by Shen, L. J.
Sometimes, my only company was other people’s things. Toys and gadgets I had found under their beds. I’d even pretended the women gracing the covers of Penthouse and Playboy—found under Hunter’s bed—were my girlfriends.
The door hissed open with a soft click, and I trampled inside. Sam’s office was dark and empty. I threw the door open and headed downstairs, the music pounding from the club making the floor quake.
I wasn’t interested in the club, though. I headed straight to the card rooms. As soon as I reached the junction of the four card rooms, I peeked into each of them. It wasn’t hard to find my brothers. They were in the last one. It was the noisiest, most boisterous room, filled wall-to-wall with men wearing tuxedos, smoking Cuban cigars and drinking old whiskey, huddled around roulette and craps tables.
Cillian was in the corner of the room, talking animatedly with Devon, while Hunter was next to Sam by the roulette.
The Monster looked brand-new, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as he barked at his employees, no hint of his previous, sweaty, fever-ridden self in sight.
Swaggering inside, the trash bag flung over my shoulder like I was Santa delivering presents on Christmas Day, I stopped in the center of the room and emptied the content of the trash bag in the middle of the roulette table, a smile on my face.
Everyone, and I do mean everyone, gasped.
Everyone other than Sam.
Hunter was the first to recover from my little stint.
“Holy shitballs, sis. Way to make an entrance.” He whistled low, reaching for the center of the roulette table to grab a pack of mints I’d thrown in there accidentally, popping two into his mouth. “Do you have some blow? I don’t use drugs anymore, but if you have a side hustle, I’d like to financially contribute.”
“Aisling,” Cillian said, all ice and manners, sauntered toward me. “What are you doing here, besides the obvious, which is embarrassing yourself?”
“Great question,” I chirped, all honey and smiles. “Well, brother, I started my day off at six am, worked a long shift, came back home to find our mother passed out in her own puke, then proceeded to shove my fingers down her throat and usher her to the hospital to ensure she didn’t overdose on chewable vitamins or whatever it was she decided to cram into her stomach. At this point, I tried to call my dear brothers, but both of them were too busy playing cards to pick up the phone. You didn’t even answer our emergency code word, even though I’ve never used it in my life before, so it should have tipped you off about the situation. Our mother is fine, by the way. But I’m not. I’m tired and in need of a shower and fed up with carrying the burden of gluing this family together all by myself.”
The room turned very quiet and very still, and suddenly, I was only aware of Sam, Cillian, and Hunter. No one else registered.
Sam snapped his fingers together and barked, “Everybody out. Family business. Phil, Jonathon, Archie…” he turned to his croupiers “…take it to room three, and get everyone a complimentary drink. Not from the vintage menu.”
Sam sat back on one of the vintage armchair recliners, lighting himself another cigarette as he observed us. I turned my head toward him. I was in the mood to set fire to every single relationship I’d ever had, and he was high on my list of people I wanted to snap at.
“Wow. You mean you’re not going to kick me out of your club?” I gasped mockingly.
“If you show up tomorrow, I will.” He lounged comfortably in his seat, smirking. “Right now you seem to be doing a fine job ruining your own evening. No need for me to interfere.”
“You’re an asshole,” I spat out.
“And you sound like a broken record.”
“Cut this out, both of you. Start from the beginning, Ash,” Cillian ordered as the last of the crowd trickled out of the room. “What happened? Since when has Mother been dabbling with prescription drugs?”
“Since forever.” I threw my arms in the air. “She is a cutter, too.”
Both my brothers paled in response.
“Bet you didn’t know that either, huh? She mainly does this for attention, to keep Da and me on our toes whenever she thinks we don’t pay her enough attention. There’s a lot you don’t know. I can’t do this all by myself. Our family is falling apart.”
“I—” Cillian started, but I was so mad I cut him off. It was the first time I ever snapped at my older brother.
“And you didn’t even pick up the phone when I called you! You ghosted me.”
