Chapter 1 #2
Tipping my glasses down, I study his ashen face and bloodshot eyes, grateful I’m almost through with this task.
The greedy ache in my gut is hungry for his death, craves it.
If I can’t have what I really want, then I’ll settle for his blood on my hands.
I’ve been looking forward to finishing my obligations to Cian regarding him for months.
Despite how curious I am about what he wants, I almost hope it’s something I can turn down so I can draw out his punishment.
Which is nothing like how I usually deal with men like him.
Normally, it’s a bullet in the brain, job done.
“The house you provided as your down payment was only half of what you owe. So where is the rest?”
“I just need some more time, that’s all. Just a little more time to get the rest of it. There are circumstances with my wife’s estate he doesn’t understand.”
“He’s already given you time and plenty of it. I’m afraid the clock—and Cian’s patience—has run out.” Frankly, Gallagher’s lucky he’s still alive. For six months he evaded Cian’s reach, spending much of his time in D.C., where he knew we wouldn’t dare attempt to off him.
Coward.
Gallagher rubs a hand through his hair, leaving the normally perfectly gelled strands sticking up in all directions. “I can—” His voice cuts off as Eamon prowls around the room nursing his drink.
“You can what?” I ask, wondering if he’ll plead for mercy on his behalf. Maybe he’ll invoke his family, not that I’ve ever gotten the sense he cared about them.
“I can make a deal,” the sniveling man says.
Eamon snorts after we share a disbelieving look and says, “Are you seriously trying to renegotiate with Cian Lynch? Do you have a death wish? Because I can arrange that and make it much more enjoyable. For me, at least.”
For the first time in our short and despised acquaintance, Rory grows a spine. Ignoring Eamon, he says, “I have something you may find useful. You said I could pay in blood.”
“I doubt there’s anything you have that I will find useful,” I answer slowly, wondering where he’s going with this. My palms grow slick, my neck hot. I fight the urge to shift in my seat. Outwardly, my mask doesn’t crack.
He licks his dry lips, winking brilliant veneers that probably cost more than most four-year Ivy League degrees. “These debts. Do they specify exactly whose blood? Or would any Gallagher blood suffice?”
Eamon inhales so quickly he nearly breathes in the whiskey. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ with me, pal. Maybe I knocked you around a bit too much. Or you’ve gone hard of hearing. Christ, Aiden, let me deal with this one. Save you the trouble.”
I nearly sigh again. I’ve never minded being Cian’s enforcer.
But I’ve never enjoyed it the way Eamon does.
I’ve never craved it. It’s a duty, a job.
Something to check off on a list that seems never-ending.
Maybe if it gave me more satisfaction, I wouldn’t chafe at the knowledge that all I’ll ever be is Cian’s hound.
“Spit it out, Gallagher, or I’ll let Eamon introduce you to those knives he loves so much.”
“What would you say if I were to offer you one of my daughters?”
What I say is nothing, and Gallagher, degenerate though he is, doesn’t miss the way my eyes narrow in interest despite myself. Can he hear the way my breath catches in my chest? He leans forward as though we’re coconspirators.
“The oldest is… a challenge, but my youngest listens well enough.”
My back goes ramrod straight, but he’s so enthused by his own idea at this point, he doesn’t notice.
“Why the hell would I want one of your daughters?” I ask.
At this, he looks more like the invulnerable man of power he pretends to be when the cameras are on him. “Because I know the thing you want the most in this world, and my daughter is the key to giving you what you want.”
Eamon sneers. “And how the hell do you know somethin’ like that?”
“While you’ve been looking for me, I’ve been learning all about you.” He doesn’t glance away from me. “About your mother. That you haven’t seen her in nearly, what? Ten years, right? I bet you miss her.”
I say nothing, which says everything.
The fear stitching Gallagher’s muscles taut loosens at the silence. “I may not be in the family, but I’ve been around Cian long enough to puzzle out how it works. If you were to get married, you’d have to go back to Ireland to introduce her to all of them. It’s tradition, right?”
The thought makes me sick, but my face stays perfectly blank.
“Cian would have to let you see your mother. That’s why he hasn’t forced the issue. Married you off to one of his lieutenant’s daughters. Because he’ll do anything to keep you under his thumb. His Cú Chulainn.”
His hound.
The name on his lips makes my stomach roll.
“You desperate piece of shite,” Eamon interjects. “Tell him to fuck off.”
