One More Night
Page 17
“Conor,” he said simply. No instructions because none were needed to know what came next.
For the next fifteen minutes we all listened as Conor outlined the plan. Then we broke apart, taking different routes so we could make sure all exits and roadways were covered by a Connelly.
Eamon turned to me. “It’s just us now, Shae. Tell me if you’ve got this tonight.” We were inside the plain black car every group had for tonight. It would make a clean getaway easy for all of us. “Seriously, Shae, I know you want revenge, but I’d rather get it for you than let you fight when you’re not ready.”
I jerked my head around. “Let me? You haven’t been able to let me do a fucking thing since I outgrew you.”
He gave me that same dark jealous frown he’d had since I surpassed his six-two frame.
“I’m fine, man. My mind is clear and focused on Frank and Gio. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”
Eamon gave me a long assessing look, at least it felt long, but the light changed and soon we turned into what passed as the parking lot for the Wet Kitty. It was little more than a plot of land filled with rocks guaranteed to puncture a tire.
“Okay, Shae. I believe you. Now let’s go find Ralph.”
Conor had already talked to the owner of the Wet Kitty, Ralph Madden, but seeing Eamon with his bag of cash would give us the club for the night. We unbuckled ourselves and hustled into the club, and Ralph glad-handed Eamon.
“Good to see you Mr. Connelly.” Ralph kept one hand on his big belly, gripping the thick cigar between his teeth to shake Eamon’s hand.
“I hope you, uh, find everything to your liking this evening,” he said after rescuing the cigar. “A few of the girls won’t mind fuckin’ ya for some extra cash, but the rest are strictly blow jobs.”
His forehead was sweaty, and he held Eamon’s hand for too long.
“Thanks for the warning, Ralph. I’ll make sure all the girls are well compensated and unharmed.”
Eamon could be smooth when he needed to be and thankfully he’d brought his A game tonight.
“This is to show our appreciation for your help tonight.”
“Oh, of course, Mr. Connelly. Not a problem. Thank you for, ah, thinking of the Wet Kitty for your erotic pleasures!” He snatched the bag and hot footed it out of the office much faster than a man his size should have been able to move, coming to an abrupt stop when Eamon called out to him.
“Ralph! You can’t leave yet.” His tone had turned menacing and Ralph’s overdramatic gulp told me just how worried he was now.
“You need to be here to greet them, or they’ll know something’s off.”
Ralph let out a nervous chuckle. “Sure thing. I’ll get the lineup for the girls done while I wait, and you let me know if you need anything. Happy to help!”
He shuffled down the hall quickly, probably off to count the cash.
Eamon shook his head. “That was disturbing.”
I laughed and clapped my brother on the back. “Get used to it, Mister Connelly.”
Eamon rolled his eyes, but I noticed he didn’t contradict me. He scanned the main part of the club, looking for vulnerable spots that where we could maneuver Gio and Frank, along with locations that would give us the greatest advantage. It was something Patrick had instilled in us from a young age: always have an exit plan and don’t ever get caught unaware.
“Shae? We need to find those girls.”
Down a long hall with a half-lit bare bulb was a black door with a gold star on the front. On the other side was the unmistakable sound of women, talking and laughing and fighting. The noise didn’t stop when we entered, but first, one set of eyes landed on us, then another and another.
“Who the hell are you?” A redhead who had to be close to thirty sneered our way but not before giving each of us a long, appraising look.
Eamon sauntered up to her. “I’m your boss for the night. Do your job as you normally would and we won’t have a problem. Is Boo here?”
The redhead rolled her eyes. “You some kind of pervert? Turned on by young girls?”
Eamon stared at the woman until she visibly began to wilt. “Would you like to give someone else your stage time tonight?”
“No.”
“Then go about your business and point out Boo.”
“I’m Boo.” A blonde with a soft voice, big tits and next to no clothes glared at us from the end of the room. She looked young. Long prison sentence young.
“How old are you?”
She grinned. “Twenty one, but I can be whatever age you want me to be, Daddy.”
Eamon’s jaws clenched. “As long as you’re legal you can stay. You have a special assignment tonight.” Taking her by the arm, Eamon shot me a look, and I gave him a nod that I got it.
“All right ladies, tonight is just like any other night. Ralph has the lineup set for the evening, and there will be no changes, so don’t waste your time trying to change it. Any questions?”
Two hands shot in the air and I ignored them. “Good. Have a good night and let’s make some money.”
“Is Ralph selling the place?”
“First dancer is up in twenty.”
It was almost ten o’clock by the time Frank and Gio showed up at the club, tipsy and flashing cash like they’d hit the lottery. They took up about five seats right along the stage, being generous with one and five dollar bills as girl after girl took the stage.
Then Boo strutted on stage wearing a plaid skirt that did little to cover her perky little ass, black rimmed glasses, and whatever the stripper version of a school uniform shirt was. Frank’s hand went straight to his cock and his gaze never left Boo as she shook, shimmied, and gyrated on stage. He was transfixed by her just as Conor predicted and as soon as she left the stage, he was on his feet and following her down to one of the club’s two champagne rooms.
