Chapter 4
LIAM
The stink of burning gasoline lingers around the parking garage and it smells like heaven. I sit back and suck it down, a big smile on my face.
That scent reminds me of a very good girl.
Getting out of bed this morning was uncharacteristically hard. Usually, I’m awake at the crack of dawn and on the sidewalk before the sun’s had a chance to kiss the glittering skyscrapers. What’s there to do sitting around in my apartment?
Life is down here in the streets.
Like right now.
An hour ago, it was a madhouse around here. Onlookers, cops, firefighters, the works. Seems like our little game the night before caused more than a few problems. Not my most controlled demolition, I’ll be honest. But so what if a few innocent bystanders caught a stray?
The price of doing business here in the greatest city in the world.
But now the action’s dying down, all except for one person.
He’s pacing back and forth talking animatedly into his phone.
He looks haggard, disheveled, like he didn’t sleep well.
Poor little guy must’ve been dragged out of bed before he could get his usual eight-plus and now he’s stuck dealing with bureaucratic red tape.
Insurance, investigation, all that shit.
The machinery that was built to make our lives both easier and harder.
The Big Grind.
He shoves his phone into his pocket, face crinkled with disgust, and stares forlornly at the garage entrance for a full minute.
I wonder if he cared this much about breaking poor Regan’s heart?
Did he so much as blink when his cheating dick was balls-deep in that Baranov girl?
Did he worry how it might hurt the girl he was supposed to be faithful to?
I’m a lot of things. Killer, thief, terrible singer, fantastic poker player, but above all else, I’m loyal. Maybe to a fault, if I’m honest with myself, but a man’s got to have a reason to walk around, dick swaying proudly. Or else he’s not a man at all.
And I strongly suspect Kieren Foley’s about the least manly fucker I’ve ever seen in my life.
He stalks off down the street, hands shoved into his pockets.
I follow at a discreet distance, though I think I could stomp on his heels and he’d barely notice right now.
Regan would love to see this. That girl’s wound up tighter than an iron rod but god damn would it help her loosen up a bit knowing her stunt last night had the exact effect she was hoping for.
And then some, judging by the sweaty, toe-curling sex we had.
I’m humming to myself, in a better mood than I have a right to be in. Despite the incredible night with a fascinating woman, I didn’t get what I set out to find. I have a job to perform, and that doesn’t involve setting fires and fucking gorgeous, uptight women.
Though honestly? Maybe I'm in the wrong line of work. I’ll make a note of that moving forward and circle back.
Kieren trudges for a while. I bet he’s really missing that car about now.
He turns into a more crowded area of the city packed with restaurants and coffee places and ducks inside a decent looking cafe.
One of those little joints where rich work-from-home fuckers like to set up for the day.
I hesitate outside, thinking I’ll stand out, and decide not to follow.
But I get lucky and catch a glimpse of a pretty blond girl waiting in line.
She turns, hair swaying, says something and looks concerned, the little minx, but I don’t stick around to watch the rest of their interaction.
The bastard really did go running off to his new lady the second something went wrong.
Is she trying to make things right? Telling him not to get spooked? To stick to the plan? Kieren’s a useful idiot at best and a cock sucking traitor bastard at worst, but roaches like him tend to be very good at smelling when there’s danger.
And a big ass burning car spells a lot of trouble.
I’m thinking about ducking into a nearby alley.
It’s convenient and dark. Dumpsters, stagnant water in puddles, the stench of rotting coffee beans.
Kieren will probably come out of the cafe and walk past on his way to wherever the hell he’s headed next.
I could snatch him, drag him back into the quiet, shove a rag in his mouth, put a gun to his head, pull the trigger and kill him right here.
Leave him for his brothers, the rats. And I’m very fucking tempted to do it, if I’m honest.
A man’s got to have a reason to live. What’s the point of walking around if you’re drifting with the wind?
I don’t do it though. I keep on strolling and humming because I know that thought’s not rational.
It doesn’t help my actual job, which isn’t to assassinate the Kieren rat, and I know I only want to do it for Regan.
That’s a new feeling, if I’m honest, wanting to kill for a girl I only met the night before.
Yes, the sex was fantastic, and the arson was almost as good, but that’s usually not enough to commit a murder.
Something to keep in mind, moving forward.
That girl’s got a power on me.
I circle around the block and find my unburned car.