When I don’t, Eamon spins slowly in my direction.
I say nothing again.
Eamon spears a hand through his messy brown curls, but it immediately flops back in his eyes.
“Jesus Christ.” He wants to say more but wouldn’t dare risk it in front of Gallagher.
But it doesn’t matter. I know all the reasons it’s a terrible idea and all the reasons I may not have any choice in the matter.
“You’d really sell one of your daughters to pay your debt?” I ask, ignoring Eamon and the roll of nausea in my stomach. “I doubt Cian considers pussy enough payment for the five million you owe, Senator Gallagher. Even if it’s Gallagher pussy.”
I should be furious at his attempts to divert me.
I should let Eamon take him to the warehouse to be dealt with, but I’m tired.
Tired of fighting. Tired of wondering when the next hit will come.
Tired of waiting for Cian to pull the last rug out from under me.
If I have no choice, then why fight so hard to prevent the inevitable?
Eamon, who was forged alongside me in the crucible of terror that is Cian Lynch, wisely keeps his mouth shut at the blank expression on my face.
Gallagher continues, “My daughter will do what she’s told.
And you don’t have to tell Cian everything, do you?
As soon as you’re married, my daughter will have access to the trust fund provided by her mother’s family, the Doyles.
Then you’ll have the rest of the money I owe and get the chance to see your mother. ”
Eamon’s cackles cut the tension at Rory’s words. “You really are a backstabbing bastard. You realize you’re talking about selling one of your children, right? Using them—and Aiden—to pay your debt. You’re pathetic.”
But Gallagher won’t be swayed, not even by Eamon’s righteous indignation.
There’s a furor in his eyes, a desperation that has me examining his words with growing resignation.
“Everyone gets what they want, no need to make this messy.” He holds his hands up as Eamon circles him like prey.
“I’ve spent my life arguing my way out of impossible situations, I’ll admit, but you’d be a fool not to consider my offer. ”
That he’s not wrong leaves an acrid taste in the back of my mouth.
When I was a boy, all I wanted was to take my father’s place at the helm of Clan O’Connor in Ireland, before it had evolved into the monstrosity it is now.
I’d known from a young age that our family wasn’t like others, but when he’d been at the helm of the Irish mob, it had been about honor, pride, and family.
Now, the thought of going back there leaves a metallic taste in the back of my mouth.
If my mother knew I was even considering defying Cian to see her, she’d call me an eejit herself and then box my ears for the sheer stupidity.
I wouldn’t give Gallagher’s plan any weight if I weren’t so goddamn tired.
All I want is to see her one more time, to know that she’s okay.
To smell the familiar scent of roses clinging to her skin.
To make sure she hasn’t given up. To tell her I’ll keep the promises I made to her.
Every day I feel her slipping away. Pieces chipped away by Cian’s iron fist. Soon, there won’t be anything left of the mother I knew.
If Cian had considered this possibility, he never would have assigned me to deal with Gallagher. Or maybe he did, and he’s testing my loyalty. Either I can take the risk, or I can face never seeing my mother again.
“Aiden—” Eamon says.
“What makes you think this is something your daughter will agree to?” Once I’ve decided, I don’t second-guess myself.
I’m almost weightless with relief. All these years I’d spent doing anything and everything Cian Lynch has ordered, and I’m willing to throw it all away at the chance to see my mother.
Maybe this is what he’s been waiting for all along.
For me to crack. To give up. To make a mistake.
If he learns what I’m planning before the deed is done, my blood will join Gallagher’s on Eamon’s knives.
“My daughter will do what she’s told. You understand that, don’t you, Aiden?” Gallagher says when he reads the resignation in my expression.
“I’m going to enjoy carving you up when I get the chance, Gallagher,” Eamon croons at the jab.
“It may not be today, but I can guarantee this won’t be the last time we meet.
If this is a trick and you get him killed, I’ll find you, wherever you try to hide, and what I’d planned for you will be child’s play compared to what I’ll do to you. Do you understand me?”
My mind travels back to the conversation I had with Cian the night of Emerald Isle’s grand opening. I hadn’t known it then, but ever since that fateful conversation, my life has been barreling toward this conclusion. Maybe even longer.
“Cian. I wasn’t aware you were coming,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. Controlled. Always controlled. “Would you like a room upstairs? The executive suite should be available to you.”