11. Kieran
Chapter 11
Kieran
R aindrops splatter against the windshield, the rhythmic drumming of drops merging into rivulets that stream down the glass. I’d turned the car off three minutes ago, and the air is already thick.
Glancing up, the shattered windows of the abandoned office building are jagged and no longer transparent. Instead, they’re coated in some grime or mold, making them murky and impossible to see through.
The first time I met Yuki here, I was hesitant. With one barely functioning lamplight, the dark street on the outskirts of Boston isn’t exactly appealing for a meet with another organization’s leader. Now it’s the norm.
I pull the handle of the door, exiting my car, and shiver the instant I step into the chill. The air is cold, made worse by the icy water droplets. Making quick work to check my surroundings, I jog to the rusted door. The rain obscures my vision just enough that I miss the handle and slam my hand against the metal.
When I yank open the door, the creak of the hinges is loud enough to breach the incessant tapping of rain. As the door slams behind me, I shake my soaked head and flick back my trench coat. The darkness is almost impenetrable, the only light illuminating the first floor is from the flashes of lightning. Water drips in from the gaps in the roof, and the floor is littered with rotten debris and shards of glass that crunch underneath my boots as I make my way to the stairs.
I tug a flashlight from my coat pocket and check in with Cormac, who’s waiting with four of my men several buildings away.
That was always the deal with Yuki. When the Japanese and the Irish first started playing nice, if you will. He only meets with me.
Reckless. That’s what Cormac said. But I knew cultivating a relationship with the Japanese would serve both our organizations.
The light from the flashlight in my hand cuts through the pitch-black as I climb the stairs to the second floor. I scan the room, searching for any sign of Yuki. My heartbeat picks up as I venture deeper into the room. Demolished cubicles and broken furniture block multiple paths, sopping wet papers squelch on the concrete as I shuffle forward.
A gust of wind sends sheets of rain splashing against the distorted glass. Spinning around, I map out the floor. No one’s here.
I peek at my watch. 10:06 p.m.
I’ll give him four more minutes before I leave. I update Cormac once more with my location, and?—
A crash has me reaching for one of the pistols from my shoulder holster, crisscrossed over my back and under my coat. I bring my light up under my weapon and crouch into a defensive position behind a splintered wooden desk.
“It’s me.” Yuki’s voice breaks through the silence. “Didn’t see the damn chair.”
I roll my eyes and stand, sliding my gun back into its leather holster. Pulling my coat tightly around me, I aim my flashlight toward Yuki.
He stands tall, posture straight in his red suit. Not quite taller than me, but he’s still above average. His hair, once jet black, now has a thin strand of silver hanging just over his brow. When he brings his hand to his forehead to block my light, the dragon tattoo that spans over all his knuckles seems to shimmer. He looks older. Way older. And I saw him two months ago.
He narrows his dark eyes at me, and they sparkle with a hint of mischief despite the fine lines etched around them.
“What’s this meet for, Kieran?”
I smirk, but a sensation of unease creeps in. “Katsuro’s dead. Reports from me men say it was an internal kill.”
“You don’t have enough issues in your organization? You need to police mine?”
I shake my head. “He’s one of me fighters.”
“No, Kieran. He’s one of mine.”
I clench my jaw.
Yuki sighs, dragging a quivering hand through his hair. “We’re experiencing … how would you say it in business terms? An attempted coup.”
“A coup? An internal coup?”
“Yes. Katsuro was a victim of such, and we’re weeding out those responsible.”
He’s right. This isn’t my business. I only need to know …
“How does this affect our relationship?”
“It doesn’t. Not for as long as I’m in po?—”
A sharp crack explodes through the air, and I duck, hands going over my head. Both arms crossing, I reach for my guns, pulling them out and pointing them in the direction of the shot.
Yuki’s face down on the ground, unmoving. I take a step toward him, trying to get close enough to check his pulse.
“I wouldn’t.” A gravelly voice calls out, and I wince watching blood seep from a disgusting hole in the back of his skull.
“Who are ya?” I pant out, wishing I had my phone but not willing to put both my weapons away. Hopefully without a check-in over the next five minutes Cormac will send men.
A figure steps forward, and I cringe.
Damn it. Yuki’s son.
