1. Three years later
Chapter 1
Three years later
Riley
“Give me coffee or give me death.”
I make the announcement as I breeze into the breakroom around eleven in the morning. I feel like I’ve already put in eight hours’ worth of work, and I’m not alone.
Dark curls bounce around the freckled face of my work wife, Jane Weber, as she heads my way with a signature frown and hands me a cup. “Cheers.”
Jane and I started working for the shelter the same year and share the same fatigue. She’s three years older, and though she rarely smiles, she’s kind.
Midday sunlight slants through the blinds and creates stripes on the linoleum floor. On the outside of the breakroom window are decal letters that read Concrete Rose .
To preserve the population we serve’s safety, Women’s Shelter is left off the name.
The other window in the breakroom overlooks the interior. The beds, the recreation areas, and the women trying to piece their lives back together after the violence has torn them apart. In their faces, I see glimpses of my past…but I don’t want to go down that rabbit hole right now.
The door swings open, and Michelle Adamson pops her head in. Today, her short-cropped hair is set off by a bright orange turtleneck. Michelle wears long-sleeved, high-neck tops year-round to hide her tattoos.
Michelle motions me over. “Riley, there’s a new intake for you.”
She offers me the case file in a green folder, a warning in her deep brown eyes. It’s the type of look Michelle only gives when she needs us to brace ourselves for an especially gruesome case.
What she doesn’t realize is that when it comes to gruesome, I have plenty of personal experience.
I flip open the file. The new arrival’s name is Claire. Age thirty. My stomach tightens as I scan the summaries of the police reports and medical workups and see what she was subjected to a few weeks ago.
Abduction. Torture. Gang rape…
Fire burns at the base of my throat. Squeezing my eyes shut, I push out a low, steady breath.
In the past three years I’ve worked here, since I was twenty, the job has never gotten any easier.
By the time I enter the intake room, I have my emotions under control. I’m armed with the new arrival questionnaire clipboard, the obligatory folder of shelter information, and the complimentary bag of hygiene essentials we give every woman who steps foot in here.
But when I spot the battered woman slumped in the plastic chair with lost, vacant eyes, my pulse stutters, and I nearly drop every single item.
I recognize her. She’s Charlene Belafont, a popular hostess and entertainer from Madden, one of the city’s most popular nightclubs.
One of several clubs owned by the Irish mob.
My fingers dig into the file as I try to tame the chaotic feelings storming through my body and banish the past to focus on the present. I used to do some work for my father at Madden and remember catching glimpses of Charlene, with her striking blue-green eyes and long, brown hair. She had this walk that commanded the attention of every straight man within a fifty-foot radius, as well as a glow everyone wanted to bathe in.
Not one ounce of that glow remains.
Covered in discolored bruises and bandaged cuts, she’s almost unrecognizable. A cast swallows her right calf and left forearm, and one of her eyes is still black. She’s far too thin, the kind only starvation and malnourishment can create.
My ears ring as my mind slips down a dark slope into my ugliest memories.
Under the table, I pinch the back of my left hand as hard as I can. The bright spark of pain sobers me enough to banish the trauma clawing at my mind.
Despite the upsetting nature of my work, I’m not often reminded of my own past.
Not until today.
I manage to introduce myself—first name only—and gently start performing the intake. “It says here that you were abducted a few weeks ago.”
Her expression is wary. “This is all confidential, right?” When I nod, she continues. “Yeah. I was leaving my job when some men jumped out of a van and grabbed me.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “Did you…did recognize the men?”
If Michelle catches me, she’ll rip me a new one. I’m going completely off-script but can’t seem to stop myself.
A single tear slips from her uninjured eye. “No.”
A small burst of relief floods my veins. Shame follows. There’s nothing good about a tragic, sickening case like this.
Keep it together…for her sake. “What did they want with you?”
Charlene squeezes the plaster cast around her forearm with her opposite hand. “They kept asking me about the club where I work. About pickups and drop-offs…”
When Charlene sniffs, I push a box of tissues her way.
“I cooperated with them because I…I didn’t want to die.” She swipes a tissue from the box and blots her swollen face. “I assumed they just wanted the drugs, but even after they stole the shipment from the club, they didn’t let me go. But they still locked me up and…hurt me…even though I told them the truth.”
