Blackness Takes Over & Blackness Awaits

by Karlsson, Norma Jeanne

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is available in print from most online retailers.

  To those that continue to fight when all seems lost.

  Prologue

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Part Two

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Part Three

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Part Four

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Acknowledgements

  The dreary run-down bar is the perfect place to meet. No one will recognize me or expect me to be here. Still, I circled the block five times before parking two blocks away.

  Walking briskly in the crisp autumn air, I constantly check for a tail as I make my way to the bar. You wouldn’t know it was a bar if you weren’t looking for it. It’s just a beaten wooden door like all the others on the face of a long red brick building. I pull the heavy door open, moving through the dingy bar to the back booth hidden from onlookers. There are only five other people in the bar, all drunk to the point of oblivion. A waitress, if you can call her that, comes up to the table and waits silently. Never asking what I would like, just waits. I order a pint of whatever is on tap…I won’t drink a drop. The waitress returns with the pint, remaining silent as she sloshes beer on the table while carelessly plopping it in front of me before retreating again.

  The door to the bar swings open. Here is the man I’ve been waiting for, Mancini. It’s been just over twenty-two years since I’ve seen him in person. He’s aged and worn from his life, but looks more lethal than the kid I once knew. Mancini is a stranger to me now and I must approach this cautiously. He calmly makes his way to the booth, drawing no attention to himself, and slides in front of me as we silently study each other.

  “What have you got for us?” I question Mancini in almost a whisper. I’m outside my depth here and trying desperately not to allow my discontent to shine through the façade. I must control myself. He reaches in his inside jacket pocket and pauses studying my face discriminately. I remain still and allow the scrutiny, knowing I have no choice in the matter. After several painfully slow moments, he pulls a large envelope from his jacket and slides it across the table.

  “I think you’ll be very pleased,” Mancini says in a harsh cutting voice as he leans back stretching his arms wide along the back of the booth.

  I slide a finger under the edge of the seal hoping this will finally put an end to my search. I pull out a newspaper article first. The headline reads: Butch Rossi Granted Retrial. I feel my brow furrow; Butch Rossi is not any of my concern.

  “Read the caption,” he directs.

  Shannon Kelly, Guardian ad Litem for Mia Rossi, makes her way into the courthouse for preliminary hearings.

  I look at the picture above the caption. It’s been so long, could that actually be her? She’s a woman now, not an eight-year-old little girl. She was a precious child, features not unlike those of the woman in the picture. Her face is being shielded by a man, a bodyguard. Why does a family attorney need a bodyguard? I reach back into the envelope pulling out a stack of surveillance photos and a fact sheet (of sorts) listing her personal information: address, phone numbers, facts about friends, and detailed information about her routines. It’s the photos I focus on.

  Her gorgeous green eyes glimmer in the sun as a large man with a huge tattoo across his chest chases her around their living room in one photo. Her wavy auburn hair shines under the lights of a night club as she dances with a dark haired man in the next. Her athletic body is misted with sweat as she races a colossal man for a basketball in another photo. Who are all of these men around her?

  “Yeah, that could be a problem,” Mancini replies to my unasked question.

  “Do you have any information on them?” I ask with a pleasant tone. It’s more pleasant than I’ve spoken to anyone in decades. I know I have to keep up this front to gain what I require.

  “They’ve all lived together since they were teenagers. They’re as dedicated to her as any of my men are to me. What we’re plannin’…need to consider them,” his tone is serious but his posture is still relaxed.

  I go back to the stack of photos. This is her. I know it’s her. Other photos show her with her boyfriend, a huge blond man with strange colored eyes and her bodyguard an equally huge dark and mysterious type. The bodyguard is not unlike the man sitting across from me.

  “What about the boyfriend and bodyguard?” I ask in the same muted tone I’ve been practicing for weeks leading up to this meeting.

  “The bodyguard is a nonissue.” I raise my brow at that statement. How can a bodyguard be a nonissue? “Anyone hired to protect someone is a nonissue. Money changes everything,” Mancini repeats in a growl cautioning me not to question further. I nod understanding how well money can influence the actions of others.

  “The boyfriend is a bit of an unknown. Seems he may have a pregnant girl in Seattle. Still runnin’ checks on that. If he’s screwin’ around on her,” he motions at the photos of Shannon, “he’s a fuckin’ idiot. From what I’ve been told, she’s grown into a woman you do not fuck around on,” Mancini says the last part with a small smirk on his lips. Shannon’s always had a way with men her entire life. Even as a little girl she could wrap any man or boy around her finger with just a smile. That’s why I need a professional team for this job, immune professionals.

  “We need more background on all of these men. I don’t want any surprises. Have you put together a team yet?” I ask Mancini hoping he’ll give an affirmative.