The city’s getting crowded now, all the animals coming out of their slumber.
I cruise, not in any particular hurry, back to my home territory, to the streets I’ve adopted as my own, as close to comfortable as anywhere gets.
Deep in Whelan Country, my bosses and friends.
I find a good spot and head over to a greasy diner on a nearby corner, the place stinking like frying potatoes and coffee.
It’s heaven, far as I’m concerned, better than that yuppie cafe shit. I slip into a booth.
And Finn looks up from where he was reading the paper.
“Jesus, where’d you come from?”
“Morning, boss.” I signal the waitress, a pretty older lady with a good figure and the smarts to keep her nose to herself. She brings coffee without me having to ask.
“You look like you’re in a good mood.” His expression narrows. “Who’d you kill?”
“This time, nobody.” I put some cream in the mug and take a drink. “God, this stuff is horrendous. I love it.”
Finn grunts and leans back. He’s a few years older than me, in good shape, tannish skin and lots of mottled scars under his long sleeves. I see a few peeking out on his wrist. Those damn scars, they kill me every time I catch a glimpse. Makes me think of things I’d rather forget.
“Caroline keeps making fun of me for coming here.”
“Maybe you should listen to that smart wife of yours.”
“Already do. She’s the reason I don’t have a big ass plate of bacon in front of me right now.” He smirks, looking across the room. “Got an update for me?”
“Nothing you’ll like.” I had time on the way over to consider what I wanted to say to Finn. I won’t lie to him—if he asks me anything directly, I’ll tell him the god’s honest truth—but I’ve gotten good at skirting around topics I’d rather not talk about. I’m loyal, but I’m not fucking stupid.
And the topic of Regan is very, very dumb.
I tell him about the car, about finding nothing, about following Kieren this morning. I mention, casually, that my search got out of hand.
Finn groans and looks at the ceiling. “Jesus Liam, can’t you do anything like a normal fucking person?”
“What’s the fun in that?”
“Not every job is a god damn party.”
“Now you’re talking nonsense.”
Finn rubs his forehead, but he’s grinning. The cheeky shit acts like I drive him nuts but we both know that isn’t true. We’ve been working side by side for a while now, and I’ve come to know him better than anyone else in this world.
He’s like me, loyal to the bone, but he’s got his hurts.
They run deeper than he’ll ever admit. Even now, after exorcising most of his demons via some violent acts, they still haunt him.
Those ugly, nasty memories. I can deeply relate, and maybe that’s why I like him so much.
He did what I’ve failed to do all this time.
Forget that though. Drink coffee. Think about the girl in my bed last night.
He drums his fingers and his smile fades away. His shoulders are tense as he asks for a coffee refill and eyes me uncertainly. I wait him out, since sometimes he needs a second to get to what he actually wants to say.
“You know how important Martin Corrigan is to our family right now, correct?” He leans forward, voice softening. “His firm’s been our best source of laundering, and we have a lot of cash to wash.”
“A very good problem to have.”
“Tell that to the accountants. The more physical paper money we have, the bigger the target on our backs. Cops, rivals, thieves, traitors, you name it. Paper money is a temptation, but money sitting on a ledger in some bank?” He shrugs, waves a dismissive hand. “That’s safe.”
“I’m aware of all this.”
“Right, but I’m reminding you, because I’m about to ask you something critical.” He sits back, studying me. I don’t like the look on his face. It’s a mix of worry and determination. Finn only ever looks at me like that when I’m about to do something dangerous.
“Alright, who’s got to die?”
He grimaces, knuckle rapping on the table. “Not that.”
My eyebrows raise. “Don’t tell me I have to fuck someone?”
“Liam—“
“Bomb maybe? Or hey, I know, I gotta kidnap some poor innocent daughter?”
He sighs and rubs his face. “You’re going to make this so fucking hard.”
“Just say it.”
“I’m offering you an opportunity.” He’s dead serious now. No more jokes, which is hard for me. I live my life with jokes. Humor’s safe, it keeps the world at arm’s length. What can hurt if everything’s hilarious?
“You don’t look like it’s a good one.”
“I want you closer to our family. You’ve been nothing but a good friend and a solid lieutenant, and I think you deserve to be rewarded.”
“Are you giving me a promotion?”
“In a way, that’s right. Let’s say I’m offering… tenure.”
“Like a professor? Like I can do whatever I want and not get fired?”