by Shara Azod
Because he had come to need her in a deeper way than he needed his brothers. It had always been Conall, Fionn, Kieran and him against the world. But this woman had proudly walked into his life, head held high, claiming to want to sell her body and shook him to his very soul. He didn’t want to see a day without her, he realized with a start. Couldn’t even take the thought of not touching her, kissing her, watching her make grown men shit their pants with that dead-eye stare better than even Fionn or Conall’s. Shit, she was far better at cutting through the bull of his father’s spies and lackeys. She had this uncanny ability to read people, and the cunning to make them incriminate themselves.
More than anything, to Shannon she was Shay; his Shay. Shannon’s Shay. Shay O’Shea.
Oh, fuck, that was wrong, but the thought made his heart smile. What the fuck was that about?
“It’s time you meet the family,” Shannon heard himself saying.
He could’ve sworn Shay blanched as much as anyone could with rich brown skin. And that was something he didn’t want to see so he glanced away, finding a clean hand towel and two pair of clean sweats. Damn good thing he kept his locker here stocked. Instead of doing a quick wipe-up, he lifted her and walked into the showers with her in his arms. He had no idea where Mickey had gone, but he was certain the other man was close. If he had any home training he would’ve felt bad for fucking her in front of the man, but then, manners had never been on the curriculum when he was growing up. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the last time. The need to have her always rode him too hard—he wasn’t planning on restraining himself anytime soon.
“I don’t think seeing your family is a good idea for me.” She was nervous. Shannon could see it in her face, hear it in her voice.
Hell, he couldn’t blame her. The O’Shea clan had a certain reputation, none of it good. And seeing as how she knew about that rep, she was probably from Boston. Given the knack she had for his various enterprises, she was connected, which meant he really needed to know who she was.
Fuck, this was getting him nowhere. He’d tried to talk himself out of it, but this had to be taken to his brothers. They all had too much at stake to bring in a wild card. Though Shannon trusted her like he trusted his brothers—
Whoa! He trusted her like he trusted one of his brothers! Possibly more. There was an achy spot deep in his chest reserved just for her, and damned if he knew where that came from. Washing and dressing her faster than he’d intended, he picked her up and carried her out of the locker room, not putting her down as Mickey, who had suddenly appeared again, opened the door to let them out. Her shoes were somewhere, but fuck that—he would buy her new ones. He’d buy her a whole fucking wardrobe, as she seemed to have so little.
“To the Irish,” he told Mickey Mountain, as Shay liked to call him.
Taking a shoeless woman swathed in sweats about four sizes too big wasn’t the classiest thing he’d ever done, but who the fuck ever called him classy?
He carried her into the bar, setting her down at the bar.
“Watch her,” he ordered Mickey. He was about to stomp away to find his brothers, but turned back at the last minute. “I like you, Mickey, so don’t touch her, okay?”
“Got it, boss.” Mickey nodded sagely. Odd—usually he would just nod, but this time words accompanied the gesture.
Was the whole world fucking upside down?
The first brother he ran into was Kieran. Of course, he would be here. Rica was here.
“You gotta help me.” Shannon looked back at where Shay sat, resisting the urge to go scoop her up and take her to the nearest bed for a day or five. “That woman—she’s making me crazy.”
Kieran raised a brow, not saying much of anything. That was Kieran sometimes though. As the oldest he always felt the need to make them work through their own problems.
“Look, she is making me… She has me…” Holy fuck, how the hell to describe it? “I can’t think straight and my fucking chest aches. She’s hiding something—she’s running. I have to know what it is so I can kill it and keep her.”
“Calm the fuck down. If you need us we’ll hold the bitch until you’re done, but stop babbling like a fucking moron!” Fionn came up from behind. He hadn’t made a sound but Shannon instinctively knew he was there. Fionn seemed to carry the cold wind of death with him. Maybe a trick of the mind, seeing as how his brother actually enjoyed killing, but Shannon felt it nonetheless.
Maybe Fionn was kidding, but then again maybe not. Probably not. “You touch her and I’ll forget you’re my brother.”
