Chapter Thirty-One
Cian
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was the dim light. The sound of a dripping faucet felt like a machine gun inside my aching skull. I reached up to cradle my head, but my arm wouldn’t move.
I was tied to a chair. Scanning the room, I noticed the worn couch, the cabinet doors hanging by one hinge, and a threadbare rug rolled up in the corner.
The smell of mildew was overpowering. I closed my eyes against the nausea caused by the pounding in my head.
Looking down, I saw the concrete floor, telling me I was in a basement apartment. I tugged at my arms. Tied behind my back, I’d have had a chance to get free. But being tied to the arms of the chair gave me no leverage.
Still, I tried.
I had to.
The sound of boots on the steps made my heart race. Whoever had gotten the drop on me was coming. I dropped my chin to my chest and closed my eyes.
“Come on, Ci, don’t play dumb. I know you’re awake.”
Tyran’s voice cut through the haze, and my head snapped up.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I snarled at the traitor.
“My job.” He shrugged.
“Your job was to protect Sal. Your job was to work for the fuckin’ family,” I ground out. Tyran Fitzpatrick was nothing more than a fucking traitor.
“I worked for Eamon. When Sal killed him, I had to make other arrangements.” Tyran shrugged again. Moving closer he asked, “They sold the house. Where are the fuckin’ files?”
I smiled at the son of a bitch. “What files?”
I’d barely gotten the words out when Tyran’s fist connected with my face. The chair rocked back, but before it fell, Ty slammed his hands on my arms, setting the chair back on four legs.
His face was inches from mine when he screamed, “Where the fuck are they?”
“Now, now, Mr. Fitzpatrick. That is not the way to endear my son.”
My head whipped around at the sound of her voice. I didn’t want to believe it. But I’d known the truth. It’d taken me weeks, but I’d finally confirmed that Gideon St. James was dead.
There was always someone willing to take the credit. That someone was a man named Adrian Sanchez. Also known as Chaos. Former Golden Skulls club brother.
One of the ways an MC differed from the Mob, was they didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut. From what I’d found, Adrian Sanchez had switched sides after the wedding of Maxwell Doherty, aka Reaper, and Remi Ivenok.
Believed to have been killed during the wedding—a trap set by Reaper to take down the Society—Sanchez then aligned himself with the Satan’s Angels. He told them everything, including how Reaper had killed Gideon St. James.
“Son,” she purred. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard, a sound no one wanted to hear and when you were forced to endure it, you were scarred for life.
“I am not your son.”
“Tsk, tsk, Cian. I bet you didn’t know I’ve been watching you for years. Poor little Tabitha, who couldn’t get pregnant.”
“Don’t talk about my mother,” I snarled.
Sylvia lifted an eyebrow. “And what will you do about it tied to the chair?” she sneered. “Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
Ty hit me again, this time in the stomach. I bent over as much as I could, but the urge to wrap my arms around my waist to hold my ribs was derailed by the rope tied to my wrists. Ty was a big motherfucker, and he hit with the force of a sledgehammer.
“Had you been a girl, I might have kept you. Henry already had four girls; he’d have no use for another one. But a son. Oh, he would have made my life hell to get his hands on you.”
“Why? Women ran the Society. Why would he want a son?”
Sylvia cackled at what she assumed was my ignorance. She didn’t know I knew everything about the Society. How it started, when it turned. She was right though; Henry Craven never would have let her keep me. He would have forced his wife to raise his bastard child, the same way he did with Jane.
That was something I’d discovered as I dug deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole. Jane Craven wasn’t the daughter of Sarah Williams, Henry’s wife. Jane’s mother was Dorothy Brown.
A nobody.
Dorothy Brown was one of Henry Craven’s many mistresses. Her mistake was trying to blackmail Henry. Instead of hitting a payday, he killed her after she gave birth and made his wife raise the child.