“We didn’t ghost you,” Cillian maintained coolly. “We put our phones aside and didn’t see your texts.”
“Even if you didn’t ghost me tonight, you’ve ghosted me our entire lives, letting me live this nightmare of tending to our mother alone!”
“Sis,” Hunter said softly, reaching for my hand over the roulette table, “we had no idea. It wasn’t like we ignored the situation on purpose. You were our blind spot.”
“Yeah.” Cillian leaned a shoulder against the wall, looking gravely serious. “Mother and Athair always seemed on the unhinged side, but you have to remember we’ve never actually lived under their roof. Not since toddlerhood, anyway. We thought it was under control. That you were the one taking advantage of the perks of staying at home and not vice versa.”
“Staying at home is a nightmare!” I fell onto a nearby stool, burying my face in my hands, hating that Sam was watching this whole freak show. “Mother is a master manipulator. I draw her baths, drive her places, act as a messenger between her and Da. I’m basically her maid, and I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“You don’t have to,” Cillian said firmly. “We’ll come up with a plan. I will go to the hospital and stay with Mother tonight. Hunter, you’ll take over tomorrow. Aisling needs some space from her for the time being.”
Hunter nodded. “Don’t worry, sis, we got this. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”
I tried to regulate my breaths. I could feel Sam’s gaze on me. He seemed eerily quiet the entire conversation. Not that I expected him to weigh in on our family woes, but Sam wasn’t a fan of gossip. Usually when he lost interest in something, he removed himself from the situation.
Why did he stay in the room?
“I just need to clear my head,” I said quietly. “Her overdose was to get back at me. I’m afraid if I give her what she wants—more attention—it’ll defeat the purpose of strong-arming her into getting the help she needs.”
At the same time, moving out and going cold turkey was something I didn’t want on my conscience. She needed me, learned how to be dependent on me, and leaving now would be cruel.
“You’re right,” Hunter agreed. “We don’t want you near her. We’ll let her know it can’t carry on like this. Now that we’re in the picture, too.”
“I’ll give Aisling a ride home.” Sam stood up, his voice toneless.
I shot to my feet at the same time. “No, thanks. I’m parked outside.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Sam’s right.” Hunter gave me an apologetic look. “You’re in no condition to drive. Pick the car up tomorrow morning. Your body must be flooding with adrenaline. Try to take it easy tonight. We’ll tackle this clusterfuck tomorrow.”
“It’s a clusterfuck indeed. Which reminds me—now’s a great time to ask for a raise,” Devon drawled sarcastically, emerging from the shadows of the room. I forgot he was even here, which was an impossible task, seeing how gorgeous he was. “The Windsors draw less attention than you lot.”
“Hands to yourself, Brennan,” Cillian barked in Sam’s direction. “Remember your paycheck comes with stipulations.”
“Your neck does, too, Fitzpatrick.” Sam offered me his hand, helping me to my feet, leaving my brothers behind us. He pressed his hand to the small of my back, ushering me up the stairs back to his office.
“How are you feeling?” he asked tightly. I had an inkling the mere idea of pretending to care made his skin crawl, yet I oddly appreciated his concern, even
if it wasn’t genuine.
“Fine.” I rubbed my forehead. “Just tired. Overstimulated.”
“Stay at my place. I have a spare bedroom and zero fucked-up parents living under my roof.”
“And I have two brothers who’d kill me if they find out I spent the night with you.” I sighed, inwardly admitting the offer was very tempting.
Sam wasn’t going to go to war with Da and my brothers just to be with me. I came to terms with that a long time ago. So there was no point in accepting his offer and creating more tension between him and the men in my family.
“A dead Aisling would make life easier for me. The offer still stands,” Sam remarked.
“Charming, but I’ll pass. I don’t go where I’m not welcome.”
“Since when?” he asked, dead serious.
“Since always.” I felt my cheeks flush. “For your information, you’re the only person to bring the crazy out in me.”