  “Just about. Gotta make sure they’re good with doin’ a job with a woman,” he explains sitting forward resting his forearms on the table.

  “I didn’t know gender would be an issue,” I state trying to force the issue in a civilized manner when all I want to do is call bullshit.

  “Some men aren’t good with it. I need to be sure before we move in,” he states firmly.

  “I’m not requiring anything that’s outside the norm. We need the best for this job and you told me you could make that happen. What do you need to move forward?” Mancini studies my face for a long time before answering.

  “Double the fee and I’ll put my guys together in the next few weeks,” Mancini states. I nod my head in agreement sensing there’s more to the deal. He bows his head glancing at his knuckles before returning his gaze. “We need quick and easy so I’ll pull a crew together that can handle that. Once we’ve got what we n
eed, I decide how this ends.” Mancini’s eyes are cold and intense with this last statement. His reputation for how he ends jobs flashes through my mind. I’d like some say in the matter.

  “This affects you as much as it does me. If there’s an issue with her being a woman…what if your men become weak when it comes to her?” I ask. A bad choice, I realize the moment the words escape my lips. All the work I’ve done to keep the typical me at bay faded to the back with that statement. My first mistake. Mancini leans forward crossing onto my side of the table pushing me to retreat to maintain any personal space.

  “Weakness is a man terrified of an eight-year-old girl,” he seethes. “And don’t begin to remind me how this affects me. I’ll hold up my side of this clusterfuck and you hold yours. My men won’t have an issue with her. Fuckers don’t have souls. I do this job I’ll do it my way and in the end she’s mine to deal with. Now, if you’re waverin’ on my ability, let me straighten that shit out for you. I’m runnin’ this fuckin’ show. You try to come at me or send someone in to do the job behind my back…I’ll take it as a personal insult. You’re aware how I deal with insults right?” His gaze is menacing as he growls.

  I’m convinced. He’ll get this job done. I’m also certain I need to keep my responses in check. I’m normally the one running the show and Mancini is giving orders now.

  “I’m aware of how you deal with insults. It was not my intention to offend or insult you. She has a way with people and I wanted to be sure she won’t affect your men,” I explain. Mistake two.

  “Don’t pretend to understand my men or me. I know you. I don’t understand you, but I know you.” This is a threat. “We’ll get the job done and deal with her as I see fit. My men’ll clean it up. Keep the fuck outta my way and I won’t have to make any visits to Northside.”

  With that Mancini pushes back to his side of the table and spreads his arms across the back of the booth again. He just threatened my children (Northside is where they attend school). I know this and know there’s nothing I can do about it. I knew when I made the decision to find her that I was risking everything. Mancini just reminded me of the weight of those risks.

  “I’m not going to do anything that would endanger my family,” I say quietly.

  “Newsflash, you already have,” he smirks in response. “I’ll get you the rest of the details and keep you in the loop as much as you need to be. Give Katherine my best.” With that he stands up and moves out of the bar as inconspicuously as he entered.

  Mancini threatened my wife with his last statement. I don’t understand this world or the men I’m now dealing with, but I know a threat when I hear it…that was not an idle threat. I glance back down at the photographs choosing the one where Shannon’s smiling looking directly into the camera secretly capturing her radiance. I feel the slightest ghost of a grin play at the corners of my mouth. If only she knew…blackness awaits.

  Kavanagh

  I’m going to commit murder. I can feel it in my bones, in my pulse, in each breath I take. I’m pretty sure O’Sullivan, Cal, and Aidan are on board with my plan. Kid went upstairs with Kellerman and twenty minutes later Taylor dropped his bomb. Kellerman got a fucking chick pregnant when he was in Seattle. I don’t know specific dates on when he and Kid became a couple, but I know he was all over her shit and fully warned before he went back to Seattle in October. Yeah, I’m going to commit murder. We have to get Kid out of here before we beat his head in.

  “Make sure Kid’s not in the room for this shit,” I say to whoever’s listening. I get chin lifts in response. O’Sullivan has been cracking his knuckles and pumping his fists since we saw the first picture of Kellerman and that chick. She’s cute…that’s all I can say about her. She’s nothing compared to Kid. Kellerman must be a fucking idiot. The blood is rushing past my eardrums with such force I don’t hear Kid and Kellerman come down the stairs. I’m barely aware of the Army vs. Navy game on the TV. The four of us turn to look at them as Kellerman starts to talk.

  “I beyond fucked up today guys,” Kellerman tries to grovel. “I feel like total shit about it and I can assure you, I’ll never let anything go that far again. I love Kid more than I can even tell you guys and I know you all love her just as much. I meant what I told Kav all those weeks ago. If I hurt her I’d deliver myself to you all willingly. I’m here and I deserve whatever you wanna give me. I was wrong.” I stand up and move toward Kellerman never looking at Kid. Kid keeps her fingers interlaced with his and I want to break everyone of his as they touch her. I won’t do anything to him while she’s here. I won’t put her in the middle like those two pricks did earlier. I can feel Kid’s eyes on me while the guys approach my back.

