For a while the McCarthy boys had seemed content with this, but soon, not even six months later, they’d demanded payment from everyone.
But not from Reagan, and at first, she hadn’t understood why.
Until later when she learned she was off-limits.
Across the room, standing in the doorway was Liam McCarthy, the youngest of the McCarthy clan, and the man that had been relentlessly trying to force her into a relationship for the first two months they had moved into the city before she had finally given in. As though he felt her gaze on him, he glanced back with what he thought was a charming smile before turning his attention back to whatever his brother, Rourke, was saying.
Reagan could still remember that first day she and the brothers had crossed paths. It had been a late night, one where she had sent everyone home for the night while she finished up running the numbers and cleaning the bar. She had been in the back office, going over the books when she heard the sharp rap at the doors. Liam, Rourke, and two of their “friends” had stood on the other side, Liam giving her a friendly wave as she approached.
The neighborhood wasn’t that big, so she had seen the brothers around, but mostly Liam. He was the nicer of the two, never seen without a smile, and from what Reagan understood, he wasn’t as deep in the family business as his brother was. Word was, he only did the books, but she had learned rather soon that wasn’t true.
Liam had been charming, seemingly wanting to get to know her, but she knew just by their visit to the pub that it wasn’t about him trying to get to know her. Her first assumption was that it was now her turn to pay up for a service she didn’t want.
In a community like theirs, word had gotten around about who and how the extortion took place. Most that whispered about the brothers often said it was Rourke who came for the money, so for that reason, Reagan knew something was off when it was Liam doing the talking.
And if not for that, she could tell just from the way Rourke was looking that it hadn’t been normal protocol.
He hadn’t asked about protection, money, or favors. No, he asked about her, wanted to know everything about her. Then, in a matter of minutes, he had asked her on a date.
That night, she declined.
The next night, she declined.
And nearly every day after when he came around, making himself at home in her pub during her peak hours, he continued to try and wear her down, and the longer she went without giving him an answer, the more annoyed he became, as though a girl had never denied him.
The next time the doors to her pub opened, she had expected Liam once again, ready to give his usual spiel, but when she saw Rourke, she got a foul feeling in her gut. He hadn’t spoken a word to her all night except for when he ordered a beer that he didn’t touch.
People had quickly begun skipping out, wanting to get away from him and what his presence might mean. And later, once they were alone, he made his point clear by letting her know that if she didn’t accept his brother’s invitation, he wouldn’t be able to save her anymore.
So the next time Liam asked, though she had wanted to say no, she agreed and went to dinner with him. Since that first “date,” they’d been out a few times more, and for a while, he hadn’t been pressuring her to take things any further.
“You’re a different kind of girl,” he had said one night. “I’ll do right by you.”
Liam had proved not to be so bad, keeping to his word about giving her time to get used to him in her life, but his patience was wearing thin. That much she could tell.
For that reason, she found herself in a basement where three women and two men were sitting at a lengthy table in their underwear, shoveling small amounts of cocaine into baggies. It didn’t matter what she saw, not when there was no one to tell—Liam had shown her that. The police couldn’t help, not when a number of them lined their pockets with dirty money.
Usually, Liam didn’t bring her along when he had to do something with his brother, but he’d begun demanding more time of her, and if that meant she came to his family’s place of business when he asked, so be it. And like those times before, Reagan did her best to tune them out, not particularly caring what was being discussed, but for some reason tonight, she couldn’t quite lose herself in her own head, instead listening in on the hushed conversation across the room.
“What’s he planning?” Liam asked of his brother.
“Fuck if I know,” Rourke replied, his voice louder than it had been before. “Who does know what that son of a bitch ever has planned.”
The “son of a bitch” they were referring to was Declan Caellach Flanagan, or Caellach to those that knew him. His family had been well known around those parts for many years, and not many had minded their presence. But years ago, Declan’s father had mysteriously disappeared, and when he’d been unable to find answers, Declan lost it.
He’d gone on a binder, letting the world share in his grief, but after a short time, he too had disappeared, leaving room for the likes of the McCarthy brothers to move in and take over the territory.
But, not for the first time, Liam was discussing Declan, and from how it sounded to Reagan, he wasn’t taking too kindly to the McCarthy presence, and that only meant one thing.
Declan was going to make a move on them, and soon.
The sound of a chair scraping across the floor sounded in the room. “You need—”
Before Rourke could get another word in, Liam cut him off. “Easy, brother. How about we discuss this later when soft ears aren’t around, yeah?”
Reagan blinked, realizing belatedly that Liam was referring to her. But maybe it was all well that she didn’t react to his words straight-away lest he believe she was listening.
More importantly, maybe now that he was shutting down conversation, she could hopefully get to the pub now.
