Chapter 15
We were back at the house when Simon’s text came in.
Simon
Call Dr G urgent father hurt
What the fuck was I supposed to make of that, that wouldn’t send me into a panic? I barely got the words out to tell my guys not to disturb me as I ran to the bedroom I used. I tried to sound calm, and I think I pulled it off. But I was seething the entire time until we changed the subject. I didn’t mean to let it slip I’m not in NYC. I never make mistakes like that. Ever. But it shows just how much I let my guard down around Thea. I don’t regret it, but I must be more careful going forward.
I’ll deal with Corey, but we have to deal with Rowan and the warehouse right now. We’re back outside the building this morning. We know the rugs are ready to ship from the warehouse because we followed the truck from their parking lot half an hour ago. We weren’t convinced Rowan could arrange for Corey to hold onto to them last night, so Nick kept watch overnight at the lot where they keep their fleet of trucks and vans. He called when he heard the driver tell another guy where he was headed in an hour. It gave us time to get in place.
The port’s not even open yet, but the O’Malleys run the docks in Boston just like we do in NYC. They plan to get the rugs and whatever medical supplies they had stashed at their warehouse into the ship’s hold before any customs agents can inspect the crates.
The heat signature shows four people inside. We need those four guys to help load the truck. I have no clue who they are, but we’ll know in a flash whether they recognize me. I don’t know if they’ll know me as Finn or just an O’Rourke thanks to my hair.
I speak into my earpiece. “Peter, go.”
He’s driving a box truck that he’ll pull around to the loading bay. The rest of us jog forward, our rifles at the ready. It’s three in the morning, so it’s dark with shite lighting around the building. In our black fatigues, we’re practically unnoticeable. By the time we’re there, one of the O’Malley men is gesturing at Peter to get out of the truck. He’s yelling at him, but Peter won’t move until I signal him. The fuck nut is making so much noise that I sneak up behind him and put the barrel to his head.
“Shut up.” I pull his gun from his hip holster and thrust it behind me, so one of my guys grabs it.
I push a little against his head and nudge him forward, walking behind him to the building. I nod, and the rest of my men jump onto the loading dock while Peter gets out of the truck. He goes around the back of the vehicle and opens the door. It’s only a moment later that I hear a single gunshot.
“We’re good.” I hear Nate in my earpiece.
I keep nudging the idiot in front of me until we get to the steps. Just as we get to the top, the warehouse bay door opens. The three men who were still inside now stand in the same position as the guy in front of me.
“Move your arses. Load it.”
As I issue the command, I can see their empty shoulder, hip, and back holsters. A different one for each guard. They’re in shape, but they’re no match for the physical strength my men possess. O’Rourke men learn to be light on their feet, considering how heavy most of them are. And it’s definitely not chub. They’re lean muscle that’s as intimidating as it is functional. I pull my rifle away from my captive and put it between his shoulder blades before giving him a hard shove.
I sure as shite don’t trust any of them to operate a forklift, so Tom climbs on and gets it running. Geniuses left the keys in the damn thing. It takes an hour, with my guys rotating who’s working and who’s making sure the O’Malley men don’t sprout a backbone, but we get everything in the warehouse loaded. We manhandle the men into the back since we’ll need them to help unload the shite, too. We make sure they’ll have their wrists and ankles zip-tied every time we load them in. I debate whether to shut the bay door, so it surprises Rowan and Riley when they get here later. I decide to leave it open. It’ll be a surprise either way, but I want them to see they’ve been fucked the moment they arrive.
Since there’s no security in the entire place— Nate confirmed that while we worked —we’re not in the rush we normally would be. There are three offices downstairs we couldn’t see while John and Luke investigated. We do a controlled burn. We light them on fire and watch as the shite burns. We stand out of the fallout range when the windows explode, but before the flames can leap and spread, we put them out. Luke’s an ace at cracking safes, so we ransacked theirs before the office turned into smokey rubble. It tempts me to leaving a calling card, but they’ll either guess immediately— they should —or they’ll chase their tails trying to figure it out.
Peter and Nate ride together in the truck while Tom, Luke, John, and I head back to our SUV. It’s always a debate whether I should follow my men or lead them when there’s only one escort vehicle. Do I protect them from the front or the back? This truck’s large enough to be a battering ram or survive being rear-ended by pretty much anything but a semi. We’re sticking to surface streets, so I’m not worried about a semi. The SUV leads.
We head to Brookline and find the house with the animals. We disable the outside motion detectors and doorbell camera. Tom, Nate, and Luke head inside with Luke making a beeline to cut off the alarm system. His day job is to work for a security company. He’s in product development, so he has plenty of knowledge. Our men have a variety of day jobs. Not all of them are bodyguards, enforcers, or street hustlers. Actually, most appear like completely average men with average jobs.
