Conall

by Reana Malori

  “Yeah, I heard and I figured just as much. That’s why I’m here. It’s time we start making our move. It’s time to take that fucker down. He won’t retire on his own, no matter how many close calls he has. It’s time to take things to the next level. If it’s the last thing we do, Paddy O’Shea’s reign over Boston is coming to an end.”

  As he finished, Conall turned toward him again and gave him an intense look. Of all the brothers, Kieran felt the most responsible for their little band of misfits. Growing up with a man who would rather punch them than feed them had changed something inside all of them. But with Kieran, it had become something none of them could have imagined.

  As children, Conall had attempted to find ways to make their lives easier. Staying quiet hadn’t worked. Talking to the man and playing the dutiful child hadn’t worked. Nothing he tried had seemed to make it easier. At some point, right around the age of nine years old, something in him had snapped. It had been a particularly hellish day and their “jailer,” Danny Boy Sullivan, had not let up on them one bit.

  The temperature had been in the low thirties, so it was freezing fucking cold. There was no heat in the room they were huddled in and only a few blankets to share between the four of them. Their small bodies were huddled together, trying to draw heat from each other. They were cold, tired, and half-starved after eating only scraps of food for the past three days. Just as they were all finally getting to sleep, the door had burst open and there was Danny Boy Sullivan, standing there in all his evil glory. Eyes glossy from whatever drugs and drink filled his system, he stared at the boys with disgust-filled eyes, his mouth turned up in a grimace. The memories flooded his mind as if he were still in that room.

  “Which one of you little fucks got into my beer?”

  Kieran spoke up. “No one touched your beer.” Moving to position himself in front of his brothers, he tried to shield them behind his scrawny form.

  “You little bastard!” the man screamed. “Who told you to talk?” he screamed in rage at the four frightened boys. None of them was brave enough to remind him that he had asked them a question. Eyes filled with fear if one had looked close enough, they all tried to move back, away from the man who was sure to take out his anger on one of them. Anyone paying attention would have seen the terror-filled stares from children who should be carefree and full of life. Instead, their lives had been filled with pain, neglect, and disregard.

  “Just for talking back to me, you’ll be next, Kieran. Right now, it’s time for Conall’s boxing lesson,” he snarled as he lunged at Conall. Grabbing him by the arm, he practically pulled it from the socket as the boy had no choice but to stand. Conall yelled out in pain, but knew it would do no good. If Danny Sullivan thought one of them needed to be taught a lesson, nothing would get in the way of that.

  “Leave my brother alone!” Shannon had moved to stand and yelled at the large man holding him.

  Conall had shaken his head; his eyes were scared, but he refused to cry. There was no way in hell he would allow even one tear to fall. “No, Shannon,” he said in a low voice.

  “Stop it, you motherfucker! I’m gonna kill you!” Fionn, ever the avenging angel, had also adjusted his stance, as if prepared to pounce. Grabbing onto Conall’s leg, he tried to hold onto his brother and save him from what they all knew was coming.

  Kieran stared at the foul man, his face scrunched in rage, but his voice calm and quiet, which sent shivers along the skin of his three brothers. “One day, Danny Sullivan, I will find you and I will kill you for what you have done to me and my brothers. You will never escape me. You will look over your shoulder for the rest of your life. The one time you don’t expect it, I will bring the Angel of Death to your doorstep. I will deliver you as a gift to the Devil and he will tear your skin from your flesh as an offering.”

  Nervous laughter filled the room as the older man tried to make light of the untamed rage reflected in Kieran’s eyes. Sweat dripped down his face and he knew without a doubt, that boy would kill him one day. But it would not be today. At this moment, he was still the one in charge. Pulling out his pistol, he pointed it at them as he backed out of the room. “Sit yer asses down! Don’t try to get out of this fucking room either.”

  Jerking on Conall’s arm as he pulled him along with him, he closed and locked the bedroom door, trapping the other three boys in the room, unable to escape and come to the rescue of their brother, or carry through on the promise Kieran had just made.

  Conall stayed silent through the entire exchange. He knew his brothers and more importantly, he knew the rage that coursed through Kieran’s body at that moment. The man took turns beating on each of them. All in the name of making them stronger. Danny Boy had claimed that Old Man O’Shea had asked him to toughen up his sons, by any means necessary. Based on what they had been told, if they were going to run the business with the old man, they needed to know how to fight. To maim. To kill.

  The beatings were always masked as a “boxing lesson.” It was always that way, but there was no real contest. Danny seemed to loom larger than life to a nine-year-old boy. Inevitably, the punches would begin and the man would yell and scream at them to “Punch back, you fucking sissy!” or “Are you sure you’re an O’Shea? You seem like a limp-dicked coward to me.” His large fists felt like cinder blocks raining down hellfire on their bodies.

  The punches would be focused on their upper body, but other than that, nothing was off limits. One time, he’d beaten Fionn so bad, the boys were sure he was gonna die right then and there. The prayers of three children to a God they felt had abandoned them filled the room. Fionn had survived, but that moment had changed them. Never, would they ever, be the same again.

