Chapter 33
Seamus
The strip club is loud and crowded for a Thursday afternoon.
This isn’t my scene. The Whelans have plenty of places just like this one, titty bars with one pole and a bunch of bored-looking girls gyrating on a chipped and rundown stage, but I prefer to stay away. They’re decent moneymakers, but they’re also seedy and a pain in the ass.
But I don’t have much choice today.
The Siberian Kitty is barely more than a basement. It’s a few blocks from Times Square, which is funny, considering how the whole area’s become a tourist trap. Except for the Kitty, apparently.
I post up at the bar and ask for a whiskey. When the young female bartender places the drink down in front of me, I lean in close. “I’m here to see Taras.”
The girl’s face twitches. She’s older, probably in her forties. Maybe an ex-dancer. She’s got the look to her: fake tits, bleached hair, teeth stained from years of smoking.
“I don’t know who that is. She must be new.”
I give her a look, like don’t bullshit me. “Tell him Seamus wants to talk.”
“If there’s someone named Tara, I’ll let her know.” The bartender struts off, pretending like she’s ignoring me, but I notice her briefly talk to one of the bouncers. I sit and sip my drink, waiting for a while, doing my best to ignore the girls up on the stage.
I never did understand places like this.
What’s the fucking point? Unless you’ve got the money for a private blowjob, you’re just sitting in a big room with a bunch of other losers getting hard over nothing.
Paying for pussy’s never been my thing, although I honestly get the appeal.
No strings, no mess, no fuss. She gets what she wants, and you get what you need. A good old transaction.
Still, strip clubs. Not my scene.
Taras shows up at my elbow a few minutes later. He sidles onto the stool beside mine, elbows on the bar. A vodka appears in front of him.
“What brings one of the great Whelans down my way?” he asks, not looking in my direction.
“Funny way of greeting your brother-in-law.”
His eyebrows raise. “That’s what we’re pretending to be? Family?”
“Family means something.”
“Blood does. But you aren’t blood.”
“Your sister is. And so is Molchanie.”
His face twitches. He seems confused when he finally turns to me, and I wonder how much he actually knows. “What are you accusing me of?”
“Nothing at all. I’m here because I need information.”
“Alina already asked about the assassin, and I told her everything I know.”
So he really doesn’t have a clue. “We found something out about her recently. How much have you been told about Alina’s mother?”
Taras presses his lips together. “Not much. She came along after my mother passed away. It wasn’t a good time in my life. I was a young man. Always angry. I stayed away from the house most of the time she was married to my father.”
“I’m told she was a remarkable woman.”
He snorts and shakes his head. “If you find depressed bitches remarkable, then sure.”
“Tell me about that.”
“Alina’s mother was miserable. Papa treated her like his treasure and was always going on about how amazing Darya was, how smart she was, how beautiful. While all I ever saw was some miserable asshole who treated me like shit.”
“Is the story about her being some kind of spy true?”
“Could be. I don’t know. I heard the same thing, but—” He shrugs, eyeing me carefully as he drinks his vodka.
“Why are you talking about her? What’s she got to do with Molchanie?
” I say nothing, waiting for him to put it together.
He’s a bastard, but he’s not stupid. Taras finally sighs. “You have to be kidding me.”
“Your father all but confirmed it.”
“That bitch is Molchanie? I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. And trust me, it would be easier if it weren’t.”
He leans on his elbows again and stews. I can see his brain spinning in his skull. He must’ve been a teenager when Alina’s mother was around, and based on the way he talks about her, they didn’t have a great relationship. It’s probably dredging up some old buried memories for him right now.
Not that I give a damn.
“That would explain my father’s behavior lately. He’s been sullen and withdrawn. A pain in the ass, honestly, since there is a lot of business to handle with our recent alliance.”
“Is there any way for you to get us information on Darya?”
“Possibly. I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if my father has a file on her about a mile wide. He’s always been obsessed with the bitch, like she’s the one that got away. Never made sense to me.”
“Get me what you can. It could be important.”
“Now why would I steal from my father for your sake?” His eyes narrow as he glances over. “Would you rob your family if I asked you to?”
“Depends. Is my sister’s life at stake? Then I’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.”
He grunts softly. “Alina and I have never been close. I was just too old by the time she was born.”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s still your sister.”
“Half-sister.”
“The fact that you’re making that distinction doesn’t speak well of you.”
“And what do you know about me and my family, you prick?” He finishes his vodka and glares at me hard.
“You have no idea what my life was like when Alina’s mother was living with us.
I stayed away from home as much as I could because that vicious bitch took all her anger out on me.
I can see now that she was deeply depressed, but back then, all I knew was she’d hit me and scratch my face, and my father would somehow find a way to blame everything on me. I was happy when she left.”
“Then help me get rid of her. I’m not asking you to go against your family. I’m asking for something I can use to catch Molchanie.”
He considers that, staring at his drink. I don’t know how bad things got back then, but I can guess. It must’ve been terrible if he’s still holding on to this anger all these years later.
“I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”
“Anything you can provide should help.”
“I’ll spread the word to some of my trusted men. We’ll keep our ears to the street as well.” He pushes away from the bar. “You don’t have to understand my family dynamic. I don’t give a shit what you think of us. But I won’t risk what we’ve built for any one person, not even my sister.”
“What about your own life?”
“Worthless balanced against the power of the Bratva.”
He walks off. I watch him go. When he’s gone, I tip the bartender before leaving, mulling over that last little bit in my head.
How do I value the Whelan Clan?
All my life, it’s been everything to me. I always wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps. Even though Declan’s the one destined to take over as the boss after my father passes, I’ve still always dreamed about being an important captain. I’ve worked hard in my own way. I’ve earned what I got.
But would I burn all that down to save my brothers? My mother and father?
I’m distracted as I approach my car. It’s parked a few blocks away on a shady street. I almost don’t notice the bundle of newspapers on the hood. I stare at them, not sure what to make of it, before approaching.
Something red stains the paper.
I unwrap it slowly. My heart’s beating fast and I already know what I’m about to find. It’s the smell. Copper and reeking. Flesh on the edge of going bad.
It’s a severed human hand. Male, based on the size, but I can’t be sure. There’s not too much blood. And there’s a note clutched in the palm.
You can’t keep her from me forever.
Fucking Molchanie. Another one of her messages.
I throw the mess into the back seat, get behind the wheel, and drive fast to find my wife.