Standing at his father’s height and dripping in all black leather, he’s foregone the classic suit. His jet-black hair is shaved close to his head, and two barcode tattoos sit beneath his eyes.
“Riku,” I grit out.
He moves forward, two other young men flanking either side of him. I palm both guns, drawing his eye.
“No need for those,” he hisses.
“I beg to differ.” My gaze lands back on Yuki’s lifeless body. “Ye killed Katsuro?”
Riku grins. “I did.”
“Care to explain why?” I take two steps backward, mentally mapping out my exit. My boots scrape along the cracked floor as I scan around me: rusted desks, exposed pipe in the wall, broken boxes. I could grab a chair, and perhaps it would trip someone, but mostly everything else is useless. My pulse pounds in my ears.
“He wasn’t on board with new leadership.”
I nod. “And yer father?”
“Weak.”
I can’t help the chuckle that comes out of my mouth. If there’s anything I know—knew about Yuki, it’s that he was not weak. Riku, on the other hand, is too cocky and a coward if the bastard is offing his own people for status.
“The tide is turning in the Yakuza. It’s time for new leadership. Your life. The Mob’s survival depends on how quickly you can accept that.”
“Aye.” Bile scourges my throat and I feel sick.
“Ren and Souta are still alive, and they’ve been instructed to fight for me and me only. When I tell them to throw a fight, they throw it. When I tell them to sit one out, they will. And when I tell you to put in my men, you will.”
Hell no. This bleeding wee shite is not going to dictate things.
“And in case you’re currently thinking that you won’t be following my orders, know that my father has been growing our numbers for the past two years beyond what you’re aware of. We have triple the men, triple the influence, and triple the power. It’d be best if you comply.”
Yuki. Damn you.
“What makes ye think ye can take on the Mob?”
“Oh, Mr. O’Donnell.” He tsks. The way he says my name is a shite reminder of just how young this man is. Last I checked he was twenty-five, perhaps younger. Making him over ten years younger than me, and a stark reminder the O’Donnell name may very die with me. He continues, “I don’t think we can, I know .”
“Why not kill me now, then?”
“It’s simple. I need you and your business. We have money that needs to be washed. You are of value to the Yakuza.” He smiles, like he’s just said something profound. This kid is going to get himself killed.
But I nod, playing along. I’m outnumbered and there’s a certain wisdom in knowing when to shut the hole in your face. I couldn’t do that to Aoife; say something stupid that gets me killed. She needs me.
An echoing creak, followed by a loud slam, rattles the broken windows on the second floor, and it’s quickly punctuated by my name.
“Kieran!” Cormac’s voice is muffled by his distance. “Kieran!”
Keeping my gun trained on Riku, I slightly angle my face toward the stairs. “Up here!” I shout.
A series of rapid consecutive thuds reverberate in the stairwell before Cormac’s voice becomes clear at the top.
“Kieran!” Gun drawn, Cormac rushes forward to stand by my side, angling himself in front of me. Eyes wide, he takes in Yuki’s body a few feet in front of us, and the pack of three Yakuza several feet on the other side.
“Stand down, Cormac. Riku and I were just having a wee chat.”
Riku bristles at the casualness of my statement. “We’ll be in touch,” he says.
“Aye. I have no doubt ’bout that.”
The three turn, Riku lingering half a second to stare at his father’s body, before they morph back into the shadows, retreating to another exit.
Cormac drops both hands to his knees, gun still in hand, as he pants. “What the hell, Kieran?”
“Apparently there’s been a change in leadership.” I grimace, turning back toward the stairs and moving down them. Riku can deal with his father’s body.
Cormac follows me as I pull open the rusted door to the building. The rain still hasn’t let up, but I don’t hurry to the car. “Where are the others?” I ask, drops falling past my lips into my mouth. They coat my dry tongue and I have the sudden urge to down a bottle of water. My throat feels like sandpaper.
Cormac digs out his phone and tracks the other car, showing it to me. “Here, Boss.”
“Tell ’em to go home. Ye’re riding with me.”
He does as I ask and runs to get in the passenger side, while I duck into the driver’s seat.
I stare ahead, listening as the rain beats on the car. Remaining water droplets tickle my face as they drip down it. I consider my next move. The implications.
“Boss?” Cormac asks.
Yanking out my phone, I dial a number, hesitating before pressing the green call button. Would Riku see this as a move against him?