Rourke was in the other room watching. Waiting. Three of our guys sat on the other side of the stage, Gio in their direct line of sight. Shamrock manned the door and a few more were outside as part of our Plan B. We had the advantage.
Frank looked around and followed the path Gio and Boo had taken a few minutes earlier, Eamon and I close behind him. But not too close.
“Hello, fuckers.” They had Boo smashed between them, struggling to break free from their rough touch. Frank and Gio stepped back, hands automatically going for their guns, but ours were already trained on them.
“Hands where we can see them or I splatter your brains on this tacky wall.”
Blood and brain matter could only improve the black and hot pink velvet décor.
“I knew you Connellys were freaks, but I draw the line at watching me and Gio run a train on Boo here.”
“Get outta here,” I told her, and she nodded, big blue eyes wide and scared, only showing relief when she ran from the room with tears welling in her eyes.
“Frankie, Gio, good to see you assholes again. I thought this time we could fight face to face even though I know how much you pussies prefer the ambush method.”
Geo pulled himself up tall in a show of macho badass that wouldn’t even scare a school yard bully. “You’re making a big mistake. Right now we’ve only made shit uncomfortable for you, but do what you’re thinking now and all bets are off.” It was an amateur move that even made Eamon smile.
“You hear that, Shae? All bets are off.” Eamon threw his head back and laughed. “Well now you’ve gone and scared the hell out of us, right Shae?”
“Quakin’ in me feckin’ boots,” I said, tossing a little Irish on it for good measure.
My words pissed Frank off and he lunged forward, stopping only when his head met the butt of my nine millimeter hand gun. “Give me a reason to do it again.” Not that I needed a reason when it came to these assholes.
“What the fuck do you want?” Frank held the back of his head, snarling up at me from his knees.
“It don’t fuckin’ matter what they want,” Gio spat at his brother. “Dad sai
d we don’t give them shit. Not ever.”
That answer didn’t surprise me at all. It would be my position if I were them. It was just too bad for them that what I wanted I’d just have to take.
“That’s understandable, but what we want is non-negotiable.”
As Patrick always told us, you can’t make a man not want more than what he has, which meant the only way to stop the Milanos was to end them.
Eamon’s phone buzzed and he picked it up. “Yeah? Shit.”
Gio smiled at whatever news was being delivered to my brother, but it didn’t last long.
“Yeah, grab him. I’m sure. Take him to the rendezvous point and wait for my instruction.” He closed the phone, crossed his arms and stared straight ahead, a clear sign we should pick up as if the interruption hadn’t happened. “Where were we?”
“You were enjoying your last moments on earth,” Frank spat out. He finally got the balls to stand up and face me.
I let out a loud barking laugh right in his face, feeling a fuck ton of satisfaction at the way his face reddened in anger. “I didn’t realize you moonlighted as a comedian. If you survive the night you might still be able to make a living.”
Gio said, “You have no idea what or who you’re fuckin’ with, Connelly. Leave now and we can forget this happened.” He was doing his damnedest to sound calm, relaxed. Not worried about a fucking thing, but fear was written all over his face.
“Two options,” Eamon said, his voice booming loud above the rest of us. “Get the fuck out of Rocket and stop trying to hone in on our shit, or die. Those are your options.”
“Fuck you,” Frank, ever the defiant one, practically snarled in Eamon’s direction.
“Sorry, Frank, didn’t hear you. Speak up,” I told him and pressed my gun to the soft tissue of his shoulder. I dug it into his flesh. “Say it again, dick licker.”
“Fuck both of you, leprechaun fuckers.” He laughed, eyes wild and crazy, and I knew this asshole was about to do some stupid shit. The next few moments unfolded in slow motion. Frank pulled a Colt 1911 from his shirtsleeve and aimed it, for some reason, in Eamon’s direction.
“No, fuck you, Frankie.”
My grip tightened on my Glock, and I squeezed the trigger, firing two shots into Frank Milano’s shoulder along with a little muzzle burn for good measure. Watching that shit stain drop to the ground and scream out in pain gave me nothing but pure pleasure.
“Fighting’s not so fun when you’re caught off guard, is it?”
All he could do was writhe in pain as blood spilled onto the pink and black tiled floor.
“Shae watch out!”
Eamon’s voice brought my attention back to the unharmed Milano with his Beretta trained on my chest. The sound rang out first, and I jumped to the left, stupidly thinking I could out maneuver the bullet, but of course I wasn’t fast enough. The goddamn thing sliced across my bicep, ripping open my sleeve and my flesh.
Gio laughed. “You should have shot me first, asshole.”
He turned toward the emergency exit just as Eamon called out, “The night’s still young,” and let off a couple rounds.
Gio hit the floor and scrambled along the wall in search of another exit, all the while shooting wildly into the air, forcing me and Eamon to duck and protect ourselves.
“You fuckers are dead,” he shouted, out of our sight.
The sound came from behind us, and I knew Gio was trying to make his escape. Luckily, we had men everywhere so the chances of him making it out of the club alive were slim.
“Seems like you need more time at the shooting range, Connelly.”