Smoothing a hand over the front of his shirt, always impeccably dressed, unlike his older brother. Rourke was a touch less flashy with his attire, wearing jeans that looked expensive, a plain T-shirt beneath a coat with wool lining the interior, plus a pair of work boots. Around his neck was a delicate gold chain that was fashioned of links all the way around.
Liam, on the other hand, wore suits predominantly. There was not a moment where Liam didn’t attempt to look his very best. It was just one of many things that he took control over.
Smiling proudly, as though they were merely waiting in his living room as opposed to a drug haven, Liam wrapped a hand around hers, drawing her into his arms even as she resisted. She barely caught Rourke’s nod in her direction before Liam was sweeping her out the door and into the night air that was muggy with the promise of rain.
When they were both in his car, he smiled in her direction. “Would you like to get dinner?”
“I can’t. Jimmy’s at the pub by himself, remember? I was supposed to be there two hours ago …” But I’m here … was added silently.
He frowned, focusing on the road as he pulled off. “I didn’t think the meeting would take as long as it had—you know how it is with Rourke. Besides, you do too much at that place anyway. Your brother can handle himself. Girl like you shouldn’t be doing so much.”
Reagan looked away and rolled her eyes. Sometimes she forgot just how misogynistic Liam could be. He had made his stance clear about what he expected from her. But she wasn’t giving up her dream, no matter what he said.
“I’m fully capable of taking care of myself. And Jimmy can do the same, but that pub belongs to me and he shouldn’t have to shoulder the responsibility when he didn’t ask for it.”
“Then tell your da to get off his drunken arse and do his bit.”
Conor O’Callahan might have been a drunk, but only family got to call him out on it, and Liam was definitely not that. “It’s not your business.”
“If it pertains to you, it is my business.”
She wasn’t bold enough to say that she wasn’t his business either, so instead, she kept quiet.
“Besides, I’ve bee
n thinking it might be a good idea for the two of us to get away for a while—a holiday or something.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she knew within seconds that they weren’t what he wanted to hear.
He hit the brakes hard as he parked, shoving the gear shift into park as he sat back, his jaw tightening.
Before he could take further offense, she amended, “There’s just too much going on for me to get away right now.”
He rubbed his chin, then shook his head. “I’ll give you a few days to get your stuff together. With what Rourke has planned, I don’t want you around for that shit.”
“And what does he have planned?”
Liam’s frustration cleared as he draped an arm across her seat, smiling. “Nothing for you to worry about. It’ll all be over soon. Now, why don’t you go on and I’ll see you later.”
Not bothering to argue with him, she reached for the door handle. “I’ll call you when—”
“No need. Bobby’ll be here.”
Reagan froze. “What?”
“For your protection.”
“Protection from what?”
Putting a hand to the back of her neck, he tugged her forward, smashing his lips against hers, pulling away after a moment. “Nothing you need to worry yourself about. Go on,” he said with a nod of his head towards the pub. “Before I have a mind to keep you here.”
She couldn’t get out of the car fast enough.
The last thing she wanted to think about was Liam, and what his words meant—she had the pub to think about after all. But, as she watched him pull away, only now noticing the car that was idling at the curb, Rourke’s man, Bobby, folding his big body out of it, she couldn’t help but feel like she was in the middle of something that had absolutely nothing to do with her.
Parting Glass Tavern was located in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen, a premiere spot that had gotten Reagan loads of traffic when they had first opened, but with the rise of more restaurants in the area, it was becoming harder for her to keep up with the growing competition. Especially when Conor was drinking more than he sold.
It wasn’t necessarily that her business was doing poorly, but she wasn’t doing nearly as well as she had in the past, and if she were being honest, she didn’t think all of it was because of her dad. Ever since it had become unspoken knowledge that she was Liam’s, a number of her regulars had stopped coming around, and when she happened to see them out and about, they always turned their heads and hurried away as though afraid to even be around her.
Reagan didn’t know what to do anymore.
As she entered the pub, breathing in the familiar and welcome scent of ale and Guinness, some of the tension swelling in her chest eased. She had made it a point to keep the place as close to her heritage as possible. The front was made of glass with black wood dividing the windows, and on a gold-plated sign that hung from the post out front was the name of the place etched onto it. The interior had floors of polished wood, a bar of the same, with leather barstools lined along the front. Fifteen tables made up the dining room, enough for people that wanted to eat, and for when the bar got crowded. Two flat screens hung from the wall, one currently playing rugby, the other American soccer. Depending on which crowd they got usually determined what was played.
Standing behind the bar was Joey and Shan. Shan had been dating Joey on-and-off for the better part of nine years now. It was surprising that he hadn’t already married the girl, but considering they had only just gotten back together after another stint—meaning a very public screaming match where Shan threatened to cut his dick off if he was cheating—Reagan figured it might have been best for them to hold out a little while longer.