He’ll answer, he always does. Our childhood friendship has morphed into a brotherhood that transcends our respective organizations. We’ve bled for each other, figuratively and literally. Or maybe it’s the countless times we’ve sat in silence over the phone, knowing what each other was going through as destined leaders of the Bratva and Mob. I’ve never questioned him when he’s called—he’s family in a way blood can’t always define. And I know he’ll show me the same loyalty.
“Boss?” Cormac asks again.
I sigh, making the call. It rings twice before the voice on the other end answers, “Kieran.”
“Luka.”
* * *
It’s past midnight by the time I make it back home. Debriefing the guard on duty, I tell him to call in two other men. I’m tripling the security, especially while I’m gone.
When I finally emerge into the kitchen, Allie is already over the stove boiling some tea. I strip off my coat, tossing it on the hooks by the back door. Then, glancing at Allie, I shoot her a quizzical look.
She pulls her robe together in her front. “I heard you come in.” She tilts her head, studying me.
“I’m not staying long,” I answer the unvoiced question. “How is yer mom?”
She smiles. “She’s fine. Ornery, but back home with her three dogs and feeling much better after her fall.”
For Allie’s sake, I’m happy she’s well. For my own, I’m glad it doesn’t seem she’ll be called away again. Especially while I’m gone.
I wasn’t sure I’d make it home. My plans were to leave right from the office after I dropped Cormac off. But I knew I wanted to see Aoife and talk to Allie.
Shower. Pack. Aoife. I’ve given myself two hours for those three things. “There will be more guards on duty. Stick to school and home while I’m gone. Cormac will check in periodically throughout the week.”
She nods, pouring the tea into a mug and passing it across the island to me.
“I’ll take it to go.” It’s close to four hours to New York, and my plan is to be there first thing in the morning.
While Allie hunts for a travel mug, I stride from the kitchen and up the stairs. Reaching my bedroom, I shuck off my clothes before entering the bathroom.
Normally, I’d relish my shower after a night like tonight, perhaps allow my mind to conjure distorted images of the alluring woman I see during fights. To foster the memories of her silhouette until I can’t take it anymore.
Not tonight.
Tonight I scrub quickly, jumping out to throw on black suit pants and a dark green button down. Next, I raid my closet for a week’s worth of clothes, stuffing them into my duffel bag. Exiting my room, I let the bag fall at the top of the stairs before walking to Aoife’s room.
I hate to wake her this late, but I’d hate to leave her without saying goodbye even more.
I crack the door, noticing the dancing stars that carousel from her bedside lamp. Aoife is curled into a ball facing the window that looks out over the cobblestone driveway, where another guard has already taken position. Her hair spills over her face, exposing only a fluttering eye and her button nose.
My chest aches, and suddenly the rush to leave isn’t that pressing. I shove both my hands into my pockets and stare at her, watching the ruffled duvet rise and fall with each of her tiny breaths. With a single finger, I pull her hair away from her face before kneeling beside her.
“Aoife?”
She stirs but doesn’t open her eyes.
“Aoife,” I say again, a little louder.
Her eyes flutter open, and she looks at me for a moment before they widen. “Daddy,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry to wake ye. But I need to go out of town for a bit. I wanted to say goodbye.”
She blinks, then nods, the base of her chin quivering ever so slightly. The ache in my chest grows painful.
“I promise. When I get back, we’ll have a weekend on the yacht. Just the two of us. How does that sound?”
“Okay, Daddy.” She yawns, drawing her bear closer to her chest.
“I love ye. Be sweet for Allie.”
“Love you, too.”
“Good night, little love.”
I kiss her cheek, hesitating to stand. But the memory of Yuki lying dead on the concrete floor and Riku’s proclamations motivate me to leave her.
I walk to the door, pull it shut behind me, then jog down the stairs with my bag. Allie left the travel cup of tea on the island along with a granola bar. Grabbing the two items and shrugging into my still-damp coat, I head out the door once more. I settle into the driver’s seat, ready for the long haul to New York.
I’m not sure what will come of this, or if it’s even the right move. But the pressure to act—to take the next step and dive headfirst into protecting my family, both immediate and extended, is relentless. I know I need to do this. And, like always, I’m prepared to do it alone if that’s what it takes.