Charlene’s lips tremble as her gaze falls to her lap, and my trepidation morphs into fury.
Five minutes in a room with the men who did this, some handcuffs, and a baseball bat. That’s all I need. Instead, I make do with reaching across the table and squeezing her hand.
“When I woke up in the hospital, a doctor told me I was lucky.” A forced bitter sound escapes her mouth. “She said I was lucky to be alive.”
As I trudge home in the snow, breath making clouds in the freezing air, Charlene’s case haunts me.
Who would have the resources to steal drugs from the Irish Kings? More importantly…who would have the balls?
While other pedestrians hurry down the sidewalk around me and cars slosh past the curb in endless waves, I take in the silvering sky overhead. Daylight dies quickly behind the clouds on these short winter days.
“You’re going to turn into a popsicle if you don’t get inside.”
Jodi Zhang smiles at me from the open doorway of her grandparents’ flower shop, Blooms A to Z. She’s a year older than me and beautiful with her long, sleek hair and dark eyes.
Before I can reply, Ann Zhang ushers me inside.
Outside of work, the Zhangs are the only people I regularly interact with. They’re friendly and kind to me despite my less-than-bubbly personality and aversion to other humans. Jodi’s grandparents, Henry and Ann, are my landlords. They rent out one of the two apartments above the shop to me and live in the other one.
“You’ll catch cold.” Ann clicks her tongue before returning to a customer in the potted plants section.
I can only smile as I wipe my slushy boots on the mat that lines the floor.
Because the whole place is resplendent with the scent of dewy flower petals, I get the urge to sneeze whenever I come in.
An oversized cream sweater drowns Jodi’s petite frame as she arranges roses in a bucket. “Rough day at the shelter?”
“Brutal.”
She leans closer to me, excitement bouncing in her eyes. “You still have that dress I bought you for your birthday?”
“Of course.”
The shimmery, slinky number hangs in the back of my closet, tags still attached.
“Some people in my behavioral economics class are throwing a New Year’s Eve party, and it’s going to be sick? — ”
“No, I’m going to be sick.” I can’t help the grin tugging at my lips.
She gives me an unamused look. “Riley.”
“I mean it.” I pick up a fallen rose petal and weigh it in my palm. “I’ve planned my annual cold for that weekend, complete with a fever and chicken soup. It’ll be great.”
“You can’t spend the rest of your life as a hermit.” She spritzes the roses with a tall spray bottle and turns back to me. “Don’t let what happened with that shithead keep you out of the game forever.”
My heart of stone cracks a little at her words. Three years ago this month…no wonder I’ve been so exhausted. How could I forget that the third anniversary of my whole life falling apart is just a few days away?
“Thank you for thinking of me for this super sick party, but I’m retired?—”
Jodie huffs in exasperation. “You can’t be retired from dating at twenty-three!”
“Why not? Just because I’m young?” I point the rose at her. “That’s ageism.”
She drops a hand to her hip and rolls her eyes. “Wanting you to put yourself out there and move on with someone new doesn’t make me ageist. It makes me a good friend.”
Still wearing my winter coat, I throw my puffy arms around her neck and squeeze tight. “On that, we agree.”
“Okay, okay!” Jodi squirms. Too much affection flusters her, a fact I’ve always found too adorable not to exploit.
Ann flaps her hand at me. “Stop by later if you want to eat!” Another reason I love the Zhangs is because they’re constantly feeding me dinner and sending me home with enough leftovers to last for days.
With a grateful smile, I retreat down the hall and exit the back door into the alley behind the shop. A brisk wind hastens my pace toward the rusty staircase that leads up to our apartments. As soon as I walk in the front door, my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket.
I grab the device before the call goes to voicemail, stopping short when I spy the caller ID.
Shock punches me in the gut.
My fingers tremble as I accept the call, my mind flooding with worst case scenarios. “Harper?”
“Yup, it’s me! How are you?”
I sag with relief and consider ending the call. My identical twin sister sounds way too chipper to be contacting me with death news. “Why are you calling me?” Old hurt sharpens my voice.
“To invite you to dinner.” For a second, Harper’s cheerfulness comes across as forced, but it’s gone so fast I must have imagined it. “There’s a big dinner at the estate tonight, and you’re invited.”