  If Paddy O’Shea wanted to create men in his image he had achieved his goal, and now his sons would be the ones to end his life.

  “Are you even listening to me, Conall?” His brother’s annoyed tone interrupted his trip down memory lane.

  Getting back on track with the matter at hand, he nodded. “Yeah, I heard you.” In actuality, he’d only heard snippets of what was being said, but it didn’t matter in the end. Conall trusted Kieran with his life and if he said there was a plan to get rid of their old man, he knew it had already been well thought-out.

  Lifting up from the chair, Kieran came to stand next to him. It took him a few minutes to get started, but Conall knew he had something on his mind. Taking a deep breath, Kieran broke the silence. “You know, some people would say we’re damaged.”

  “We are,” Conall said with a self-deprecating smile.

  “Yeah, I would agree,” he said with a smile. “I think I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long—hell, we all have—to finally have it within our grasp seems unreal. Nothing can go wrong, Conall. We have to play the game for as long as it takes to make this happen.” Kieran’s blue eyes were hard with the prospect of revenge. Their mother had eyes that same shade of blue and Conall knew it tore Kieran up each time he looked into the mirror. They had not been able to save her, and as the oldest, Kieran took that burden on himself.

  When Fiona O’Shea died, taken from this world by her own grief and pain, there was only one person to blame. Patrick O’Shea. For that alone, he deserved to die. Add to that, Fionn and Shannon, his half-brothers, were dealt a blow of their own. Their mother had disappeared one day, never to be seen or heard from again. It had been thirty years since both women had been taken away from their sons. No child deserved to grow up without the loving arms of their mother, especially when it was due to the egotistical and psychopathic delusions of a man who thought he was untouchable.

  Oh yes, some may say they were ruthless, heartless, cold-blooded sons of bitches. They were. And all four of them were proud of that fact. When the day came that they were standing over Paddy O’Shea’s dead body, the devil would get his offering of flesh for all the hurt and pain they’d suffered as children.

  The old man may not know it yet, but he was marked for death. The sons he wanted to cr
eate and mold into his image had surpassed even his wildest dreams. The four of them had been forged in blood, pain, and tears.

  It was time for Patrick O’Shea, bastard that he was, to reap what he had sown.

  Chapter Five

  “Tatiana, I have a delivery for you at the front desk,” the receptionist’s voice came through the phone. “Do you want me to bring it to you?”

  “Thanks, Dianne. No, I can come and grab it. I need a break anyway.” Getting up from her desk, Tatiana made her way to the front reception area in her company’s front lobby. The deep aroma of flowers hit her at the same moment she saw the look on the receptionist’s face. “What the hell?”

  “Someone has an admirer.” Dianne tittered behind her large smile, the telephone headset resting on her perfectly coiffed hair.

  “No way. For me?” she said in disbelief as she arrived at the desk ledge. A gorgeous bouquet of flowers greeted her and she could do nothing but stare.

  “Oh yes, they’re definitely for you. The delivery man made sure to confirm at least three times that he had the right person and the right office.”

  “I’ve never gotten…I mean; no one has ever…” Her voice thickened as she tried to force the words out. Who in the world would have sent her flowers on a Thursday? Hands shaking, she reached for the card attached to a plastic holder and pulled it free. Quickly opening the small envelope, she hesitated. “Why am I so nervous?” she laughed sheepishly.

  “Do you have a new secret admirer that I don’t know about?” Dianne asked.

  At her words, Tatiana knew exactly who sent the flowers. Conall O’Shea. There had been no call or message from him today, and while she welcomed the time to just gather her wits and think about what the hell she was doing, a part of her had still hoped he would at least call.

  Finally responding to the question that had been asked, she kept it simple. “No. Not a secret admirer, but a very persistent man who likes to make grand gestures.” The soft tone of her voice gave away more than she realized. This truly was the first time she had ever received flowers, of any kind. For Conall, it was probably no big thing, but for her…well, it meant more than he knew. Slowly pulling out the small card, she silently read it.

  My Tatiana,

  I can’t wait to see you tomorrow evening. Make sure you’re ready for me.

  Yours, Conall.

  Well, damn. Her knees started shaking. What did that mean? Was there a hidden message in there for her somehow? Was she ready for him? That was the real question and he was right to ask. After he’d left her on Tuesday night, it had taken quite some time to calm her libido. Never before had a man overwhelmed her senses so fast. His voice. Those eyes of his that seemed to reach into her soul. Even his unique smell, a combination of his natural scent and the cologne he wore, had her fiending for a man she had just met. Everything about him was mouth-watering and sexy. Every single memory she had of him served to fuel her nighttime fantasies of the two of them wrapped in each other’s arms. His lovemaking wrenching moan after moan of ecstasy from her lips.

  “Well, don’t leave me hanging, Tatiana, who are they from?” Dianne asked with a twinkle in her eyes. Oh no, this was one secret that she was not letting out of the bag.

  “Oh, he’s just a friend. Someone I recently met and well, he seems quite determined to get my attention.” Tatiana purposely keeping her response to Dianne vague. There was no way in hell she was telling anyone that Conall O’Shea had sent her flowers.