Gio laughed and wiped away the broken glass in his hair and clinging to his suit. The sound of bullets flying out front stole the rest of the laughter, and Eamon and I ran to the front of the club where our guys had put some lead into some Milano muscle.
None of them were dead yet, but unless they had a network that included access to doctors outside the walls of a hospital, plenty of them wouldn’t make it until morning.
“Where the fuck did these guys come from?” It seemed like the number of men inside the club had doubled since Eamon and I followed the Milanos to the champagne room.
“Probably crackheads from The Highlands.”
That would explain their poor choice of clothing.
“Everyone all right?” Eamon looked around the room, making sure the men who had shown up to do Connelly business were unharmed.
A chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘yeah’ and ‘yep’ sounded all around us and we both waited a beat to see if any of our men let out any grunts or groans of pain. When none came, a slow grin broke out on Eamon’s face.
“Frank’s not dead yet, but this night wasn’t a total bust.”
“It’s even better than you know. Shamrock found Lorenzo sniffing around outside the club, so we grabbed him.”
My eyes went wide with shock. “We got Lorenzo fucking Milano? The head of the family? Holy shit E-dawg, Patrick’s gonna die just to hand the reins over to you.”
We both laughed at that morbid thought because it wasn’t far from the truth. “Does he know yet?”
“Nah, I thought we could drop him off, kind of like those dead animals you used to bring into the house when you were a kid.”
God how Patrick hated that. “Remember how terrified he was that I might want to be a veterinarian instead of going into the family business?”
He’d had a fucking fit until I got into a fight at school, and he saw who I really was, according to him.
“He can’t react worse than that, right?”
“Let’s hope not.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ivy
Where was he? Hours had passed since Shae left his house and still, he hadn’t walked back through the door. That had to be a bad sign, didn’t it? If his Irish mob family’s plans had gone off with no problems, he’d be back already, which meant there was a problem.
My feet paced while my mind raced, conjuring up the most terrifying scenarios, each of which included more and more of Shae’s blood being shed. If he died I wouldn’t get to tell him that I loved him. The combination of stress, self-reflection, and a sense of adventure that was new to me, convinced me that I needed to tell him. And now that I’d started to get my courage up to tell him, he was late.
Maybe hurt.
Possibly dead.
If he was dead, I would kill him myself for depriving me of this moment. Damn him. Please, don’t let him be dead. Or hurt.
“Shit!” I said to no one.
I had to stop pacing, stop obsessing before I drove myself crazy with wild scenarios that were getting more bizarre with every passing second. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do to change the outcome, so I marched across the vast living room to the bar near the window and picked up one of the big crystal decanters filled with whiskey and poured a healthy portion into a glass.
I gulped it down like it was a shot and poured another.
“Holy crap that’s strong!” The burn in my throat was exactly the distraction I needed.
The warmth slid down my throat and made its way through my body until I felt heated all over and my muscles started to relax. Too bad booze didn’t have the same effect on my mind, which continued to race, bouncing from one awful scenario to another.
Then I heard the sound of a key in the lock, the knob turning just as the front door opened. Instead of running to the door, I was rooted to the spot, empty glass in hand. I stared at the empty doorway and waited for Shae’s body to fill it.
I heard my name. “Ivy?” My heart stopped.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out, just a short gasping sound that should have been a greeting. It was three in the morning. I was fully dressed, pacing a lavishly appointed living room while waiting for the mobster who owned my heart to show up. Alive. Things were surreal and my voice had abandoned me.
“Ivy.” He appeared in the doorway looking masculine and bad and … bloody.
“Say something, dammit.”
His face split into a sexy simmering grin and his hands cupped my hips. “Worried about me, darlin’?”
“You’re bloody and your clothes are torn, plus you’ve been gone for hours.”
Shae let out a hiss of pain when I grabbed his arm. At the same time, I felt the sticky liquid under my hand.
“Shae!” Tugging him to the sofa, I pushed him down and hurried to find the first aid box I’d seen under the sink in the kitchen.
When I returned, I searched in the box for what I needed, peppering him with questions. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Shae looked up at me, worry shining in his green eyes. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”
Hell no, I didn’t want to hear it, but I needed to hear it. “Yes. I’m going to clean you up, and you can talk. Or not. Just tell me you’re okay.” The wound looked nasty but not life threatening, and I got busy cleaning and drying it.
“Butterfly bandages or stitches?”
He arched a raven brow, lips pursed in a knowing grin. “You can do stitches?”
“I raised a teenage brother in the age of limited healthcare. Of course I can do basic stitches. I can’t guarantee that it won’t leave a scar, but I can do it.” It would keep me occupied while hopefully he talked.
“Chicks dig scars, right?”
Even injured after going through what I have to assume was hell, the man still exuded a raw sex appeal that pulled me in, drugged me. and made me want to crawl into him.
“That’s what they say?”
“Do you dig scars?”
Our gazes collided and it seemed like he really wanted to know. “I hate that you got hurt, Shae. But I’m glad you’re all right.” The wound on his right bicep bled a lot but only took six stitches.
“Is all this blood yours?”