Chapter 1 #3
He turns, lifting a brow and leaving his damp tumbler on my glossy oak desktop without a coaster. My fingers twitch at my sides.
“Was I supposed to clear my schedule with you, Aiden?” Cian asks, a thin blade of a smile splitting his even thinner lips underneath his salt-and-pepper facial hair.
Of course not. My stomach knots, but I show nothing. I’d let myself believe that crossing an ocean might loosen his grip on me.
Eamon was right.
I am a fuckin’ eejit.
“Never mind that,” he continues with a wave through the blue mist of smoke. “I’m here because I need you to do something for the family.”
I’m numb, something I never thought I’d be in Cian’s malevolent presence.
There’s always another job. Another body to bury.
Another chain lashed around my neck, dragging me down.
I’m covered in so many of them that there’ll be no clawing my way out.
Something I have no doubt he knows as well as I do.
I’d fought it at first. But I soon learned that dealing with Cian is a lot like Newton’s third law of motion: For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. Each attempt at freedom only ends up with people I care about hurt.
“I need you to find Gallagher.”
I blink, go completely still. “Senator Rory Gallagher?”
“The one and only. The remainder of his payment is due. The house was supposed to be a down payment on the ten million he owes me. You’ll find him and get the remainder. Five million and not a penny less.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Well, he has some family, doesn’t he? I’m certain you can get creative.”
“Of course.”
Cian sucks his teeth. “He has some valuable connections here in America I don’t want to waste, so the sooner the better. But I want you to make it clear to the man that I’m not to be trifled with. Either he pays in money, or we have his blood.”
I nod stiffly.
“I’ll take that executive suite,” Cian says as he ambles to the door, leaving the sweating glass of ice on my otherwise perfect desk.
“Of course,” I repeat.
“Your mother sends her best.”
When I force myself back to the present, Eamon is glowering at Gallagher from his place by the fire, radiating murderous energy. If he were a tiger, his tail would be flicking in angry annoyance.
“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, O’Connor,” Gallagher says with a pleased smile.
I amble toward him and offer a hand to shake, which he readily accepts. But what he doesn’t expect is the gun in my other, the barrel digging into his throat. It would be so easy to put a bullet in his brain.
I thought it would be hard the first time I ever killed a man, but it was easy. One pull of a trigger and I was safe. I could do it now and continue as I have been. Cian’s debt would be satisfied, and my mother and I would be safe.
But I don’t.
Because the one thing I want more than anything in the world is to see her.
And I’ll use this bastard to do it, marry his daughter, defy Cian. Risk everything.
“What the—O’Connor. I thought we had a deal!” His throat bobs against the unrelenting metal. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Let me make myself exceedingly clear, you worthless piece of shite. The only reason you’re still breathing and not bleeding out onto the floor is because I’m allowing it.
If you fuck this up, I won’t hesitate to let Eamon carry out his promise.
You’re only alive because of my mercy. Do you understand me? ”
“Not even a bruise. You could have at least drawn some more blood.” Eamon says petulantly. We ignore him.
“I said, do you understand me?”
“Yes, I understand. For God’s sake, don’t kill me. I understand. I understand!”
I release my grip on his hand, causing him to lose his balance and stumble backward. Wiping the sweat on my pants, I’m suddenly bone-tired and desperate for whatever remains of my bar. “You’ll bring your daughter for dinner tomorrow so I can ensure she’ll cooperate with your plan. If she does—”
“She will,” he insists.
“—then the wedding will take place at St. Louis Cathedral at two p.m. next Saturday. My lawyers will draw up the necessary documents, and you can keep her inheritance to pay your debt. I expect your complete cooperation and silence on this matter. If you breathe a word of this to Cian before the ceremony, our deal is over. Do I make myself clear?”
Gallagher nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Tomorrow. I appreciate you working with me on this, O’Connor. I’ll have my assistant arrange whatever you need.”
I open the door to an empty hallway, more than ready to be rid of his pathetic, stinking presence. “Now leave before I change my mind.”
When he’s almost at the door, I call his name. “And Rory? Don’t even think about coming to the Emerald to test your luck again. You won’t be welcome in my establishment, and you’ll be thrown out on your ass if you try. We don’t accept men who don’t know when they’re in over their head.”
Gallagher may be an idiot to get involved with a man like Cian, but he’s got admirable survival instincts and a desperation to live I hadn’t accounted for. Like a cockroach. I stare in the middle distance long enough that Eamon appears next to me with another old-fashioned.