  “Kid go to the office and talk to Taylor,” I order without looking at her. Kellerman maintains eye contact with me, not in a confrontational way…he doesn’t know what’s coming.

  “Kavy,” Kid warns.

  “Kid, we need Kellerman alone for a few minutes. You need to leave,” O’Sullivan orders her from behind my back.

  “Go ahead Kiddo. I’ll be fine,” Kellerman soothes her. I’m going to break that jaw he’s working.

  Kid turns to walk away, and I relax a little that she isn’t putting up more of a fight. My relief was premature, because she stops and turns back around.

  “Guys, I know this is a man thing that I’m not a part of. But you all are my family…Kel included. He’s my future now too guys. I’m no cake walk to be with, but he’s fightin’ for me like only you guys have. Think about that before you do anything stupid,” she pleads before turning and walking away. She won’t feel that way after she talks to Taylor. I hate that she’ll be hurt, but she deserves to know.

  Once she rounds the corner and I hear the office door shut it takes everything I’ve got in me not to launch at this motherfucker.

  “Pool house,” I growl at him. He nods and moves toward the back door. I can’t risk Kid hearing us so the pool house is the best place to get this done. Once Taylor dropped this shit storm at our feet he told us he’d explain things to Kid while we dealt with Kellerman. I don’t know how long we have, but getting out of the house buys us more time.

  We enter the pool house. It’s one large open space with six oversized beds that house all the brothers when they visit off to the right and an open kitchenette with a large breakfast table to the left. It’s a light airy beach house feel not really the place to maim, but it will have to do. Kellerman goes in first followed by me, the guys trailing. No one says a word. Kellerman stops in the middle of the room. His head is held high, but I can see he’s apprehensive. I’d be scared fucking shitless facing us in a room.

  “We’re gonna kick the livin’ shit outta you,” I inform him in a growl resembling English. “Then you’re gonna pack your shit, get on a plane, and crawl back to Seattle.” His face is calm and collected with the first sentence, strained and confused at the last.

  “What’re you talkin’ about back to Seattle?” Kellerman asks.

  “You think we’re gonna let you stick around and go back and forth? Kid deserves better than that and you fuckin’ know it,” Aidan seethes, moving to my right. Aidan’s a big motherfucker. I’ve never seen him as pissed as he is right now, scary isn’t the right word.

  “Back and forth?” Kellerman repeats.

  “This is not Sesame Street motherfucker. You heard him,” Cal jumps to his brother’s side. Cal can go off the rails but it’s rare. He’s the calmest of our bunch, but he’s hell on wheels when he gets going. O’Sullivan moves to my left and I can feel the fury oozing from every inch of him. He’s a fighter through and through. I have no doubt that he can, and will end Kellerman. Kid’s the soft spot for all of us and we would all gladly sacrifice anything for her.

  “I’m startin’ to feel like I don’t know what’s goin’ on,” Kellerman says as he looks at all our raging expressions.

  “He explained it,” O’Sullivan says motioning to me. “Don’t see the problem.” He’s so furious I’m surpris
ed he can form words much less sentences.

  “I get the ass beating. I put my hands on her and shouldn’t have. I’m down for whatever you four got planned. I’m not fuckin’ leavin’ Kid though. I don’t know what makes you think I would leave her, but I’m stayin’.” Kellerman’s confident as he talks. I have no doubt he’ll take the beating, but he’s not making Kid a stepmom or taking her away from us to Seattle that’s for damn sure. She deserves the world not some slut’s sloppy seconds.

  “Fuck this shit,” O’Sullivan roars and lunges at Kellerman. He lands a brutal right hook along Kellerman’s jaw, snapping his head to the side. Kellerman stumbles but doesn’t go down. O’Sullivan is a man possessed now that he’s started. He grabs Kellerman’s shirt to hold him in place as he repeatedly crushes his face. Kellerman doesn’t fight back.

  “Fight back you pussy!” O’Sullivan screams as he releases Kellerman’s shirt only to connect a left cross splitting the skin below his eye. Stumbling back Kellerman falls to the floor. He’s breathing hard as he stays down.

  “Who’s next?” Kellerman asks without a hint of snark. He’s really going to let the four of us beat his ass. We’ll kill him. He looks done after O’Sullivan; the three of us on top of it is too much. I have to be the voice of reason in the room as I see Aidan making his way toward him.

  “He’s had enough,” I state firmly. Aidan snaps his head back to me with a look of shock on his face.

  “You’re lettin’ him off that easy Kavanagh?” Aidan grumbles.

  “He’s gotta be able to walk through the airport.”