Luke comes through my earpiece. “Yes.” You can enter now.
We keep our talking to a minimum. These guys aren’t fluent Gaelic speakers like my brothers, cousins, and I, but they can get by with enough that we only use it if we absolutely have no choice but to speak.
We know there are six people in the house, and the goal is not to disturb a single one. We want to be in and out before anyone’s the wiser. The heat seeking binoculars are a godsend. Not only could we tell where everyone is, we also figured out where the animals are. They’re cold-blooded, so it was their heat lamps we detected.
Fuck.
There are at least fifty of them down here. Some have more than one in a terrarium, so they’re definitely two man carries. Good thing we have the extra help. We didn’t injure any of the O’Malleys. They weren’t shot. They were shot at. Very convincing when the bullet enters the wall behind you at ear level. We’re in and out in thirty minutes— twenty-five minutes later than I wanted to be.
When we got back to the safe house before raiding the warehouse, I hacked Rowan’s email again and discovered the birds are in the same neighborhood. This place has a security gate, but that’s simple for us to open. That’s one of the earliest skills you learn before your first mission. The security system is off again, and we’re in.
Fecking hell. It smells worse than the Queens Zoo aviary. There’re birds of paradise, and what I think are cockatoos and toucans— definitely not as fun as the freaking cereal mascot. I don’t think Toucan Sam smells like shite. I can’t say I feel sorry for Rowan’s men who will be stuck with the stench in the truck.
With spider monkeys, lizards, and birds, the back of the truck is noisy. We shut the door fast and head out. Since Colleen was a veterinarian and specialized in working with rescued animals, we have a connection with animal protection up here. Without special permits and licenses, it’s illegal to own, propagate, or cultivate exotic animals in Massachusetts. It’s already close to seven-thirty, so our connection should be at work by now. I shoot off a quick text and get an immediate response.
Our license plates don’t match the vehicles, and we all have ski masks to shield us from the security cameras. I don’t give a shite about O’Malley’s men since they won’t live long enough for anyone to find them. The woman who meets us nearly has a heart attack when she sees how many animals we have. There’s barely enough room for all of them. We give her the information about the two homes we took them from. She knows Rowan and Riley are involved, so there’s no need to give her their information.
Our next stop is practically in the heart of the city, just around the corner from the famous Boston Common. We own a boutique near Beacon Hill, the most expensive area of the city. Houses here go for three-point-two mill. This is the perfect place for us to conduct business since no one expects us to be here. The boutique is a legit business that Lisa, my second cousin twice removed, runs. The O’Malleys don’t have her on their radar, so they have no idea she’s related to us.
When we need to stash shite, we come there. She has plenty of space in the back of her store. Everything goes in, and it’ll be safe there until more O’Rourke men can come up from New York tonight and load it up. They’ll bring everything back to us. It’s risky to have these goods change hands so many times, but it makes it harder to track.
Our last stop for this wave of my plan is a meat grinding factory near Lowell. Morning traffic turns what should be a forty-five-minute drive into just over an hour, but it’s fine. Let those men shite themselves, wondering what’s going to happen to them now that the box truck is empty, but they’re still locked inside. Tom and Peter stay there with the O’Malleys to oversee their disposal while the rest of us look for our friend, Corey.
His security detail is lazy as fuck. They don’t notice as I saunter up the path from the sidewalk. They’re snoring too loudly to hear me. Silencers on my guns take care of them. Corey’s ex-wife left his arse twenty years ago. He can’t find anyone to fuck him despite how much he tries to pay women. His sons have their own places above bars they own. I know they’re not home. I contemplate kicking his door open to make a statement that nothing’s keeping me out. But I opt for a more subtle entrance.
With my lock picking set, I let myself in while my men spread out to guard the perimeter. I tip toe up the stairs to the second floor. I ease the bedroom door open. How polite of him to sleep on his back with this mouth hanging open. I put my pistol’s barrel in his mouth.
“Wake the fuck up.” I slam my fist into his sternum.
He jerks awake, his teeth smashing the gun as he tries to snap his jaw closed. His eyes widen as he takes in who’s leaning over him. His eyes dart around the room, and I let him look. There’s not a damn person here to help him.
“Corey, we’re going to have a little chat. If I don’t like your answers, I’ll blow your brains out. Understood?”
He makes some garbled sound then nods his head.
“Did you throw a brick through my girlfriend’s window?”
His brow furrows.
“Oh, so you just assumed you could intimidate Althea with no repercussions?”
