you kid. He won’t know we took it.”
The knife catches the moon as the other man strikes but I jump to the left and into the solid wall landing onto the ground.
“He’s only a skinny kid.” The armed man lowers his knife and waves it at the ground, the smirk he wears slowly slides off his face as he nods to his friend who moves towards me. His large hand grips the sack, and he pulls like I’ll just release it.
“Let it go kid.” He shakes it like I might fall off the end but I hold on to it for dear life, because it is the weight of my life.
“Hurry Gerard.” His friend is losing patience. He shakes me again but I close my eyes as I grip the bag even tighter.
Pain explodes in the side of my head sending a swell of darkness through me. Sound is muffled as I open my eyes and try to focus as bare knuckles fill my vision. I close my eyes as his fist impact’s with my jaw, my teeth rattle in my head and copper fills my mouth. Opening my eyes quickly this time I see the other man approach.
“You little bollocks let the bag go.” The knife is out and this time he means business. I pull the sack deeper into my aching stomach. My face feels like it’s caved in on itself.
I’m looking at a large puddle behind the men’s feet, it’s still form ripples. Black shoes that I know if it was the day time I would see my reflection in. The camel coat flicks out close to the ankles. My attackers stand and turn as I pull the sack closer to me.
“You okay boy?” I want to be like Mr. Malone when I grow up. The two men shake as three of Malone’s men fan out behind him. I’m smiling allowing some blood to pour between my teeth.
“I’m fine, Mr. Malone.” I manage to say and he grins at me making me smile until my jaw aches.
“You are trying to rob from me?” His voice is filled with violence his grin sheds as he stares at my attackers.
“No sir.” The one in the tweed lies. He should have told the truth maybe he could have saved himself. Mr. Malone removes a pistol from his coat, his fingers gloved in black leather.
“Have you ever killed anyone boy?” It takes me a moment to understand that Mr. Malone is talking to me. I use the rough stone behind me to stand while still clutching the sack.
“No, No, Mr. Malone.” He nods and for a moment I think he is going to hand me the power. The gun fires. The sound louder than I anticipated. The sack hits the ground hard, along with the man in the tweed jacket. Smoke still rises from the hole in his chest.
“Mr Malone. I’m sorry…” The useless words tumble from the other man’s mouth as the gun fires again. I’m a bit more prepared this time as I stare at the two dead bodies while retrieving the sack. I can’t take my eyes off the blood that trails onto the ground and flows through the cracks of the street. The moon light almost making it look silver. But I can smell the blood.
“Go home boy.” Mr Malone’s words release me from the hold the blood had taken over me. I’m nodding getting ready to leave. The sack is still clutched in my hand.
“Your money, Mr. Malone.” I reach out the sack to him and he tilts his head slightly before stepping closer to me.
“You’ve never looked in the sack?” He asks as he replaces the pistol in its holder. Once his camel coat is covering his black suit again, he looks at me. Silver eyes that squeeze my heart hold my stare.
“No, Mr. Malone.”
“Open it.” He flicks his chin out towards the bag and fear skitters down my spine. His men watch with amusement and something tells me not to open the bag, that opening it will change everything.
I reach my hand in and touch paper. Pulling it out my eyes grow wide and I don’t understand.
“It’s newspaper,” I say as my face reddens.
“It’s always newspaper.” The men around Mr. Malone skitter but stop as he raises a gloved hand.
“Trust must be earned. It’s never given. You understand boy?”
I’m nodding even as my body shakes. I nearly died for newspaper.
“Go home boy. The real work starts tomorrow.” I look at the other men before returning my gaze to Mr. Malone.
“You are one of the crew now.” He grins and I’m mirroring him.
“Really?” Me? One of his crew.
“Really kid. Now go home.” I’m nodding and smiling as I walk away. I was one of his crew. I felt ten feet tall as I raced the rest of the way home. My aching face or broken teeth couldn’t stop the excitement that coursed through me.
Chapter Two
Margret Hegarty
(Ten Years Later)
There are some things in this world that are forbidden. Like my mother’s apple tart. The only day we are allowed some is a Sunday. Prayers before bed are a must, and to be seen with any of the O’Reagan’s or his crew was the deepest sin of all.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I watch Michael O’Reagan. He normally doesn’t show up to things like the Monalty fair but this year he’s here. Everyone gives him a wide birth. His grey suit stands out against the sea of black and brown clothing. Pushing a lock of brown hair behind my ear I take in a breath as he gets closer. I try not to chew on my lip or twitch as I stand taller behind my meagre stall.
