Chapter Twenty-Eight
Savage
T his is a bad plan. It had sounded so good when Bambi laid it all out. We went over it and over it and over it in minute detail. Everything made sense the way he’d explained it to me.
Now that I’m standing here, waiting for my father, it feels like a very bad plan. He won’t show up. Or he will show up and he’ll kill me. Or Colm won’t hold up his end of the deal. Or maybe Colm will be the one to kill me.
Okay, I don’t believe the last one. I’ve always trusted him. I shouldn’t, but I do. For whatever reason, I’ve known he’d lay his life on the line for me since the start. He never said it because he rarely says much of anything, but it’s always been true.
I can practically hear Micah’s voice in my head.
“Trust yourself, Tadhg. You’re better than that worthless old fuck in every way.”
Then he’d kissed me goodbye and said, “Come home to me.”
We both agreed he shouldn’t be here. I was ready to fight him over it, but he didn’t push the issue. I think he understood that this was something I needed to do.
I’m standing in some kind of outdoor gym behind an auto shop. I think it’s the same one I visited on my whistle stop tour of the area when I was desperately searching for a job, before I ended up finding Gunnar. There’s an old house a hundred feet away, but both buildings are pitch black and shut up for the night. We’re surrounded by the woods apart from the two-lane road that led here, so it’s dark -dark, and all the homemade gym equipment looms around me like sleeping monsters, or a twisted metal graveyard.
I guess there are worse places to be buried. At least I’m close to Micah here.
His friends own this place but they also have a loose association with the Banna. I didn’t really understand the details when Micah explained them, because my attention was snowing in and out, but he assured me that they were connected enough that Father would trust the place to not be bugged or worry about an ambush being set up, but it was still friendly territory to us, because these guys secretly hate my father and everything he stands for.
Which I get. I might not know the details, but I understand being sucked into something you hate, so I’ll take Bambi’s word for it. They left for the night to avoid getting caught in the crossfire, so it’s just me here. I shouldn’t be nervous. I’ve faced worse odds with a lot less support, but still.
Father always seems to get what he wants. I don’t know how to picture a world where that isn’t true.
When I hear the crunch of gravel under tires, my heart rate skyrockets for a second. But then it happens. Exactly like I was hoping—my on-the-job brain takes over and I focus. My own life becomes inconsequential, and I laser in on the reason I’m here.
Protect Micah. Save myself if I can. But I’m ending tonight with no more ties to Father or his crew no matter what. Dead or alive.
Father eventually rounds the corner, accompanied by Colm, as arranged. Colm’s face is tight. His hand is resting on his hip, like he’s unwilling to let it stray too far from his Beretta, but I couldn’t say what specific part of this is making him uneasy. All of it, I guess.
“What’s the meaning of this, boy?” Father barks as soon as he gets close enough.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Picture Micah, alive and safe.
“I’m here to make a deal, Father.”
Fuck, I hope he can’t hear how my voice is wavering. He squints at me like I said something in an alien language, but he doesn’t interrupt, so I guess that’s a good sign.
“I want out. I’m done. I’m leaving the Banna one way or another and you’re going to let me. No more crime, no more anything, and I never want to see you or speak to you ever again.”
The words come out in such a rush I’m surprised he can make them all out. But by the way his eyes widen and his mouth falls open, he must. There’s a long pause while he processes what I said, and I try to get the pounding of my heart under control.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says at last. “There’s no out. This is it. This is your birthright. This is everything you were meant to do.”
He takes a step toward me with his hand outstretched, although I can’t tell if it’s in anger or supplication. I shrink back anyway, turning into myself to get away from him.
“No.”
I don’t follow the word with anything else, and it feels freeing. Like all the ‘no’s’ I’ve never said rolled into one.
That’s when his face shifts from shock to anger. I was waiting for it, but that doesn’t make it any less distressing.
He moves quickly, closing the few feet of distance between us to grab me by the shirt and shake me like an unruly child. I go limp on instinct, hoping he won’t escalate the situation. I can see Colm taking a half step forward, tension written throughout his body, but I shake my head at him as discreetly as I can.
“No? You don’t get to say no to me. You’re mine. I made you. You have a legacy to uphold, otherwise all of this was fucking pointless. Our family has run the Banna for generations and what? You’re just going to be the one weak piece of shit who runs away because he feels like it? No, you’re going to get your shit together, start acting like the man I raised you to be, and take over here so I can go home. And when I die, you can take over the whole thing. It’s the natural fucking order.”
I want to laugh, but it comes out as a sort of wet, sad sound.
“Natural order, Father?” God, I sound unhinged already, even to myself. “You want to talk about the natural order? You wanted Eamon out because he was queer, right? Well, I’m as unnatural as they get. I promise you don’t want me representing your business or your family.”
My stomach twists and bile climbs up the back of my throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We agreed I wouldn’t tell him anything about me or Micah, because it would be more likely to provoke a rage. This was all supposed to be as unemotional as possible. My freedom for his.
