by Nicole Fox
“Excuse me.” I’ve dreamed of his voice for two months, hearing it in the whispering winter wind and the creak of the boiler and the pattering of rain—hearing it in my own dreamy moans. “I’m here to see Mickey MacFarland.”
Those who knew Cor before Mickey killed his father grow quiet instantly, nudging each other and pointing toward the door. The others keep talking until Mickey turns and sees Cor trying to push past the armed guards.
“Let him through!” Mickey roars, pacing into the middle of the room and holding his hands to the ceiling like some kind of preacher. “Let him through, I tell you! Let him through right now!”
The guards step aside, and Cor walks into the room. The first thing I notice is his beard. It’s so wild now it reaches down to his chest, a dark black tangle. Despite the circumstances and the fear, I get the strong urge to run my hand through it. When he looks at me, I see that something has changed in his ice-blue eyes. It’s like he’s trying to tell me, wordlessly, that he cares for me now—really cares for me. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. I want to go to him, but the floor has cleared, everybody stepping aside so that Mickey and Cor can meet. I’m oddly surprised when I see that Mickey is taller than Cor, which is absurd. Of course he is. And yet, in my mind, Cor will always be taller.
“Did you check him for weapons?” Mickey shouts over Cor’s shoulder at the guards.
They nod.
“Okay.” Mickey smiles. I hate those gums. “Cor, why are you here, my sweet cousin? Let me tell you, before you answer, that it can be for only one of two reasons. Either you are here to tell the truth, that I am the Don of this family, or you are here to die.”
Cor pauses, glancing at me and then Moira. After a while, he says, “I’m here to acknowledge you as Don.”
A gasp goes up from my side of the room, where the loyal men stand clustered. “He don’t mean it,” one whispers.
“No fuckin’ way,” another agrees. “Not Cor. Never Cor. He’s usin’ Moira, the bastard.”
“Quiet. He’ll hear you.”
But Mickey is too absorbed in Cor’s words to hear anything. He claps his hands together. “Say it again!” He’s like a kid on Christmas morning who’s discovered he has exactly the present he wanted. “Say it again, Cor!”
“I acknowledge you as Don,” he says, clicking his neck from side to side. He looks more like a man gearing up for a fight than a man submitting. And yet part of me wonders if it might be true. Maybe being out in the cold, alone without a family, has made him hungry to be a part of the life again. Maybe he’s ready to let his father’s death slip. But his next words push that notion aside. “I reckon you’re getting what you deserve, Mickey. Exactly what you deserve.”
I smile to myself, but then I’m suddenly angry. It’s one thing to make thinly veiled threats, but another to carry them out. What is he doing here? Why would he put himself at such stupid risk? I don’t have any misconceptions about Mickey. Maybe Mickey is smiling and playing the magnanimous victor now, but as soon as the party is over, a black bag will be shoved over Cor’s head and he’ll be taken somewhere quiet to be killed. We all will.
“That’s a very nice thing to say,” Mickey says carefully, looking at Cor as though he doesn’t know whether to believe him or not. “And now, let’s party! Let’s party until the early hours of the morning! Turn that music up!”
The light jazz that’s been playing is switched for some pumping, dubstep music that Mickey stamps his feet to, causing the floor to shake and a picture to fall from the wall. All at once, the room erupts into madness, at least on Mickey’s side, his men dragging the prostitutes onto the dance floor and twirling them around. Moira is dancing with one of the men, doing her best to stay as far away from him as possible. Cor makes as though to take her away, but the man pulls his gun and waves it casually in Cor’s direction. I look at the men around me, seeing that none of them have weapons. Mickey has armed his army and disarmed the last Don’s.
Cor approaches me, jaws clenched, nodding to the men, but all of them unwilling to say too much because they can’t trust each other. “Can we talk?” he asks me.
“Sure,” I mutter.
We steal a moment together in the same room Mickey took that photo of Moira and me. The music thumps through the walls, Mickey’s shouting thumping even louder.
“What are you doing here?” I snap at him, anger making me push him in the chest. “Are you an idiot, Cor? Do you really think this is going to save us? Do you really think this plan is going to work, you idiot? He’s just going to kill all three of us when this party is done. He’s a lunatic, Cor. He’s a fucking lunatic!” I stop, panting.
Cor grabs my hands. “It’s okay,” Cor says, massaging my fingers. It feels so good to have him hold me again, even if it was a fool move, him coming here. “I’ll wait for my chance. I’ll make this work. I’ll find a way. I promise you this, Scar, the three of us are getting out of here tonight, no matter what.”
“I still think you’re an idiot for coming here.”
Cor grins at me. “You know what I’ve missed most of all, Scar? I’ve missed you telling me off. How fucked up is that?”
“That’s because you are fucked!” I disentangle my hands and slap him in the chest. “I swear to God, Cor MacKay, if you die tonight I’m going to kill you.”
Cor wraps his arms around me and pushes me up against the door, our bodies hungry for each other after months apart, my heartbeat so fast I can barely think. Suddenly this whole twisted situation melts away and we’re just two people, his cock getting hard and my pussy getting wet, desperate to be together again.