My gaze slides to the seats behind me that my mother and father had vacated only moments ago. Saying they were taking a brief walk. I knew it would be brief.
“Would you like to buy some fresh brown bread?” It was bold of me. His blue eyes slide towards me and I keep my feet planted firmly on the ground as Michael O’ Reagan walks over to my stall. One hand in his trousers pocket like he owns the show. Maybe he actually does.
My heart skips too many beats making my head grow light. I let my hand flutter to the stall top as Michael stops at the edge of it. He doesn’t look at the brown bread or my mother’s famous apple tarts, his eyes slide across me and my cheeks heat.
“Is it really fresh?” He asks and I blink rapidly.
“The brown bread?” My m
ind is still trying to process how close I am to Michael O’Reagan.
A slow grin tugs at his lips but doesn’t fully form.
“Of course the brown bread.”
I roll my eyes feeling stupid and this time his grin spreads across his handsome face. Something shifts in my chest and I mirror his smile. I can’t stop it.
“I’ll take three.” His voice is deep and raspy and I inhale deeply while still holding my smile.
I’m on auto pilot gathering the three pans of brown bread that my mother and I baked this morning.
“I’m Margret,” I say while trying to keep the quiver in my voice at bay.
“I know who you are.” His raspy words send a shiver through my body. I wanted to ask how did he know me, but he looks away and takes out his wallet. A crisp five pound note is held between long fingers.
“It’s seventy five pennies.” My cheeks heat knowing I couldn’t give him change back. We didn’t make that much today if we did it would mean an empty stall and a very successful day.
“Keep the change.” He doesn’t miss a beat as he places the leather brown wallet back into his jacket pocket.
I don’t know what to say. Panic tears through me as my parents arrive back at the stall. My father takes one look at Mr O’Reagan and I know he’s going to do something appalling.
He pulls back the three pans of brown bread. “We’re all sold out.”
I close my eyes briefly. “Father,” I plead. One look tells me to be silent. His white long beard is wiry as he is. My mother takes her place beside me.
“You can keep your money.”
I die a little more and glance up to find Michael watching me. My chest rises and falls rapidly as shame at my father’s behavior scorches my cheeks.
“Would you like to go for dinner, Margret?” My mouth gapes. I’m not sure if I like how brazen he’s being or not.
My father’s laugh is bitter and short lived. “My daughter.” Michael clenches his fists the movement we all see including my mother who steps toward Father.
“David. Please. Let’s pack up and go home.” My mother almost whispers.
“Be quiet woman,” My father doesn’t even look away from Michael. “No she doesn’t.” My father answers for me.
“I was talking to Margret.” My heart slams rapidly against my ribcage as Michael’s blue eyes intensify on me.
“Yes,” I say it as my father turns to me with thunder in his hard brown eyes.
Rain starts to fall from the sky and people run for cover.
“David lets go,” My mother tries again to reason with him but he won’t look away from me. I see so much in my father’s eyes. The worst is the disappointment.
“He’s a man now because he has money, but once it’s all gone. He will only be a boy.”
I flicker my gaze at Michael hoping he hadn’t heard my father’s insult, but he had. The hardness in his jaw tells me whatever small amount of restraint he’s holding onto is slowly slipping.
My mother grabs some apple tarts and starts to place them in the back of the car.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight.” Michael’s words are said through clipped lips and he turns to leave.
“Over my dead body.” My father counteracts. I see the brief pause in Michael’s stance even as the rain starts to pour down.
“Is that really your wish?” The blood drains into my shoes at Michael’s words. He leaves and fear has me shaking. My father grips my arm tearing my gaze away from Michael.
“Have you lost your mind?” My father’s wrath scared me but nothing like what Michael’s threat did to me. Breaking free from my father’s grasp I run after Michael. He turns before I reach him as my father growls my name loudly.
“Please don’t hurt him,” I beg as the rain pounds down onto the field. Most people have gotten under cover, the ones who haven’t still run for some, unlike me and Michael. I’m soaked through but I need to make sure he wouldn’t really hurt my father. Michael doesn’t answer me but glares over my shoulder as my father continues to shout my name.
“Please.” He finally looks at me and his face softens.
“I won’t.”
The relief has my shoulders sagging as I step away from Michael.
“I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Margret Hegarty.” I’m smiling as I turn away but the smile slips as my father’s angry brown eyes seem to slice through the rain.