“Dangerous dick tends to do that to good girls.” He kicked the back door to his office open. “I had no idea things were that bad at home.”
We poured outside into Boston’s December freeze. A thin layer of ice coated everything, from the ground to the buildings and glass panes of windows. Red, white, and gold Christmas decorations hung on the streetlamps twinkled back at us. Sam clasped the back of my neck possessively, leading me to his Porsche like I was his prisoner.
“They weren’t always,” I heard myself say. “There had been ups and downs. Being the backbone of the family wasn’t so bad when the posture of our skeleton wasn’t terrible. The last weeks were the worst, though. Ever since the media picked up the story of Da’s stupid affair, things began deteriorating. Then the poisoning happened and the mysterious threatening letters. The heirloom cufflinks were the cherry on top of the crap cake.”
Sam unlocked his car and helped me inside the passenger seat. The drive to my house was quiet.
The first portion of it, anyway.
When we reached the affluence of the Back Bay, a silver Bentley closed in on us from behind. Sam’s eyes flicked to it in his rearview mirror. The Bentley sped up, kissing our bumper once and sending us flying forward with a jerk.
“Shit,” Sam muttered. “Unbuckle yourself, duck your head, and cover it with both hands, Nix.”
“What?” My blood froze in my veins. “Wh-why?”
“Just do it.”
“But—”
Sam didn’t wait for me to finish my sentence. He took a sharp left turn, driving over the manicured lawn of someone’s front yard as he sliced through a junction, not stopping at a traffic sign, and sped through a side street. The first bullet pierced the rear window and popped into the AC unit, where it got stuck.
“Motherfucker,” Sam hissed, still completely calm. He grabbed the back of my head roughly, dipping it further down, leaning toward me to ensure I was tucked away as carefully as possible. The car skidded, and I knew that the fact it had been snowing and the road was extra slippery didn’t work in our favor.
“On the floor, Nix.”
“Sam,” I screeched, terrified, “don’t lean toward me! They’ll shoot you if you do.”
“Better me than you.”
Another shot pierced through the rear window. It made it shatter completely. The glass came down in a sheet. Sam jumped on top of me, his torso covering my body, blocking me from harm, but still somehow driving.
“What are you doing!” I moaned. “You’re going to get yourself killed. Drive!”
He floored the accelerator. The car started to sound like a plane taking off. Then, without warning, he swiveled, making a sharp U-turn and speeding up again. Since my head was tucked firmly below my seat, I couldn’t tell if we lost whoever was after us or not.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” I chanced a look at him through my periphery, noticing that his arm was bleeding. He caught a bullet while pushing me down to the floor. He took a bullet for me.
“You’re bleeding,” I said.
He groaned but didn’t say anything.
“Are we safe?” I asked.
Sam didn’t answer. I could tell he was concentrating on deciding which turn he was going to take next. I guessed driving home was out of the question. He was hardly going to lead his enemies to his doorstep.
“Who are they?” Tucked under the passenger seat, I pressed, my knees knocking against my chin as my teeth chattered. I’d never been this scared in my life. The kind of fear that seeps into your bones and burrows into your soul.
“Bratva. The Russians.”
“They own Brookline,” I murmured. I knew that. Everyone knew that. My parents hadn’t allowed me into their neighborhoods fearing I’d get kidnapped for ransom.
“Not anymore.”
“They’re trying to kill you because you took over their territory?”
“Conquered, fair and square. If they find you in my car, they’ll have a merry good time milking your daddy for money. But they’ll gang-rape and torture you first. Which is why you need to stay the fuck down and let me handle this.”
I heard another shot fired toward us. I squeezed my eyes shut, keeping my head bent, just like he told me. Sam took another sharp turn. He opened the glove compartment above my head, knocking my forehead in the process. He took out a gun, stopped the car, then reversed fast. He turned around and started heading in the Bentley’s direction, releasing the gun’s safety, a devious smirk on his face, his eyes zinging with determination.
He is playing chicken.
