Chapter 24
LIAM
The crowd makes me restless. It’s after midnight at a quiet dive in a neighborhood I usually avoid.
I keep my head down, shoulders hunched, in muted clothes that won’t grab attention, avoiding my usual suit and decent shoes.
Instead, today I look like a construction worker, in jeans, a camo hoodie, and filthy boots, my beard untrimmed over the last few days, my hair shaggy and left purposefully messy.
Everyone ignores me, which is perfect. I sip my beer, occasionally checking my phone for texts, but there’s nothing new. I’m not anxious, exactly, but I’m definitely thinking about my next steps.
Like whether I’ll get bloody tonight or not.
I should’ve stopped home earlier today. Guilt flutters in my toes but I push it away. Regan knows this life, she understands what I’m doing is important. I mentioned lunch, but that didn’t happen. I’ll make it up to her later.
This is what happens when I get tangled in relationships.
I need to keep my word. When I make a promise, I keep it, even if that means getting hurt in the process. But the fewer entanglements I have, the less likely it is that I’ll have to go back on something I said. Keep myself easy and free, that’s how it’s always been.
There’s nothing easy about Regan.
And in some ways, maybe that’s what I like about her.
She demands things of me. And not killing, thieving, fighting. She demands me, my attention, my time.
I want to give her all that and more.
Only right now Finn needs me, and I have to come through.
I finish my beer and order another. I keep waiting another twenty minutes before he shows, coming through the crowd with an uncomfortable, squirrelly look on his face. I didn’t think he’d come, but then again, he’s not the type to disobey an order.
He doesn’t even look twice at me. Dark hair, handsome kid, but soft-looking. It always shocks me every time I see the guy, how doughy he seems, how supremely weak. This is the man Regan was going to marry? He’s the guy her father thought was going to rise in the ranks?
Fucking absurd.
Kieren walks past me. He doesn’t notice as he goes back toward the bathrooms. I take a moment, finish off the second beer, and push back from the bar. I amble after him, hands shoved in my pockets. No eyes track me. I’m another local getting a drink.
Good thing too, because I’m deep in enemy territory right now.
Kieren’s waiting near the men’s room. There’s an ancient cigarette vending machine. It’s a dying breed, a sign of the old times. He’s leaning against it, glaring at his phone, probably re-reading the text I sent an hour ago. I pause for a moment, make sure nobody’s around, before I approach.
“You’re running late. You always keep your bosses waiting?”
Kieren looks up sharply. His jaw tightens and he opens his mouth to snap something nasty.
I see the anger flash across his face. I know that anger all too well, I’ve seen it a thousand times in a hundred other assholes just like him.
But when he gazes into my eyes, the protest dies, replaced by confusion.
“Do I know you?”
“Not really.”
“Then what do you need?”
“You’re here to talk to me, Kieren.”
His eyebrows knit tighter. “That can’t be right. Are you with the Baranovs?”
“Not exactly.” I get closer, tightening the distance between us. “You sure you don’t recognize me?”
“I don’t think…” He trails off, twitching backwards. His back bumps into the vending machine and it rattles. “Wait, hold on a second. I got a text from… but you’re…”
“Go ahead, take your time. Let the gears turn.”
His face pales. “You’re that guy Regan married.”
“There it is.”
Kieren looks at his phone in horror. Now he’s starting to get it.
Earlier, a text showed up from a number he knows is linked with the Baranov Bratva, instructing him to come to this bar and to stand by this exact vending machine.
He probably figured it was some kind of shady family business and didn’t bother running it past anyone else, considering it came directly from a phone he recognized.
He jerks sideways, trying to put space between us, and bolts toward the door.
I slam my shoulder into his chest, ramming him into the wall. Kieren lets out a soft grunt of pain and reaches for something in his jeans, but he’s way too slow. That should’ve been his first move. Instead, I get my gun shoved against his belly, jamming the barrel in tight so he keeps it.
“Don’t fight. Don’t scream. I’ll gut shoot you, and you won’t die, not for a while anyway. I’ll still have plenty of time to talk to you.”
He’s breathing hard, his face shiny with sweat. “What the fuck do you want?”
“A conversation, that’s all. Come on, Kieren, we can be civil.”
Now the panic sets in. He’s probably trying to weigh how far I’ll take this.
He’s maybe thinking I won’t pull the trigger, but he’s wrong there.
I’ll shoot him, the noise be damned. This bar might be in Baranov territory—a calculated risk to make sure he really showed up and wasn’t on guard—but it’s not technically a Bratva establishment.
I can’t guarantee there aren’t any soldiers here, but I doubt it.
He’s doing that same math right now, and he’s not liking the outcome.
When he says nothing, I jab him with the gun and tug him by the collar.
“This way.” We walk together, him stumbling ahead, my gun against the small of his back near his spine.
“You ever see someone get their vertebrae blown off? Real nasty shit. This low, your arms might still work, but your dick will be cold and dead. How will Vera feel about that?”
Again, he says nothing, which is the right play. I feel grudging respect as I shove out a side door and kick him into a dirty alley. Another reason I chose this spot: easy access to a tight, dark, relatively private space with a connection to an outside street.
Kieren leans against the wall, breathing hard. I keep my gun trained on him. His hands stay up.
“See, this isn’t so bad, right? This doesn’t have to get ugly. We need to talk.”
“What the fuck do you want from me?” His eyes dart to the entrance, but it’s too far for him to run. He’d never make it before I blew out his knees.
“I want to know why you fucked that Russian girl in Regan’s bed.”