He stares at me, his face uncomprehending once again. Then his eyes narrow, and the same fury I’m used to seeing takes over. His hand moves to my throat and squeezes. Not aggressively or in blind rage. But cold and consistent, like he’s working with a purpose this time.
Fuck . This may have been a mistake.
It’s barely seconds before black dots are swimming in my vision. He may be getting older, but there’s still a lot of strength left in him and his hand is well on its way to crushing my throat. I try to push him off, but my movements are weak.
I’m weaker than I should be. Just like every time I go toe to toe with him, I’m holding myself back. It’s pathetic, but after all this time, I still can’t bring myself to fully stand up to him.
I can hear the sound of Colm rushing over, cursing as he trips on some loose piece of equipment. He pulls at Patrick, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect. The dark spots get bigger and bigger, and the ground beneath me is starting to sway.
“No,” I croak, barely audible through the iron grip that Patrick has on my throat.
His face is practically purple with rage, but his eyes are cold. I don’t even know how much of the truth he’s put together by what I just said, or if he’s just so pissed that I confronted him in the first place.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t think I have it in me to pull away. At least like this, he’ll leave Micah alone. With me alive, there would always be the chance that he could come for us. This way, Micah will always be safe.
It’s the only decent thing I’ve ever really done for him.
The thought comforts me as a blanket of static drags me down toward the ground.
Bright lights flare, interrupting my peace and piercing my mind. The brightness hurts. I can’t tell if this is a Matrix reborn-into-death situation or if I’m still alive and there are lights now, but I can feel Father’s grip on me loosen with surprise, so my bet is on alive.
As soon as the pressure comes off my trachea, I cough, although it makes my ribs ache where they’re still bruised. It’s enough give for Colm to jerk him back, freeing me from him. I hit the ground immediately. My legs have no idea what to do. But no one is touching me here, which is a plus.
It is light. Or there are lights, more accurately. Big, bright halogens I didn’t notice before illuminate the space.
Father shoves Colm away from him, both of them breathing hard, but he doesn’t come for me again.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice a growl.
I can hear voices from the darkness somewhere, but I can’t pinpoint their location or what they’re saying. We were supposed to be alone, but as soon as my brain connects the dots, I know there’s only one person it can be hiding in the bushes.
That sneaky, conniving little shit.
I’m going to kill him.
Just as I realize what’s happening, Micah comes crashing out of the trees at the edge of the property and runs toward me. Father has his gun in his hand, pointed at him in less than a second.
I make an animalistic noise, reaching toward him, even though I still can’t get to my feet. Everyone else is faster, though.
Colm pulls out his gun and points it at Father, barking the order to freeze. I was already impressed that he agreed to help me with this, but now he’s actually turned on his boss, I know how deep his loyalty lies.
Also, behind Micah there are two more men. One is huge, with long dark hair and enough tattoos to make his otherwise pale skin blend into the darkness. I think I recognize him as the mechanic who works here. He’s holding a hunting rifle pointed at my father, although I can tell from his stance that he’s not happy about it.
The other man is my size, but somehow more menacing than the big guy. He’s holding his weapon like it’s as natural as breathing air. He follows Micah with quick, easy steps, never taking his eyes off his target, and looks more in his element here than any of the rest of us.
I’m assuming these are Micah’s friends he talks about. Apparently, I even met one of them while I was unconscious and feverish, but I don’t remember. All I want to know is where someone like him finds friends like this.
Micah is always brave. But he’s never looked more set on anything than he is on getting to me. By the time he reaches me, kneeling in the dirt to help pull me into a sitting position, Father is surrounded and letting his gun dangle limply between his fingers.
I’m half-sitting, half-leaning in Micah’s lap as he grabs my face and examines me.
“Tadhg! Can you hear me? Look at me.”
He looks me over, which is something he’s had to do far too many times.
“I’m okay, Bambi.” My voice is barely a croak, and it hurts to push the words through, but I manage it.
“Goddamn right you are,” he says, still touching me. “Idiot. Big dumb mafia idiot.”
I try to speak again, but it comes out as a cough. I know what he means though. This wasn’t the plan. I wasn’t supposed to rile him up. I was supposed to present the terms and walk away.
Father, meanwhile, is watching us with something between awe and revulsion on his face. It’s as if he can’t settle on the correct emotion, so he’s filtering through too many of them at once.
“Savage, what are you doing?” he asks.
“That’s not his fucking name!” Micah is still holding my face as he yells at Father. He flinches away a little, because he holds the same in-built fear of the man that I do, but at least he can push past it. “He’s your son. Your fucking child. You named him. You raised him. And now you want to kill him?”
Father doesn’t say anything. His eyes narrow and he settles into his stance, like any trepidation he had about his own safety is gone, even though no one has stopped pointing a gun at him.
Micah leans his forehead against mine for just a second, taking a deep breath, before he lets me go. When he stands up, I feel cold and empty, but I don’t try to stop him. If anyone can succeed where I failed, it’s him.