  “Hell, I need to find a friend like that.” The receptionist laughed as Tatiana picked up the crystal vase full of roses and daisies and turned to walk back to her office.

  * * * * *

  Seated behind her desk again, she knew the right thing to do was call Conall and thank him for the lovely flowers. If she were honest, wanting him had never been in the cards, but now, there was nothing to be done about it. She wanted—needed—to see this through.

  After he’d left her house a few nights ago, she’d spent the rest of that evening and most of Wednesday thinking about everything she knew about him. The stuff that wasn’t on the front of the society page. It made her head spin. But now she knew the truth. Her instincts had been right. She should have never gone to his office. When he came to her door that same evening, she should have slammed it in his face and never looked back. And when he asked her out, she never, ever, ever should have said yes.

  On the other hand, none of those things had happened. Not once had she truly told him no or shut him out. She could admit that after meeting him, hearing his voice, being in close proximity to him, resisting his advances was no longer an option. Maybe it was something in his eyes, or the way he talked, or just her own unstoppable attraction, she never could have told him no. And she didn’t really want to.

  She also had a better idea of what her brother was so afraid of. That should have bothered her more, but it didn’t.

  Tatiana hung her head low in disbelief at her own stupidity. That must have been why he was so tickled when she came to him so brazenly and asked him straight out about her brother. Still not quite believing she’d actually worked up the nerve to go see him in person, the foolishness of her actions could no longer be ignored. No, Pollyanna she wasn’t, but she grudgingly admitted that maybe, just maybe, she had behaved a little too naively. What if he actually was involved with her brother’s mess? Then what?

  Nothing much surprised her anymore. This pull she felt toward Conall could not be denied. It was unlike anything she had experienced before. Growing up in her working class neighborhood, she was no stranger to the realities of life. Sometimes things happened. Sometimes, you had to do what was necessary. Good people sometimes had no choice but to do bad things. It didn’t make them evil, it just made them human.

  Memories assailed her as she thought about her own secret. No one would ever believe that she was capable of what she had done. And that’s the way it needed to remain. Everyone had secrets. Some were just a little worse than others.

  Maybe that’s why she never judged her brother too harshly. On a daily basis, she fought her demons back as they tried to claw at her. She was just stronger than other people and she never let them get to her or bring her down. With a singular focus to crawl out of the mire and muck she had almost succumbed to, she made her way through school at Dartmouth and found her dream job in Boston. Her life was what she needed it to be and if she had to make the same decisions from her past that helped her to get here, she would. In a heartbeat.

  Taking a life was hard. There was no doubt about it. You were forever changed by what you had done, what your eyes had seen. Looking back, she tried to think of another way her rapist could have been handled. Was there another option? Even all these years later, the remorse and feelings of regret would not come. The wealth of other options did not materialize and neither did her guilt. Making that decision at seventeen years old had told her one thing—she would do whatever needed to protect herself and her family.

  That night, so many years ago, her innocence had been taken away from her in more ways than one. While she had moved on, had spoken with a rape counselor when she was at college, and even had several satisfying sexual encounters since then, she still had a sliver of darkness inside of her. She was capable of doing things no one would ever expect and that made her understand Conall that much more.

  Maybe that’s what drew her to him in the first place and drove her to seek him out that day. She’d seen a picture of him online and there was something in his eyes that she couldn’t look away from. Her soul recognized a kindred spirit. Everything about him screamed “Predator,” but she wasn’t afraid. She wanted more. That man was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Always hiding in plain sight. Most people would not see this dual nature in him. But she did. Like recognized like.

  Shaking off the serious thoughts, she picked up her phone and dialed the number to Conall’s office. After a few moments of being placed on hold and transferred, she heard his voice.

 
“I hope you liked the flowers.” His voice seemed to reach through the phone and stroke her softly. Panty-melting was too tame a word to describe the man on the other end of the phone.

  “They were a surprise, but a very pleasant one. Thank you, Conall,” she replied in a breathless tone. Just the sound of his voice caused her body to clench in desire and want. This intense need to submit to him was overwhelming her senses.

  “Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. I’ve tried to stay away. Give you time to come to terms with this,” he said into the silence.

  “There’s no need for that. I know what I want,” she blurted.

  “Do you? Because I don’t do anything halfway, Tatiana.” A hint of steel had entered his voice.

  “I know what I want. Who I want. You don’t scare me, Conall O’Shea.”

  “I should.” His low voice spoke into the phone.

  “Trust me. I can handle whatever you throw my way. Don’t let the outer shell fool you.” She hinted at the darkness inside her, and the mirroring darkness she could see in him.

  “Then I want to see you tonight,” he growled.

  “But we’re seeing each other tomorrow,” she responded on reflex.

  “Tonight.” Heavy breathing came through the phone and she smiled.

  “Do you think this attraction between us is happening too fast?” Her rational brain couldn’t help but push him a little.

  “No, I don’t. It feels right. Don’t try to deny what’s happening. Don’t try to explain it away and don’t question it. Just go with it. Let it happen. Let us happen,” he responded, the confident tone in his voice telling her he meant exactly what he said.