He brings his face close to mine, his beard tickling my lips. “I love you, Scar,” he says. “I need you to know that. Just in case something does happen.”
“You love me?” I ask, shocked. I never thought I’d hear words like that coming from Cor. “Seriously?”
He laughs quietly. “Seriously. Well—is love when you know you’ll do whatever it takes for the rest of your life to keep that person safe? Is love when you think about that person all the damn time until your head starts to ache because you want to be with them so much? Is love when you can’t stand being apart? Is love when you start to feel something when all your life you’ve been cold inside?” He shakes his head, as though surprised by his own words. “If that can count as love, Scar, then I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whisper, feeling tears well up in my eyes. But I won’t cry. Not here. “I love you so—”
The door vibrates with the force of Mickey’s knocking. “Hello, darling!” he roars. His voice is thick with alcohol. “Are you in there? Please do not make me feed Moira her fingernails. That would be very annoying.”
Cor tenses up, but then forces himself to relax. “I need to get Moira somewhere safe for when the violence starts. She’s not like you, Scar. She can’t take care of herself. Come on. Let’s go. We have to play this game awhile longer.”
We step away from the door, allowing Mickey to stomp into the room. When he takes me by the arm, I see the naked hatred in Cor’s face, but somehow, he manages to resist the urge to go crazy.
“You don’t mind if I take my date with me, do you, Cor? Oh, and cousin.” He pats Cor on the back, flashing his gums. “If you want to work your way up to lieutenant, it’ll be a good idea to be loyal—very loyal—because I really respect that. So no more secret meetings with the Don’s date, okay, pup?” He claps Cor on the arm way too hard. Cor winces, but stands his ground. “Good lad.”
I want to look at Cor, to tell him it is okay, but then Mickey is dragging me down the hallway to the ballroom.
Chapter Nineteen
Scarlet
The night whirs on into madness. Mickey drags me to the center of the dancefloor and tosses me around as his men toss their prostitutes around. He twirls me and throws me clumsily, making it so that all I can focus on is not smashing into a wall or somebody else. I see Cor at some point taking Moira by the elbow and l
eading her out of the ballroom, to the bedrooms. He’s probably going to hide her in the furthest one and tell her to wait there. Even as Mickey snakes his hand up the small of my back and brings his whisky-reeking mouth close to my face, I allow myself a small smile. Everybody is too drunk now to notice who’s here and who’s not, as long as they stay on this floor. The waiters have left, glasses of champagne and food scattered and smeared all over the place. It’s like the aftermath of a party, and yet the party is still going.
Mickey backs me into the wall by dancing on my toes, a giant bear of a man stamping on the floor, waving his arms and forcing me into the corner. He looms over me, smiling, eyebrows wriggling up and down as he tries to focus. “You’re a real angel, do you know that? I used to sit alone at lunchtime in school because the other children didn’t understand me. They would call me names. Children are cruel and dislike anything that is different from them. So I would spend a great deal of my time watching the young females and wondering what it would be like to slide my hand up their skirts. My cousin Moira used to let me sometimes. She used to beg for it.”
I know this isn’t true; Moira has told me about her perverted cousin and how he would try and pressure her sexually. But all I can do is stay small in my nook. I see Cor reenter the room, become still for a moment as rage flits across his face, and then nod to me and toward the bedrooms. The message in his ice-blue eyes is clear: get him alone, isolate him, and make him vulnerable. He doesn’t look happy about it, but he also knows that trying to take him out here, with armed men everywhere, won’t work. He’s a professional. He must also see that none of his men have guns.
“Oh, she used to beg,” Mickey goes on as Cor sits down near the hallway, waiting. “She used to beg like a real whore.”
This is it. He’s drunk enough. He’s stupid enough. It’s time to make use of what tools I can. I’m going to enjoy breaking your nose, I think silently, before plastering a flirty smile on my face.
“Who can blame her?” I giggle, then touch his arm, stroking his shoulder.
Cor turns his face away, hands gripping his knees in anger. He glances around the room again, wondering, but there is too much potential death hanging in these men’s holsters. It has to be one on one. “I certainly can’t.” I giggle again. Maybe if I was sitting on my couch watching TV and a woman did what I am doing now, I would say that she shouldn’t need to resort to this. But right now, in the moment, it doesn’t feel like resorting to anything. It feels like weaponizing. If I can turn this man’s lust against him, and if that can save the life of the man I love, why shouldn’t I?
“I’m so bored out here!” The more time I spend on this planet as a woman, the more I am convinced that certain types of men don’t see me at all. They only see what they want to see. When I stamp my foot and wave my arms like a restless little kid, Mickey wipes a line of spittle from his lip. “Shall we go somewhere private?” I giggle again. “Or ...”
“Private, like the bedroom? What a good idea.” He grabs my arm way too hard, digging his fingers in, making it so that my smile shakes. Then he drags me toward the hallway. I signal to Cor with my eyes, and he nods imperceptibly. The music roars on, people dancing, kissing, drinking too much, and throwing glasses at the walls. “This is a great idea, baby.”