“I swear to Beelzebub, I’m over this fucking cloak and dagger bullshit. I need you to focus, Patrick.” The sharpness in his tone seems to take everyone aback, as well as the way he rounds on Father and draws himself up to the most intimidating version of himself. Even Father seems taken aback by the sudden shift. “Tadhg told you he’s done. He’s done . He’s going to stay here and live his life, while you and all your cronies leave both of us the fuck alone. And my mom. She’s out, too, whether she wants to be or not. You’re going back to Oklahoma, just like you want, so none of us have to ever look at each other’s faces again. And if you need that upstanding, heteronormative, well-behaved successor so badly, look behind you.”
Father turns around reluctantly and eyes Colm, who is still holding a gun in his direction but with less intent, now. Colm meets his eye and shrugs, as if all this makes sense to him. Which it does, to be fair. Colm is exactly the kind of person Father should want as lieutenant. Calm, rational, and utterly dedicated to the Banna.
“It can all be very simple and painless. Eamon is gone, and he was the one causing all the drama with his fucking lies, anyway. I bet nobody else even cares if Tadhg slinks off into the night. All they care about is making their money. They’ll all back Colm if you tell them to.”
I can see Father’s jaw clench, the muscles jumping as he internally chafes at being dictated to by someone he most likely thinks of as sub-human.
“And if I don’t? Your little friends will shoot me and spend a few hours gloating until the Banna come for you all?”
The less huge one of Micah’s friends waves his gun at Father like a ‘hello’, a wide grin on his face.
“We haven’t officially met. My name’s Tristan and this is Ford. Your shitty little friend blackmailed us into doing some bitch work for your organization. We thought we would help Micah and also piggy-back on the whole ‘free me, free me,’ situation. Like he said, Eamon’s dead and he was the toxic piece of glue holding all this shit together. Time for you to go home and all of us to go back to normal.”
There’s no hiding the combination of sass and disdain in his voice. He stands up to Father like he does this every day and doesn’t give a shit what the man thinks.
“And if you don’t,” Micah says. “There’s a very long, very detailed dossier of information that we’ve all compiled, sitting on a lawyer’s desk, waiting to be sent to the feds. You’d best believe WITSEC will snap us up—all of us—with the amount of dirt we collectively know. It’s extreme, sure. But I want you to know, Pat, from the bottom of my heart. If ruining my own life is what it takes to ruin yours and put you in federal prison, it’s still worth it.”
Micah’s in his face as he says this, unblinking and undeterrable.
I expect Father to rage again. I even pull myself unsteadily to my feet to get ready for it. There’s no way he won’t call Micah’s bluff.
Instead, my father looks around at all the men surrounding him and he literally sags.
He looks exhausted. He looks at each of them in turn before he turns his gaze to me, and this time I win the fight not to shrink under it.
“Fine.”
The word echoes around the space, knocking on my skull but not able to press inside, like something I can’t quite accept.
“What?” I ask, my voice more robust now.
“Fine,” he says again, but he’s just as stony-faced and harsh as the first time. “I’ll let you live. And him.” He tosses his head at Micah. “But only because I’m sick of this overgrown cornfield of a town. It stinks of shit, and I haven’t found two brain cells to rub together in the whole damn place. Do whatever the fuck you want. But my name is dead to you, boy. You ruined that. Tadhg Moynihan does not exist anymore.”
I open my mouth. My agreement is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to force it out. I’m not hesitating. I don’t give a fuck about his shitty name. I don’t know why I can’t make the sounds.
“Deal,” Micah says for me. I sag with relief, and something deep inside me begins to accept that this might finally be over. “Now leave. Tonight. If anything happens to a single one of us, the feds are getting that dossier, remember.”
For a second, I think he’s going to say something to me. Some kind of goodbye, or a final insult, or a little closure. I think I want it, even if it’s hateful. Even if it’s acknowledgement that he couldn’t love me and never will. Anything to confirm this feeling that it’s all done.
He doesn’t, though. I’m left hanging as Father looks at me once, opens his mouth and then shuts it again before turning to Colm.
“I guess you’re proud of yourself, you little snake.”
Colm takes a deep breath, looking as steady and calm as always. “I want what’s best for the Banna, sir. Always. Eamon was causing problems. This feud between you and your son was causing problems. It’ll be better this way, when we can focus on the real enemy. Besides, we need you at home more than we need you here, caught up in drama. Let me handle the bullshit while you go back to the big picture, and I promise this can all seem like a shitty memory.”
Father doesn’t say anything. Without a single backward glance or another acknowledgement of me, he sets off walking toward the car, expecting Colm to follow.
Colm comes over to me instead. I think he’s going to shake my hand or something, but instead he leans in close, pulling me into a half-hug that’s more intimate than any physical contact I’ve experienced from someone other than Micah.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispers in my ear.
Then he’s gone, too. Everyone else is staring at me, as if I’m supposed to do something. As if I should know what to do next, like I wasn’t the only useless person during this entire situation.
I sit my ass back down on the ground, because it’s the only thing I can think of.
There is not one single part of me that knows what I’m supposed to do next.