Spotting Reagan coming in, Shan came around the bar, her smile already in place as she said, “We were wondering what was taking you so long. Last time you—” she paused when she caught sight of Bobby coming in behind her.
While they might not have been forced to answer to Liam, Rourke, and the others the way she did, they were all too aware of the kinds of men they were, and Reagan had never lied to Shan about Liam’s practices.
Giving her a look that promised an explanation later, Reagan headed for the back. She turned at the last minute to tell Bobby he didn’t have to trail after her—even if Liam had told him to do just that—but to her luck, his attention was snared by the rugby match and she was all but forgotten as he found a seat at the bar.
Jimmy—or sometimes Jimmy O’ when he wanted the distinction—was in the back with his feet kicked up on the desk, a small ball in his left hand that he routinely threw up to hit against the ceiling before catching it again. He, very much like her, had inherited their mother’s lean figure, but he got their father’s jaw and crooked smile.
Today was a good day for him judging by his attire—Jimmy dressed to fit his moods. He was more like the casual version of Liam than anything. He was in a pair of slim-fitting pants in a ruddy shade of brown, a chambray shirt, and a pair of oxfords. He had the same burnished red hair as she did, his cut low on the sides and in the back, left longer in the middle—as was the custom around these parts it seemed. He normally kept it styled the way he liked, but today, he left it free, strands of wavy hair falling in his face.
“What has you in such a good mood?” she asked as she eyed him, wishing she could read his body language as well as she could read his appearance.
He gave her an easy smile, shrugging a shoulder. “Is it wrong to be happy?”
“Of course not,” she said giving him a slight shove so she could take the chair he was sitting in. “But it’s you, so there’s probably more to the story.”
His lips turned down at the corners as he shrugged. “Fair enough. So where have you been?” He was good at avoiding questions by asking one of his own.
“With Liam.”
As easy going as Jimmy could be, when it came to Liam, he lost that easiness. As a brother would, he hated any boyfriend she had brought home for them to meet—them meaning her parents and brothers—even if there hadn’t been that many. And while they had all failed some test of his that only he knew, Jimmy had never warmed to Liam, not in the slightest. If anything, Jimmy outright detested him and didn’t bother hiding it.
If Liam noticed—and it would be hard for him not to—he never mentioned Jimmy except when it came to the pub. She didn’t even think he knew she had other brothers besides him.
But what he didn’t ask, she didn’t willingly offer.
“He’s a fucking twat.”
“Jimmy …”
“You know I’m right. It baffles my mind that you even put up with him.” Jimmy’s phone chimed, breaking off his tirade as he reached for it, eyes scanning the text that had come in. But as quickly as his attention had been snatched, he gave it right back. His thumbs busy flying over the screen, he didn’t look up as he said, “Little bastard is going to learn he and his brother can’t—”
“Jimmy, don’t.” Even if they were having a private conversation in the back of the pub, she still didn’t want him talking that way. Sometimes it felt like the walls had ears. “Besides, Liam isn’t all bad.” That sounded like a lie even to her ears.
“The fact that you have to describe him as ‘not so bad,’ there’s my answer.” Jumping to his feet, Jimmy grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on. “I’m going to check on Ma. I’ll see you around.”
She was nodding, watching him leave until his words caught up to her. “What do you mean they’re going to learn? What are they going to learn?”
He kissed her cheek, heading for the door. “You’ll see.”
“Jimmy, don’t do anything stupid. Ma’ll be upset if she lost you because of something like this.”
She wouldn’t survive it, not like last time. And Jimmy knew better than anyone how fragile their mom could be. It wasn’t like they were the only ones there that day …
Without a response, however, Jimmy left.
This wouldn’t be the first time that something like this happened … and even those times had been easy enough to manage though she was on her own.
When seconds passed and she didn’t hear the door reopen, she tossed the rag down on the bar top. A reply ready on her lips, she looked up, but as she blinked and took in the person standing on the opposite side of the bar, those words died, because despite the years that had passed, there was no way that she wouldn’t recognize Niklaus.
A small part of her had wanted to believe that despite how very real and visceral his presence had been in her life for the mere weeks total that she had with him, he was merely a figment of her imagination. She hadn’t wanted to believe that he was real.
But now, there he stood. Merely a few feet away and she knew, even as she blinked a few times to make sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her, that he was real. Very real.
And for whatever reason, he had walked back into her life.
His gaze traveled from the top of her head to the toes of her shoes, making her feel terribly exposed, and while she had thought she would be unaffected by them considering the time that’d passed them by, it was definitely not the case. It was like she could feel his eyes on her like a physical touch, one that she was both desperately craving and wanted to get far away from. If there was one thing she knew about Niklaus, he was definitely the type of man she needed to avoid, if only so she didn’t fall back into the same feelings she once had.
Den of Mercenaries: Volume One (The Mercenaries Book 1) Page 13