The words surprised Shannon, and he’d spoken them.
“What the ever-loving hell is wrong with you?” he heard Kieran mutter under his breath. He knew the eldest by a whole two weeks was staring at him like he’d lost it. Shit, he had lost it.
Fionn quirked a brow at him. “So what is it exactly you want us to do?”
Little brothers were a pain. Especially when they were right. What the hell did he want them to do?
“Where’s Conall?” Shannon asked, desperate for any kind of wisdom. Not that Conall would any better than Fionn or Kieran.
“He has some issues to straighten out,” Kieran responded cryptically. Shit. Conall had called him about a girl and a witness or some shit. He was supposed to call Shannon if shit got harry, but he never received that call.
“Is he straight?” One thing that they would never do was forsake a brother, no matter what was going on in their lives. If Shannon had to leave Shay with Fionn—scratch that, with Kieran—he would. Fionn might take it into his head to get answers. And Fionn wasn’t always right in the head.
“He’s good,” Kieran confirmed. “Look, just talk to her or whatever. Females like that shit—at least Rica does.”
“I read in Cosmo that communication is the thing women crave the most in relationships.”
Shannon and Kieran both turned to gape at Fionn. Cosmo? What the--
“Has he hit his head or something?” Shannon asked his Irish twin, still staring at their younger brother.
There really was something different about Fionn. In fact, there had been since he’d asked him to kidnap that girl…what the fuck was her name? Anyway, Fionn had seemed to have the situation in hand, so Shannon hadn’t pressed. Maybe the chick busted him upside the head while he was taking her.
“He’s Fionn.” Kieran shrugged. “And I don’t want to know. Getting inside his head makes me tired. Go—talk to your woman. Communicate or something.”
“Yeah, I think I will.” Shannon stomped back over to Shay, picked her up, and carried her out of the bar.
He didn’t let her go even after they were in the car. Somehow, some way, he had to get to know what was behind the shadows in her eyes. This woman made him feel things he had never even dreamed about feeling before. He couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t allow for anything to threaten her or the life they would build. Simply put, she was perfect for him. She didn’t flinch at the things that had to be done, didn’t beg for the lives of those who didn’t deserve to live. More than anything, she never once tried to change him. When he fought, she simply waited for him to finish. Hell, the woman round-housed Magda Magpie in the mother-fucking face. How could he not fall for her?
Maybe Fionn was right. It was weird as shit to hear the hardened killer say he read Cosmo, but maybe there was something to it. Looked like he was about to do some communicating. Shit, when the fuck had he ever tried communicating with a woman? Never. This was going to hurt, probably.
“My brothers and I were raised by a bastard of a man—Danny Boy Sullivan,” he heard himself speak into the otherwise silent car. “He was our…our da’s right hand. A drunk, a sadistic bastard. The man tortured us, starved us, beat the shit out of us, all on Old Man O’Shea’s orders.” Shay didn’t speak, but he knew he had her full attention. He could feel her gaze on his face, but he couldn’t look down. Not until he got it all out. “Da wanted us to be at each other’s throats, to fight for supremacy. Me and Fi
onn’s ma hasn’t been seen for years. We may never know what happened to her. Kieran and Conall’s ma was driven to an early grave by that bastard. I don’t know which is worse—being his mistress like my mother or being married to Satan himself like Kieran and Conall’s mother.” Shit, that was harder to say out loud than he could’ve ever imagined. He thought all those feelings had long since ceased to move him. “Since we’ve all finished schooling or whatever, we have been gradually taking over his business interests, legit and otherwise. One day soon, we will kill him, the man that was supposed to be our father.”
“And Danny Boy.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement spoken clearly in a soft, sweet voice.
That sealed it. She was going nowhere.
“Shay, baby, I will kill whatever you’re running from, human or not,” he swore to her, lifting her head with a finger, forcing her to meet his fierce gaze. “You belong to me, and I protect what’s mine. As long as I draw breath, I will destroy anything that dares threaten you. But I need to know who you really are, sweetheart.”