“Drink up. You’re going to want to blame this horrible decision on something, and it sure as hell won’t be me, because I tried to warn you. I hope you’ll tell that to your mother when she tries to kill me for not trying harder to stop you.”
I scrub a hand down my face and accept the drink. “She’d never kill you.”
“Like hell.” There’s a pause. “I still think this is a horrible decision,” he says.
“That’s because you’re the king of horrible decisions, handsome. To which are we referring?” a familiar feminine voice interjects.
My gaze lifts to the end of the hall where Mara Kane stands, casually unwinding a blood-red scarf from around her neck.
She ruffles her bob the color of glossy raven wings and gives us a haughty look when we don’t answer her question quickly enough.
We both stare at her as though we’re seeing a ghost.
“Mara, love, what the hell are you doing here?” She allows Eamon to tug her fully inside the office as he shuts the door behind her. She tosses her Birkin onto my desk and arranges herself on one of the two chairs opposite, and Eamon plops down next to her.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask in a low voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Dublin planning your wedding?”
“So many questions,” she says lightly without answering. “I knew you boys missed me.”
“Mara,” I repeat.
“The wedding is still happening. Good God, you’re as bad as my mother. You’ll receive your invitations at some point. It’s not like I need to plan the damn thing right away because I’m on my deathbed or something. But enough about that unpleasantness. What horrible decision have you made now?”
I can’t force the words out, so Eamon does, punctuated by gross exaggeration and blatant lies, but Mara gleans the gist.
“Well?” Eamon demands, eyes on Mara as he gestures to me.
She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, her eyes narrowing into slits. “Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to try to talk some sense into him?”
“Since when have either of you ever listened to reason? Especially if it came from me. I gave up trying to be your keeper years ago.” She waves an elegant, manicured hand. “Besides, it’s far more entertaining to witness the inevitable consequences of your own actions.”
“Thanks, I think,” I say. At the same time, Eamon interjects, “I listen to you!”
Mara rolls her eyes. “Name one time you’ve ever listened to me.” She pauses as Eamon screws up his face in concentration. She gestures at him, a weary hand wave of someone exhausted from dealing with idiots. “Precisely.”
Eamon sighs dramatically. “You’re only saying that because you don’t want to be the only one married.”
I flinch inwardly. Mara’s upcoming marriage to Niall Cleary, a slimy bastard who basically bought her as a teenager, is the one subject that could cause the ice princess to lose her cool. Just to be safe, I roll my chair backward to inch out of the blast radius of her infamous temper.
Thankfully, she merely crosses her legs, evidently in a benevolent state of mind, and says, “Is that jealousy I hear, Eamon? Are you upset because there isn’t a person on this planet who wants to marry you?”
“I—” For once, Eamon is speechless.
“He’d have to find someone to put up with his… eccentricities first.”
Mara gives an unladylike snort. “If by eccentricities you mean his affinity for torture—and not the fun kind—then you aren’t wrong.”
“I’m standing right here, you fuckin’ arseholes.” There’s a pause where his vision goes off, like he’s staring at something far away. “And what kind isn’t the fun kind?”
“I’m not sure there’s a woman—or man, for that matter—alive who could do that,” Mara says to me.
“I’ll have you know if I wanted a wife, I could find one,” Eamon says, and I can’t imagine a woman crazy enough to consider spending the rest of her life with Eamon willingly.
Then it occurs to me he could rope one in unwillingly, and I want to curse Mara for ever planting that seed in his mind.
Maybe I’ll distract him with another job.
A little bloodshed will wipe the whole idea away.
“Of course you could, dear.” Mara reaches over to cup his cheek consolingly and ends it with a playful smack. “Consider yourself lucky that you don’t have to be shackled to a ball and chain like me and Aiden. You’re free to do whatever you wish. When is the funeral? I mean, wedding?” Mara asks.
“A week.” I can’t tell if I’m more eager to get it over with or on edge to see the seeds of my goal for my mother’s freedom finally bearing fruit.
“I’m afraid I have to agree with Eamon here. You shouldn’t marry this girl for your mother,” Mara says. “Believe me, she wouldn’t want this for you.”
“Give it a rest, you two. I know what I’m doing. Marrying the senator’s daughter isn’t the worst thing that could happen. Consider it a means to an end.”
I can’t help but feel in my gut, it will be a bloody end.