His eyes open even wider. I didn’t think it was possible. I’ll take that as a yes.
“Did you cause her dad’s accident?”
He nods.
“Why?” I pull the gun out of his mouth, pointing it between his eyes instead. Terror pulsates off him, and he appears to struggle to put a thought together. He’s certain he won’t survive this chat. Who knew the harbinger of death was a ginger?
“Because he believes he’s too good for his past. So does his slut daughter.”
I slam my fist into his sternum again. “I already told you she’s my girlfriend.”
“Exactly.”
Getting ballsy for someone who’s about to get his junk blown off. I swing my arm to point my pistol at his crotch.
“Did Althea’s father run with your club back in the day?”
The background check my brother Sean ran already told me Thea grew up in Boston but moved down to NYC after med school. Once her younger brother went to college, her parents moved closer to Thea’s mom’s family. It was the slight New England accent I heard when I met Thea. I know Brandon— her dad —had a few arrests for petty shite, but they were before Thea was born. His rap sheet listed no accomplices. Her dad’s background check showed no known associates that concerned us.
We learned our lesson with Mair. Not only do we do more extensive checks on all employees, but we extend it to their family. Sean insisted on that for Thea. I haven’t told her yet, but I will. I don’t want to freak her out, but I’m going to have to admit I know some shite about her family. I just didn’t know this. It makes me wonder if her connection to Corey is what Dillan wanted to tell me, but I said I wanted Thea to tell me on her own.
Her parents’ childhood addresses along with where they lived when Thea was a kid weren’t in neighborhoods commonly associated with motorcycle clubs. Brandon grew up here in Boston, and Thea’s mom— Sandra —grew up in north Jersey. I know Thea’s family struggled when she and her brothers were really young, but her dad made good money after he started at the company he works for now. He got a transfer to a site in Jersey, right outside the city. Her mom stayed home with her kids before they went to school, but she went back to work full time once Thea’s younger brother was in kindergarten. They were comfortable after that.
Corey’s glare is wasted as he answers me. “Yeah.”
“But he got out. Why?”
“Because he thought he was too good for us once he became a welder. Doesn’t matter that he married a Black woman. He thinks he can pass himself off as something he isn’t just cause he doesn’t look like her or us. He didn’t want to ride with our crew once his mom’s side of the family got to him. They thought they were too good for us too, but not for the same reason.”
I haven’t seen any photos of Thea’s parents, but I get what he’s saying. Thea’s mom is Black, and her dad is mixed. Knowing Corey, Brandon’s dad was black, and his mom was white. He’s insinuating Brandon’s mom didn’t want her son running with criminals. Apparently, Corey believes Brandon’s reason was easier to see. Whether it was Brandon’s job or half his family, Corey is obviously bitter that he couldn’t control Brandon.
“Why’re you targeting them now?”
“Because I can.” He tries to smirk, but I lean a couple inches closer and put the barrel to his skin.
“No, you can’t. Give me the real reason.”
“I told him Althea’s time was up, and her ass needed to get back up here. She has responsibilities and commitments to keep.”
What the fuck?
“And?”
“And he refused to deliver the message or make sure she did what I expect.”
“So?” I’m getting tired of him not just spitting out the complete story. This is the last prompt I’m giving him before I really hurt him.
“So, I made sure he got fired. He needs his job back, or they’ll lose everything. That is, unless they accept my help.”
Extortion. Loan sharking. That’s his kind of help. He continues without me having to say a word.
“He knows this could all end if he accepts my help or makes Althea come back to where she belongs.”
I don’t want to give away that I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. And whatever’s in Thea’s past, I want her to tell me herself. Not to test her, but because I want her to trust me. That she can tell me anything— good, bad, or ugly. Fuck knows, there’s next to nothing she can tell me that’s worse than my past and my future. But I need to know what’s going on. I don’t think I have the luxury of waiting.
“What makes you think he’d sacrifice his daughter?”
“He won’t. I can still make her come up here, but I’ll force him to use my money before that.”
“You think you’re going to force my girlfriend to do anything? You woke up to my gun in your mouth. I have it between your eyes now. And you tempted me earlier to blow your dick off.”
“Killing me won’t stop what’s already in motion.”
That’s true. That’s why he’s still alive. I’ll let him think he’s going to die any minute for a little longer. Then I’m leaving. He’ll still be breathing, though barely.
“But it sure as fuck would be satisfactory. Call your henchmen off Althea. She has nothing to do with this.”
He snorts in disgust. “She hasn’t told you about her past, has she?”
I keep my expression impassive as though I already know, so I don’t care whether or not he tells me. I want to know right the fuck now.
He laughs at me. “She’s a Sweet Butt.”