Shay parted those lush lips, perhaps to finally tell him what he needed to know, but Shannon found himself stopping her. “Wait. There is something I want to show you. Then you can decide whether or not you want to tell me.” Shit, he was really doing this. Besides his brothers, only Mickey knew about the place he was taking her to now. It was a vulnerability he couldn’t afford to let the world know about. And he was taking her there. Couldn’t wait for her to see it.
As the car rolled to a stop in front of a massive brownstone building just inside the Lynn city border, Shannon actually felt his heart leap to his throat. What the fuck was this? He was scared? Of what? For some reason, this mattered. It mattered a hell of a lot more than whether or not he ever made it out of the ring alive, or whether or not someone put a bullet in his dome. Shay’s reaction—shit, that meant everything.
He was actually shaking as he carried her through the door of the converted former apartment building. Outside the place kinda looked like shit, but inside, Shannon had spared no expense. Everything was top of the line, completely redone. A tall, brutish-looking man rushed forward, his battered face wreathed in smiles.
“Mr. O’Shea! ’Tis good to see ya. I’m afraid the boys are already in bed.” Eamon McBride had been an up-and-coming boxer from Ireland, until Paddy O’Shea ruined his career. The old man had set Eamon up, planting evidence the man had thrown a sanctioned fight, simply because Eamon had refused to do just that. When Eamon had tried to fight the charges, Paddy had him jumped, causing injuries that ensured Eamon would never get in the ring again.
But Eamon had a rare gift; street kids listened to him. Maybe it was because of his tough exterior, or maybe it was his never-ending patience, but for some reason, kids who lived the majority of their young lives surviving on their wits alone flocked to Eamon. That made him the perfect person to run Home, the undercover orphanage Shannon founded to give kids like his brothers and himself a safe place to grow up. Everything they needed was right here on site—school, doctors, new clothes and shoes every six months. Records were often forged or bribed to make sure the boys received their diplomas; those who wanted college got a full ride as long as they kept up the grades. It was Shannon’s greatest accomplishment—one he would die to protect.
Now he was sharing it with her, with Shay.
He carried her through a hushed tour of the place more because he didn’t want to put her down than anything else. Eamon was by their side every step of the way, ready to answer any questions. And the thing was, she had questions. Lots of them. But none of them were “Why are you doing this?” or anything like that. She asked questions about their diet, their equipment, the curriculum, fucking outdoor activities. She seemed to know a shit ton about running the school portion too. Who the hell was this woman?
“Eamon, Mickey—can you give us a moment?” Shay asked softly after they went through the last room on the impromptu tour, a classroom.
Shannon didn’t set her down until after the two men had left.
“What is it, love?” he asked. Fuck. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought her here. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He had no freaking idea what she was going to say. But it mattered. Shit, it mattered so damn much!
“My name is Shay…” Shannon moaned, his chest feeling like it had been punctured with a dull spike. Was she ever going to trust— “My real name, Shannon, really is Shay. LaShay, really. LaShay Reid. My brother Jesse—”
“Ran Mattapan until he was set up by his number two and killed by a crooked copper,” Shannon supplied, stunned.
Of course, it all made sense now. Word on the street was the crazy fucker who’d betrayed his boss had an insane bounty on Jesse’s sister’s head, but no one seemed too interested in collecting. Jean-Paul Henry was not well liked because of what he’d done to Jesse. The rumor was the man had betrayed his oldest friend to get at Jesse’s sister. No one was going to trust him after that. The empire he sought to split with Junior Toussaint, the police detective that he’d sold Jesse out to, was in turmoil. Junior could never hope to hold it without street gangs doing the dirty work for him, and no one wanted any part of the duo. The toughest and most loyal seemed to be leaning towards D’Andre Carter to take Jesse’s place. He, after all, had been loyal. He was also the one Shannon had been dealing with in a combined effort to control their perspective areas and lower the rates of addiction. Junkies you would have with you always, but it could be controlled.