Once the shock fades, I search for a polite way to refuse my sister without barking out a laugh or a “hell no.”
She takes my speechless silence as an opportunity. “Please, Ry? It would mean a lot to me if you came. I need you there.”
I stand in the hallway as dread and foreboding douse me in steady waves. I’d rather stick a dirty, Hep-B infected needle in my eye than voluntarily return to the Gallagher mansion.
But despite common sense screaming at me to say no, I find myself wavering.
I always did struggle to deny my twin anything. Plus, if I go, maybe I’ll overhear something that can help identify the men who abused Charlene.
“What time?”
“Seven o’clock. I’m…I’m glad you’re coming.”
The line goes dead.
Against my better judgment, by six fifteen, my cab mushes through the snowy streets.
As usual, my chest twinges as I watch normal families huddle together on the sidewalks, their expressions brightened by holiday cheer, and couples squeezing each other’s mittened hands while pointing at window displays.
Jodi’s words return to my mind.
Put yourself out there. Move on with someone new.
It’s not as if I’ve never thought about it. Trying again.
What I can’t tell Jodi is that dating is impossible for me because of my background. I won’t risk exposing outsiders to my family, and hard pass on dating any of my family’s associates.
Besides, during the entire twenty years I spent in my family’s good graces, I only encountered one guy I’d ever even consider dating, and?—
My mind shies away from finishing that thought.
I glance down at my outfit. In an act of defiance, I skipped dressing up and am still rocking today’s work outfit: loose, black slacks, a long-sleeved black shirt, and flat black boots. Basically, I resemble a funeral director’s emo assistant.
I lean forward in the cab. “You can drop me off over there.”
The driver pulls up to the curb in front of the estate’s east gate entrance.
The tall, bald guard does a double take when he sees me. “Riley Brennan. It’s been a minute.”
I nod. “Monty. Nice to see you again.”
He waves me through the pedestrian entrance. I follow the walkway framed by snow-covered hedges and glowing string lights until I reach the second iron gate.
With stiff, shaky fingers, I punch in the keycode, and the gate creaks open.
The ghosts of my childhood whisper across my skin as I hurry through the palatial gardens. The hedge maze triggers a memory of the time Harper and I played tag here as children. While running away, I clipped the edge of a fountain, fell, and cut myself.
When I ran to our father, teary-eyed and bleeding, he backhanded me across the face.
I shiver as I approach the enormous estate, which grows more imposing with every step. By the time I make it to the front door, the emotional reflux of this place threatens to choke me.
Coming here was a mistake. What was I thinking? That after everything, I could return unscathed to the Gallagher mansion, home of Shane Gallagher, his upper echelon, and their families? That I could saunter back into the estate housing one of the most powerful crime families in New York City—the Irish Kings’ business dealings cover drug trafficking, prostitution, real estate, clubs and illegal gambling—as if I’d never left?
I whirl to leave as the mansion’s grand front doors swing open. The figure that appears in the entryway stops me in my tracks.
The air squeezes from my lungs.
My identical twin. My other half.
Harper grins, her crystal blue eyes sparkling like she’s happy to see me…even though we haven’t spoken a word to each other in three years.
Her long golden waves waterfall from an elegant ponytail and flawless makeup accentuates her features. In a skin-tight Fendi dress and suede t-strap pumps, Harper makes me look like a poor relation.
Nothing new there.
“Ry…I’m glad you came.” Though her voice is a bit strained, her smile appears genuine.
She loops her arm through mine and drags me inside like we’re still best friends.
Inside, the place hasn’t changed one bit. Same gray-veined marble floor. Same indoor fountain. Same five-tier chandelier twinkling above us.
A well-trimmed, fifteen-foot Christmas tree and fresh garlands add notes of Douglas fir to the aroma of sizzling beef and old cigars.
Men in custom suits and women in sparkling cocktail dresses populate the main room. Multiple sets of eyes sear my skin as my sister tows me through the hall.
I don’t miss the irony. When I was a still in the Kings’ good graces, I was a near-invisible wallflower, beneath the notice of everyone important. Now, after years living outside the family, my presence garners the type of attention usually bestowed upon my twin.
I try not to focus on how others react to me, instead fastening my attention on my sister. Since entering this shark pit, I’ve barely heard a thing she’s said.