Mickey shoves me into the bedroom, to the bed. When it hits me, I feel like an idiot. He’s going to lock the door. I try and go to him before he does, to distract him, but he’s already turned the lock, and now he’s standing over me, a giant of a man, chest heaving. His eyes are the bloodshot, crazed eyes of a man who’s past drunk and into blackout territory—a man who will do anything.
He leans down, lips pursed, meaning to kiss me. The door rattles as Cor tries to open it, and then thumps, but the lock holds fast. Mickey is too drunk to hear it.
“So sweet,” he murmurs, lips almost pressed against mine. “So tender ...”
“Wait.” I take a step back. “Don’t you want me to skip around first, like those mean girls who wouldn’t talk to you in school?”
His perverted face twists into pleasure. “Yes, please. Skip around. Yes. Please.”
“Sit down then, honey. Come on.” Switching places with him, so that he’s nearer the bed and I’m nearer the door, I shove him gently. He takes a step back and drops like a boulder onto the mattress. “Watch me skip.” I do skip, right to the door. By the time Mickey realizes what I’m doing, Cor and I are on him.
My FBI hand-to-hand training drives my anger, propelling me across the room. My fist catches him in the nose, causing it to explode in a shower of blood. Meanwhile, Cor is working his body, throwing his hands at his gut and his chest, roaring in anger. I run to the door and lock it again, just in case some of Mickey’s men hear. When I turn back, Mickey is flat on his back, his arms flailing wildly at Cor’s face. But Cor has his shoulders pinned, making his arms come up short. He head-butts Mickey, breaking his nose again, then digs his thumbs into the fat flesh of Mickey’s throat.
“Take my sister?” He head-butts Mickey a second time. His forehead is stained with blood. “Take the woman I love?” He head-butts Mickey a third time. “Take my fucking father?” The fourth time causes Mickey to go slack, moaning softly as his arms spread out to either side of him. Cor takes Mickey’s gun and cellphone. Shooting off a quick text, he holds the gun to Mickey’s head. “I’ll drag your fucking corpse out there and then everyone will see who the goddamn Don is!”
“Cor, wait.” I touch his shoulder. There’s blood in his beard and sprayed over his cheeks. He looks at me like a man intent on murder. “Don’t kill him. We have evidence on him. I’m guessing you haven’t been idle for the past couple of months, either. I’m guessing you have video, or you’ve talked to people, or something. We can put him away for life. Don’t kill him. We can do this right. And think about it ... if you kill him, what have the FBI got? Nothing. Nothing to show for two months of Irish mob mayhem. But if you let us take him, we can leave you be. It can go back to the way it was, but with you as Don. We can be together.”
“An FBI agent and a Don?” Cor coughs out a laugh. “This ain’t a fairytale, Scar.” He pulls back the hammer on the pistol.
“Cor!” I grip his shoulders, reminding me of the first time I was intimate with him, when he discovered his dad was dead back at The Leprechaun. All this talk of crossing lines, but that was the line back there, the only line that mattered. The line between criminal and human. “Think about this. Think past your anger.”
“You can kill me,” Mickey groans from the floor. “I don’t mind. I’ve never been a very happy person. I don’t think death will be that bad, will it? Darkness, like before you were born? I miss not being born. It was so peaceful.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Cor growls, kicking him in the side. “Try’n rape my woman? Take my sister? Kill my father? Shut the fuck up!” He kicks him again.
“Cor, stop.” I dig my fingernails into his neck, trying to get his attention. “Just think. All killing him solves is your need for revenge. You say you love me? Make it so we can be in love, then!”
Cor stares at Mickey for a long time, a single tear sliding down his cheek into his beard, before closing the hammer on the pistol. “Your dad is on the way,” he says. “With a couple of my guys. We need to take Mickey out there and show these pieces of shit what their boss is really like. But you should stay here, Scar. All it takes is one stray bullet and this ends now.”
I make for the door. “I’m not staying here,” I tell him. “I’m an FBI agent. We’re not in the habit of running away from the danger.”
Cor grins at me. “All right, then. Let’s do this.” He leans down and drags Mickey to his feet, letting out a breath with the effort. “Listen to me, you big bastard, you’re gonna walk right in front of me like this.” Cor places the barrel of the gun to the back of Mickey’s head and wrenches his arm up behind his back. “If you make one move I don’t like, I’m gonna make you eat your own fucking brains.”
; Mickey laughs, swaying on the spot, his face already swollen. “I hope you know that that doesn’t make much sense, cousin. I’m not a scientist or anything like that, but isn’t it the brain the lets a person move their jaw so they can eat food? So if you blew out my brain, I couldn’t be very good at chewing food, I don’t think.” He talks in a drunken, woozy way, and he walks like a hunchback.
“Just fucking move.”
Cor jabs him with the gun, and I open the door, wishing I had a gun of my own. To the right is the ballroom. Moira calls from the left, poking out from the corner that leads to more bedrooms. “Scarlet,” she whispers, looking uncertain. “What’s happening?”