“Yeah, that was my brother.” A single tear traced down her cheek, causing Shannon to ache something horrible. And he thought he had hurt before! Seeing her pain—God, nothing on earth could feel worse than this. He couldn’t kill the memory that made her hurt. But by God he was damn sure going to kill the bastard that caused it. Both of them. “I ran a school there, in Mattapan. My brother funded it. But after he was killed…” Suddenly those sad eyes turned fierce. “I will never lay down with Jean-Paul. I would rather sell my body than have him touch it. That’s why I applied for the position at one of your brothels. It was the last place they’d look for me.”
Shannon nodded absently. He could see that. And he didn’t blame her at all.
“No more running, Shay.” How ironic he had dubbed her with her real name. Shay O’Shea. His brothers were going to have a field day with that, but oh fucking well. That would be her name, damn it. But first, he had some assholes to kill.
Chapter Eight
Shay heard Shannon talking to Mickey, and on the phone with his brother. Mickey had told her he knew D’Andre, but he hadn’t told her Shannon had already been working for him. Shay had to admit she was kind of glad, but more than a little antsy at the current moment.
As soon as they left Home, the place Shannon had created for street kids, the unwanted, drug orphans, the abused, he had taken her to a refurbished eighteenth-century brownstone. This part of South Boston, West 4th Street, was far different from the working-class and more questionable sections he’d taken her to over the two months she’d been with him. It was better even than the neighborhoods Sugar Babies and the Ritz were in. The place had a walk-out balcony and a rooftop one. It was sparsely furnished and looked completely unlived in. At least it had. Little by little, Shannon had taken her into other parts of Boston for furniture, art, knickknacks, anything and everything needed to make this house a home. He had even arranged for her clothes to be packed up from her old home and brought here.
Shay wasn’t stupid. She knew he had done it in broad daylight on purpose, making a show out of giving D’Andre the house (which was in her name), and all the furnishings. Only her personal items were removed. And she had been right there watching the burly South Boston guys move her things with loving care. He’d done it on purpose, sending a message to Jean-Paul and to Junior. She was still here, and she was protected.
Tonight things were coming to a head. Junior had cops trailing them, following everywhere she and Shannon went. He wanted Jean-Paul to come f
or her. And tonight he had.
It was just before midnight when Fionn and Conall let themselves into the house, then huddled with Shannon, D’Andre and Mickey. Every once and a while one of the men would cast a look in her direction, then go back to whispering furiously among themselves. Finally, Shannon walked over to her.
“The cop is outside, waiting with two other unmarked cars. We made a call in to Kieran. He can take care of the cops.” Shannon looked unsure, which was so not like him. For a brief moment, Shay was worried.
“Junior is well known,” she hedged. “Respected. I don’t want you to get—”
“We aren’t going to get into any trouble,” Shannon cut her off. “That’s what Kieran is for. We are just waiting for him. I just want you to know—baby, I know you want Jean-Paul, but it is important that D’Andre take him back to Mattapan and take care of him there. It has to be done that way.”
Intellectually she knew that. But damn, she wanted to kill the rat bastard herself! He took away her only family. But she knew the way these things worked. D’Andre needed to establish himself.
“You could run Mattapan yourself,” D’Andre cut in. “I would gladly work for you.”
Shannon opened his mouth but Shay cut him off. The agreement was tentative; there was no need to push it. “I think my place is here,” she reassured him. “But I want Junior if it’s possible. He is the one who pulled the trigger.”
“If we’re going to do this, it needs to be now,” Fionn said, glancing at his watch.
“Can’t kill the cops until we have cover from Kieran,” Conall cut in, looking at his watch also. “Don’t know where the fuck he is though.”
“Patience was never one of your virtues.” Kieran entered dressed like a predator in a suit. No one would’ve guessed under the three-piece tailored get-up and wool overcoat, the man was all tatted up like he’d spent years in a federal prison. “I’m guessing the guys waiting outside are the problem?” A long heartfelt sigh escaped him. “I swear, if you weren’t my brothers…”