Ruthless Pursuit (Irish Kings #6)

Prologue

Kellin

The end of an era…

The words echo through my mind like endless ripples through a pond, shrinking but never vanishing.

Grass slicks the bottom of my Oxfords. Thin green souvenirs from my visit to the cemetery this afternoon.

Though dim stars now blanket the New York sky, my mind continues to linger on the image of Shane Gallagher trapped in that oversize box.

The indomitable leader of the Irish Kings for over twenty years, six feet under. Finn Gallagher—Shane’s only surviving son and heir—watching the glossy black wood of Shane’s casket disappear beneath the soil with a grim, unreadable expression isn’t a scene I’ll soon forget.

Hours later, Finn’s face remains unchanged.

Despite the guests packed into the first-floor foyer of the sprawling Gallagher estate, he’s easy to spot. From his position near the ceiling-high windows, he towers over most of the other people while clutching a glass of amber liquid.

Finn and I have never shared a particularly close relationship, but we’ve worked together long enough for me to know that he’s not much for revealing his emotions. Even after the death of his father, his stoicism holds true.

But grief casts a long shadow, and its creeping fingers show in the pinch of new wrinkles around Finn’s eyes and the tightness of his pale lips. The way he’s downed three of those glasses of whiskey in the same amount of time I’ve consumed one.

To those of us accustomed to people-watching—who do so as a matter of life and death—the strain is evident.

In the space between Finn and me, distant relatives and family friends crowd the blood-red carpeting. The tiered chandelier tinkles above the mourners. They’re all sharing memories and chatting over their champagne as they recall Shane’s younger years.

I recognize some faces. Mostly upper-echelon Irish Kings. Finn’s friends—Rory O’Connor, Cian Mahoney, Darren Kelly—hover nearby, along with Darren’s adoptive father Donal Gallagher, the Kings’ second-in-command.

With Shane’s death, I wonder if Donal will retain that title, or if it will pass to someone else. Cian, maybe. He’s closest to Finn. Or maybe Darren. Though I hear he’s less involved with the family business these days after marrying and branching out into private security.

Near Finn, a slender, pretty young woman with fair skin and coppery hair blots her eyes with a tissue. It takes a few seconds for me to place her as Trinity Gallagher, Finn’s half-sister. I haven’t seen her since she left to attend college in California, and she’s grown up a lot in those years.

In the nearby shadows, another Gallagher drains a glass of whiskey like its water.

When he finishes, his empty stare settles on me.

Alarm frissons up my spine. I may be a dangerous bastard, but next to Liam, I look like a damn kitten.

He’s a big ex-special forces guy who always strikes me as a man on the verge of self-destruction.

To be honest, I’m surprised he even bothered to show up.

I catch a few whispers about Finn from a nearby group of lower-ranked Kings. His age, his wife…his next steps.

After all, he’s the one to watch. Before, he was Shane’s most trusted enforcer, the heir without real power.

Now he’s the king of the Kings.

While he has a small group of tight-knit friends, he’ll need more people he can trust, and I hope to secure a post in that coveted inner circle.

Us Brennans have always enjoyed a tight-knit relationship with the New York Gallaghers. And when Finn married my cousin Riley, I figured heightened involvement in the family would be an all but done deal.

Until my uncle fucked everything up.

My knuckles whiten around my whiskey glass.

Thomas Brennan. The man who betrayed the Kings and Shane so deeply that he earned himself the family goodbye. Death. A brutal and very much deserved one where every King had the opportunity to torture him first before Shane dealt the killing blow.

His actions were some of the most shameful in our history. He colluded with the enemy, leading to loss of product, revenue, and even life.

Now, thanks to his idiotic grab for money and power, the ranks have tightened more than ever. No one whose name doesn’t already top the VIP list will get close to Finn anytime soon.

I’m not mistrusted, exactly. But because I was on decent terms with my uncle—better than his own daughters, at least—the Kings started shooting me suspicious looks. Thomas’s treachery clearly tainted my reputation too.

The opinions of the rabble mean nothing. But I loathe the way my uncle’s fuck-up hangs over me like a dark shadow, smothering my upward momentum.

Thomas’s daughters, Riley and Harper, seem to be weathering the resulting storm of his betrayal just fine. My cousins ditched the Brennan last name when they married into the Kings, thereby weakening the impact of their father’s sins on their lives.

Not the case for me.

Riley plays the part of grieving daughter-in-law well enough, her delicate features expressing genuine grief as she sticks to Finn’s side, nervously toying with a strand of blond hair. Harper hovers by her identical twin, her blue eyes shifting between Riley and Cian.

“Prowling the perimeter as usual, I see.” Tiernan Murphy’s familiar, grating voice washes over me. His stocky frame stops beside me, and our shoulders nearly brush.

Like me, he exists on the periphery of the Kings, performing dirty tasks that the Gallagher name can’t risk being associated with if things go south. We’ve worked a few jobs together over the years, so I know he’s decent at what he does.

Too bad he’s such a huge pain in the ass.

Drinks too much, talks too much. I’ve got more than one scar thanks to his inability to shut his damn mouth.

Not even the ten years we spent in the trenches together could bond us.

I don’t spare him a glance. “Back from overseas?”