I wanted to claw his face to ribbons.
The buzzing coming from the Bentley became louder, and I knew they were close. Sam stretched his arm outside his open window and fired two shots.
Time and space hung above our heads, suspended.
I heard a scream. A moan. Then footsteps over damp concrete, the crunching of the snow underneath someone’s feet. Someone running. Fleeing. Sobbing.
“You can come up now,” Sam murmured, stone-cold. Numb, I slid back to my seat, buckled up, and moved a shaky hand over my raven hair.
Sam slowed his vehicle, and I noticed he was following a man. I only saw the back of him. A scrawny figure with blond messy hair and a prominent limp. He wore baggy sweatpants and matching hoodie. The glow-in-the-dark type. Sam directed his gun at his head, holding it steadily.
“Are you going to shoot him?” I whispered.
“Only cowards shoot people in the back, Nix. I’ll shoot him in the face. Respectfully, of course.”
I didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or purposely crass. Either option seemed completely unsuitable for the ears of a lady. But that was the essence of Sam Brennan. He would take a bullet for me without even thinking twice about it but trash-talk to the moon and back in my presence.
The man stumbled on the uneven cobblestone of the sidewalk, trying to pick up his pace when he heard us driving by his side. It was futile. Sam had already caught him. The Monster was now playing with its food.
The man’s shoulders quaked, and he sniffled loudly.
“Please.” I put a hand on Sam’s arm, the one that wasn’t holding the gun. “Don’t make things worse.”
He ignored me, passing the man and parking in front of him, blocking his way.
Our victim stopped. I leaned forward, taking a good look at him. Sam must’ve killed his armed companion.
The man was not a man at all.
It was a boy.
Of fourteen. Maybe fifteen at most.
Gangly, long-limbed and wide-eyed, his pasty face sprinkled with acne.
My heart lurched and twisted behind my ribcage. He was obviously a minor. Maybe even an innocent one. I imagined he was born and initiated into the Bratva. It was hard to believe he would choose such a life for himself.
Sam got out of the car, blocking my view with his body, still protecting me, his gun aimed at the boy’s head. The boy dropped to his knees, raising his arms in the air in defeat. He didn’t seem to even realize there wa
s a second person in the car.
“P-p-please,” he sputtered, weeping so openly, so loudly, it felt like he tore my chest in two and watched while I bled out. “I didn’t want to do this. I begged them not to. He was … I was … my father, I mean, put a gun to my head. I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t. You know what it’s like with dads like him. You know. You have one, too. You’re a Brennan.” He swallowed air, hiccupping, his face twisted in so much agony, it was hard to make out his features.
“You fucked up. Now it’s time to pay,” Sam ground out.
“No!” I gasped.
I shot out of the car, desperate to do something, anything to save this boy.
I tackled Sam without thinking, trying to bring him down to the ground with me. But he was much bigger and heavier than I was. It felt like slamming headfirst into a concrete wall. I flew backward from the impact, but Sam snaked his free arm around my waist, jerking me behind him, like the boy still posed a threat to me.
“Please, Sam, please.” I wrapped my arms around his chest and stomach and felt his muscles tensing against my fingertips through his shirt. A soft, barely audible groan escaped his lips. I took that as a sign.
“Please, he is just a boy. Young and misled. Like you were. If you don’t do this for yourself, do it for me. For what I did for your soldiers. For … for … for the chicken noodle soup!”
I held my breath, waiting for another stinging rejection and the pain that came with it. To my surprise, all I felt was a brief shudder passing through his torso. Goose bumps rose on my skin. I didn’t know why, but I felt this moment was monumental for both of us, though in very different ways.
“You have one thing going for you, and that is that I don’t want the fucking headache that comes with the territory of blowing your brains out in front of her.” Sam bared his teeth, lowering his gun just an inch.
I let out a relieved breath, feeling nauseous with relief.
My throat burned as I exhaled. I must’ve screamed bloody murder while we were being chased in the car.