His mouth twitches. He grimaces, eyes locked on mine. “What the fuck do you care about that for?”
“Regan cares. I’m only curious. Why’d you do it? Are you really that stupid?"
“I guess so.” He sneers at me. “I know you married her. Is she still heartbroken? Does she still talk about me? Regan was fucking mine first—“
I crack him across the teeth with the barrel of the gun.
I do it hard, lashing out. It’s not smart, since I need him conscious and talking, but fuck it feels good.
He groans, toppling sideways. I kneel on his side, pinning him against the nasty ground, and pluck the gun from his waistband.
I make sure he’s watching when I throw it into a nearby dumpster.
“Don’t talk about Regan like that again. She was never yours. You were never good enough for her. Do you understand me?”
“We were together… for a long time…”
“And you threw all that shit away the second you took another woman in your bed. Stupid mother fucker. You really think that Baranov girl is half the woman Regan is?”
“Regan’s a little child… can’t grow up…”
I hit him again. He moans and spits blood. “Who helped you steal from Regan’s father?”
He looks dazed. “What the fuck?”
“Who helped you, Kieren? Don’t tell me you’re smart enough to do it yourself, because you’re not. I’ve been watching you. I haven’t moved on you until now because I thought you were hiding something. Now I realize what it is. You had help.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“You’re lying to me. I really don’t like lying.” I hit him twice, relishing the crack of his skin against my fist. I don’t normally enjoy torture like this, but hurting Kieren is deeply satisfying. I only wish Regan were here to see it too.
He moans, head lolling. I grab his hair, yank it back, and jam the barrel of my gun into his throat.
“Who helped you?” I press, whispering harshly.
“I don’t… nobody…”
“If nobody helped then you’re fucking worthless to me.” I press the gun harder. “Give me a reason not to end you now.”
“Wait!” His eyes widen in terror. The bastard’s been holding up better than I expected until right now. “No… you don’t have to…”
“I really fucking do. Beyond the fact you took important information from Regan’s father, I don’t like you. It’ll be very satisfying to blow your fucking brains out.”
“Please—“ His face contorts. “I’m engaged! To marry Vera!”
I laugh in pure delight. “Are you joking? She agreed to that.”
“Yes! And if you kill me, her father—“
“You think I give a fuck what the old Russian thinks? Killing you will distract him from the fucking war he started. That’s even more of a reason to paint your brains all over the ground. Now start talking, Kieren, before I run out of patience. Who helped you?”
“I don’t… I can’t…”
I lean back, move the gun down to his hand, and pull the trigger.
The gun barks as a bullet blows his palm to pieces.
He screams in agony, twitching and struggling against my weight.
I put the now-hot barrel against his neck again, holding it steady.
He’s breathing, spittle flying down his chin as he gasps in and out, bloodied and ruined hand clutched to his chest.
“Last chance.”
“Please,” he moans, crying now. I should put him out of his misery. “Please, don’t… I can’t… If I say…”
“Fucking tell me. Who helped you, Kieren?!” I punch his injured hand, not even putting much force into the blow, but it’s enough to make him howl in pain.
“Luke!” He screams the name, bucking against me. “Luke did! He showed me where everything was hidden! Luke helped!”
Kieren sobs into his mangled hand as I get off him and step away.
Fuck.
God damn it.
I knew we had a leak… I didn’t think it would be Regan’s brother though.
Fuck.
This is going to crush her. There’s no way Luke can be spared from punishment, and I doubt the Whelans are going to be interested in mercy, not after all the blood that’s already been spilled.
Horror rings through me. I start pacing, cursing quietly under my breath. What the hell am I going to do? If I tell Finn, that means Regan’s brother is finished, and that’ll kill her. She’ll lose her damn mind, and I don’t want to do that to her.
But Luke deserves it. He betrayed his own family, stole from his father, gave critical secrets to the enemy.
All for what?
What the hell could he possibly want that he doesn’t already have?
“Liam.”
I twitch and look over, gun half raised as a shadow strides toward me, a massive man in all black. His eyes are grim and his face shows no emotion. I lower my aim, gritting my teeth, as Kieren rolls side to side, hand bleeding all over.
Cormac Whelan stands beside me, looking down at the pathetic spectacle.
“This is him?” Cormac’s scowl is terrifying. “He’s not much.”
“No, he’s not, but he’s been a damn pain in our ass.” I feel sick as I edge away from the pair. “And now he’s your pain in the ass.”
Cormac grunts, his attention is entirely on the crying, whimpering Kieren. “I’ll handle him.”
“Tell Finn we’ll debrief later. I’m going home.”
“Enjoy your night.” He says it like we’re having a normal conversation.
I know this is a stretch. I’m pushing against the boundaries of the promise I made to Regan. I told her I wouldn’t kill Kieren, and I’m not.
I’m only handing him over to the Whelan family’s Ghostman. Their professional assassin.
What happens next isn’t my problem.
I walk out of the alley and shove my gun away with shaking hands. I should tell Cormac what Kieren confessed, but I can’t bring myself to do it. He’ll likely ask his own questions and get the information himself before the sun comes up, and there’s not much I can do about it.
Luke made his decision. I didn’t make it for him.
I think about going home, but that means facing her tonight. I don’t know that I can meet her gaze and keep this from her. Now when it has such horrible implications for what’s going to happen in the near future to her family.
My head’s a spinning mess as I get the fuck away from that alley, Kieren’s scream of fear echoing after me, as Cormac goes to work.