Harper’s the sociable, extroverted one. A bright, bubbly ball of sunshine and outgoingness.
Only two minutes separated us at birth. Yet personality-wise, we’re light years apart.
Harper slants a glance at me. Something flickers in her eyes before disappearing.
Appreciative looks track Harper through the room. Her fitted dress is the color of gingerbread, and every man in here wants a bite… as usual .
My nose wrinkles. Typical, hyper-masculine, macho, alpha assholes. They like their women sexy, obedient, and easily controlled. Like the woman sitting in the middle of a cluster of wives perched on chaise lounges in the parlor.
Marnie Brennan.
Our mom.
My chest aches as I take in the dazed smile and glassy eyes that tell me she’s already had too much wine. I doubt she’s even aware I’m here. Honestly, she hasn’t paid me much attention since I was a child. Not that I can blame her. My father is like a parasite, sucking the life out of her until all that remains is a pale shadow of her former self.
My stomach twists as I behold my tall, sturdy father. He’d be handsome if his eyes weren’t typically filled with cruelty. I flinch at the sight of the rings lining his massive, meaty fists.
Thomas Brennan rules over all the informants, foot soldiers, and enforcers with an iron fist.
The same way he used to rule over me.
He sits near the end of the mile-long dining table next to Donal. At the head of the table sits Shane Gallagher. He’s around the same age as my dad, and still attractive in a silver-fox way with a chiseled jawline and sharp, steely eyes.
Shane’s not the reason for the butterflies swarming my stomach though.
That honor belongs to his son.
My heart picks up speed as my gaze lands on the group of men congregating near the bar. All of them are gorgeous in their own way, but my attention races past Rory Gallagher, Darren Kelly, and Cian Mahoney in search of one particular man with dark auburn hair.
The last time I saw him was shortly after my world fell apart.
Not that he was in a good place back then either.
“You remember Finn.”
Harper’s casual words slap me across the face as the man in question halts his conversation to face us.
Even though I brace myself, seeing him again steals my breath.
Finn Gallagher stands before me, every bit as striking, handsome, and intimidating as he was three years ago. He’s over half-a-head taller than us, with the sharp, sculpted jawline he shares with his father partially obscured by a short, well-trimmed beard. His tousled auburn hair frames his face in that sexy bedhead kind of way very few men can pull off.
A sharp, custom-fitted gray suit emphasizes his powerful, muscled physique. Tattooed hands and fingers peek out from beneath the sleeves.
As I drink in the rest of his features, I swallow a gasp.
Long and jagged, a new scar begins by his nose and cuts down his right cheek through his lips.
Something about the ugliness of the scar, the visual receipt of a wound that could have killed him, simultaneously accentuates his harsh beauty while externalizing his rough nature.
Finn was already scary and dangerous. The scar merely adds a hot exclamation point to the end of the sentence.
He’s Shane’s son. An enforcer. The man can who can get information out of anybody. Whenever the family needs to break someone, they call the gruff, musclebound, and merciless Finn.
“Riley.”
I nearly choke on my own tongue when that rough, deep voice rolls over me.
Fathomless brown eyes drag over my entire body before returning to my face, triggering an onslaught of tingles across my skin. For a single moment, I swear his eyes warm. I must be dreaming though because a blink later, they’re as cool and detached as ever.
I nod, unable to squeeze a single syllable past my locked throat. Not when the sight of him sweeps me into a memory from the day I left.
The day, prompted by my years’ long crush, I kissed him, and he rejected me.
Shane rises from his seat at the dining table and calls for everyone’s attention, providing me with a welcome distraction from the most mortifying day of my life.
“Tonight, we’re gathered here to announce two of our own will be getting married this spring. Please join me in congratulating Harper Brennan and Finn Gallagher on their engagement.”
While the entire room erupts in applause and cheers, my body freezes. A bitter wave of betrayal crashes over me.
I sense Harper watching me from the corner of my eye, but I can’t look at her. Or him.
I feel like someone stabbed me between the ribs. Despite my estrangement from my family, I never would have believed Harper could be so cruel, yet there’s no other explanation for urging me to attend tonight’s party.
Because my twin knows. She knows I’ve truly only ever had eyes for one man in the Family.
And now she’s marrying him.