“Wouldn’t miss Finn’s big day.”

“Don’t pretend. Sentimentality doesn’t suit you.” I nod in Finn’s direction. “You’re angling for a seat at his table, aren’t you?”

I catch Tiernan’s wide smirk. “What’s it to you? Worried about the competition?”

I swirl my drink, the ice tinkling against the glass. “Of course not.”

Tiernan’s no one. Finn Gallagher wouldn’t think twice about him.

All told, he’s an idiot. Just another tool in Finn’s arsenal, like the rest of us.

At least I’ve got tact and a history of successful jobs. More than most.

I understand how to play the game.

If anyone’s climbing into Thomas Brennan’s vacated spot at the top of the ladder, it’s me.

“Good.” Tiernan swigs from the wine glass trapped between his tattooed fingers. “There’s no way Finn would choose traitor’s blood for his next cabinet anyway.”

White-hot fury blinds me, and my free hand twitches toward the gun tucked at my waist.

I sip more of my drink, the alcohol burning down my throat and soothing the anger. No need to let Tiernan Murphy break my composure.

I treat him to a bland little smile. “My relation to Thomas Brennan is an unfortunate biological fact. I’m no more a traitor than you are.”

Tiernan’s blue eyes darken as he finishes his wine and slaps the empty goblet on the closest table. “We all thought we could trust your uncle. Who’s to say we can trust you?”

For one brief, beautiful moment, I contemplate picking up that empty wine glass, shattering it, and shoving the sharp end straight into this fucker’s eye.

On any other night, I’d teach Tiernan exactly what serving as the Kings’ shadow, the one Shane trusted with the jobs no one else could do for him, truly means.

Tiernan would be dead before he hit the floor.

But not tonight. Though I possess too many character faults to count, I do draw a line at disrespecting the deceased.

Tempted as I am to put this asshole in his place, Shane deserves better than a brawl at his memorial.

Tiernan fades into the crowd before he can dig his grave any deeper. Smart move.

At the front of the room, Donal calls for everyone’s attention by raising a hand.

“I appreciate you all coming.” His voice is smooth, aged like thirty-year-old Teeling Single Malt Whiskey. He strokes his well-groomed beard as he surveys the crowd. “Shane would be grateful to see so many friends.”

Though we’ve only spoken on a few occasions, I know enough about Donal to stay out of his way. He’s a wolf in an Armani suit.

“As unfortunate and tragic as these circumstances are, the family must live on.” Donal claps a firm hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Shane is watching over us, proud to see his son take the mantel. Finn will lead us into the future. A new generation. A new beginning. A new Irish Kings!”

The few elder Kings—Shane’s generation and older—raise their glasses. The rest of the mourners follow suit.

With just a few words, the torch has passed from father to son.

King to heir.

As the crowd applauds, a steady flow of people streams toward Finn, eager to catch their new leader’s ear.

I down my drink and resist the urge to smash the glass against the indoor fountain.

I’m loyal to this family. Always have been, always will be.

How dare Tiernan, that absolute cretin, suggest otherwise?

I’ll prove my commitment and loyalty as definitively as my uncle proved his treason. If necessary, I’ll sacrifice my life for this family.

The goal lights a dark flame in my mind, set ablaze by my own conviction. My own personal heat supply for the rest of the night.

We’re halfway through Shane’s memorial and Finn’s celebration when the call comes.

Through the throngs of guests, I watch Finn fish a cell phone from his pocket. His expression sours when he spies the caller ID. He answers without a word, just listening.

Premonition needles the back of my neck.

More bad news.

Finn’s big fingers clench his phone like he’s about to crush the metal to dust. He grows more rigid by the second, and by the time the call ends, I think I could bounce a quarter off his jaw.

Controlled fury dictates his motions as he shuts his cell off with a precise hand flick. I half expect him to chuck the device into the fountain rather than slip it back into his pocket.

Riley materializes at her husband’s side. Her hands reach for his face, then slide down his shoulders and arms.

My rebellious cousin comforting one of the deadliest men in the city. Never thought I’d see the day.

Finn traps her hands with his and squeezes. The simple display of affection speaks volumes. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gives her a prominent role in one of the Gallaghers’ legitimate business ventures.

She’s not the same girl who ran from the Kings just a few years ago.

Riley’s lips move as she attempts to coax answers from her husband.

Part of me wishes I could sneak closer and learn more about that call. Even though he keeps his aggravation bottled well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Finn so perturbed.

Finn subtly shakes his head and strokes Riley’s arm. His deep brown eyes slice across the room, sizing up the attendees. When his gaze lands on me, my muscles tense.

The crowd parts as he stalks across the floor.

My nerves tingle, and I straighten my shoulders.

Finn stops a single stride away from me. “Kellin.”

“Sir.” Considering we’re about the same age and once, when we were toddlers, I saw him cry over a broken toy truck, the honorific sounds strange on my tongue.

“I need someone no one would recognize as a King to fly out to Santa Monica and address an issue.” Finn grimaces, the problem clearly distasteful. Then he stares me in the eye. “You want to prove you’re of more use to me than your uncle?”

I nod, determination, rage, and anticipation all roiling together in my gut. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Finn folds his arms. “Now’s your chance.”