Chapter Three
Michael O’Reagan
I’m lingering along the main street of Monalty. People shuffle past me quickly but I don’t focus on them. I’m waiting for Margret. A curtain upstairs moves aside before falling back quickly. I’m imagining her looking out into the street wondering where I am. I’ve parked across from her house. I haven’t knocked on her door. Glancing at my watch it reads five past eight. No one keeps me waiting. No date has ever kept me waiting, they would be standing outside waiting.
The front door opens and Margret steps out. The dark red dress is daring. Her eyes dart to me and I hold her stunning brown eyes captive. A cream shawl hangs around her petite shoulders. The smile that burns across her face has her dipping her head and tucking a lock of chestnut brown hair behind her ear. Pools of water still linger on the street from an early downpour. I watch as Margret steps out onto the road avoiding each puddle. Her chest rises and falls quickly when she reaches me. The nervous flicker in her eyes has me reaching out my hand. She takes the offering. The heat that radiates from her pulses into my flesh.
“You’re late,” I say.
Her free hand flutters to her chest and she looks ready to apologise but instead she stands a little taller.
“No, Michael O’Reagan. You are.”
I can’t stop the smile that tugs at my lips. “Fair enough, Margret Hegarty.”
Her cheeks heat at her name. She takes one final look at her home before I walk us to my car.
The restaurant owner is waiting to greet us. “Mr O’Reagan.” He holds out his hand which I place my coat and Margret’s shawl in. Her eyes scan the interior. I knew girls like her didn’t come to places like this so I made sure the time she needed was given. I secretly watch her in wonder. Seeing this through her eyes I could see how impressive it was. I just never looked.
Before arriving I had gone through the bookings for tonight and had Mr Loughlin cancel most of them. I wanted Margret to enjoy her experience. The people who now dotted a few tables didn’t stare. But their conversation had taken on a different lull.
“Are you ready, Mr O’Reagan?”
I glance at Margret, the light sparkles in her eyes and the want to kiss her has me focusing on her lush pink lips.
A slow pink fills her cheeks and I know I’m staring.
“Yes, we are ready,” I speak while staring at Margret. Reaching out my hand she takes it and we follow Mr. Loughlin to our table that gives us a view of the whole restaurant yet keeps us hidden from everyone’s eyes.
“This place is incredible.” She’s still looking around but I can’t look away from her.
“You’re beautiful.” The words slip from my lips. Her head whips up and I’m not sure if it’s a look of horror or shock that crosses her face.
Sucking her lip between her teeth she glances again at the table to our left.
“Thank you.” Her smile allows me to see her white teeth. “Your very handsome too, Michael.” The blush in her cheeks has my lips tugging again.
Mr Loughlin arrives to take our orders, and I let Margret order first and mirror hers. I’m not here for the food. I had decided a long time ago that Margret would be mine, so right now I would make that so. I just never pictured her boldness when she stopped me at the fair.
Angry old eyes have me growing serious. “Your father? He let you come?”
The moment I speak of him I can see how tense Margret’s shoulders become.
“No. I snuck out.” She’s not smiling and worry flashes in her eyes.
>
I nod. “He didn’t hurt you yesterday?” I ask.
Her brows drag close together. “My father would never harm me. Never.” The emphasis on the final word has me relaxing slightly.
“When I drop you home, maybe I could have a word with him.”
She’s shaking her head before I even finish the sentence. Covering her hand with mine causes her to jump slightly. My attempts at making this situation better wasn’t working.
I sit back as our first course arrives. Waiting until the waiter slips away and into the shadows of the room, I only speak then.
“Margret.” Her eyes snap to mine and I allow a soft smile to cross my lips. “You have my word it will be fine. Just for me, enjoy tonight.”
She sinks a bit deeper into the chair. “I am enjoying it, Mr O’Reagan.”
“Michael. You can call me Michael.”
A beautiful smile sparkles across her face. “Okay, Michael.” The food comes and goes and I taste a bit of everything but my focus is Margret. She’s beautiful and when she relaxes the conversation flows easily. She does most of the talking but I’m happy to listen to her.
The restaurant empties and I’m aware of the staff lingering waiting for us to finish.
“How does a walk sound?”
Her eager nod has her rising out of her chair. Our jackets are ready and waiting.
The air is cold when we step outside but the rain holds off. Still holding my jacket I don’t put it on but turn to Margret who fidgets with her hands looking unsure. I don’t ask her but step closer, her chest rises and holds as I place my jacket around her shoulders.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
“It was the best night ever.” The wonder on her face again has me stepping closer and taking her face in my hands, like I might be able to capture that wonder and hold on to it.
“It was for me too.” I answer honestly. She wasn’t afraid of me and to have something so beautiful and innocent around me was so foreign that I couldn’t but be in awe of her.