“Henry was desperate for a son. He and his brother Frederick were always in competition. And when Abigail Baudelaire couldn’t have more children after Julia, well, Henry was more determined than ever to have a son. You see, my dear boy,” Sylvia droned on.
I snorted at the use of the word boy. I was over fifty years old.
“The Society wasn’t always run by women.
It was a man’s world and we stormed the castle.
When I met your niece Sienna, she told us everything she had learned about William Doherty and what he’d done to her mother Elizabeth.
She was your oldest sister. Henry’s first child.
William Doherty raped her, more than once, resulting in James and Sienna.
“It was Angela and Sienna who came up with the idea to take over. And of course, after what Henry had done to me, I gladly helped them. After I took care of him of course. The girls never knew I was the one who killed their father. It might have put a damper on our working relationship. Then again, after what they did to young Maxwell, maybe they would have thanked me.”
Sylvia walked around to the other side of Ty, running a finger over his chest as she went.
He looked at her with lust in his eyes, and I gagged.
Sylvia St. James may have been beautiful in her younger days, but now in her seventies, after being hidden for years, her gray hair was dull and lifeless.
Her skin sagged at the chin. Medical procedures would have left a trail, I guess.
Someone always talked.
“So, to keep you away from Henry, I went to O’Malley.
He was friends with Tabitha’s husband; in fact, Daniel worked for Eamon.
This way I would always know where you were.
I waited a long time for you to have children, Cian.
When Donna ran away, I was angry. Then Gideon turned out to be a boy.
I knew he couldn’t be trusted. Then he got himself killed.
“But you, my son. You were protected. O’Malley knew I’d come after him if anything happened to you.”
“That’s why he hated me,” I muttered.
“Oh, Cian. He didn’t hate you. He loathed you. Eamon was nothing more than a soldier in my army. He thought he was important, holding all the information.” Sylvia shook her head, a sly grin spreading across her face.
“He was a plant. We’d never entrust all our secrets to a man. Men couldn’t be trusted.”
“Then why the fuck am I here, now?” I spat.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
Tyran punched me in the chin, my head spinning to the side. The chair rocked again but quickly righted itself.
“Speak to me that way again, son, and I’ll let the dog off his leash.” Her voice was cold. The term son, the only indication she had any feeling toward me. Though, if I asked, I would guess that feeling was resentment.
“As I said, I’ve been watching you your whole life. Waiting for you to settle down. Waiting for you to have children. For a long time, I thought you were a dud, the same as Gideon. Donna was the only child of mine to produce an heir, and she’s now protected by those thugs.”
It was my turn to laugh. “You mean the Soulless Sinners?”
Her eyes widened a fraction.
“Did you think I wouldn’t look you up? That with the files unleashed, I wouldn’t find out who you were?
Newsflash, Mommy dearest, I knew I was adopted.
I never came looking for you because I didn’t fuckin’ care who you were.
I only found out because of those files.
I could have gone my whole life not knowing about you, and I would have been happy. ”
Tyran hit me again. And this time, I grinned. Blood filled my mouth, and I spat it on the concrete floor, hitting Sylvia’s expensive shoes. That earned me another punch to the gut, but I didn’t care.
“Sal will cut you into pieces when he gets his hands on you.”
Tyran laughed. “He hasn’t found me yet.”
“Enough!” Sylvia shouted. She moved in front of me, leaning into my arms so she was inches from my face. “I want my granddaughter!” she hissed.
“Not a chance in hell,” I growled, and then spat in her face. She glared at me and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, wiping her cheek.
She stepped back and nodded at Tyran. Ty’s smile was evil. How we’d all missed the deranged psychopath we called a friend, I didn’t understand. He pulled a knife from his belt and sliced along my arm.
I clamped my teeth together, holding back the urge to scream at the burn. He did the same to the other arm.
“I want my granddaughter, Cian. She has a legacy to fulfill.”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
Tyran shoved the knife between two of my ribs, narrowly missing my heart and lung. The pain was like nothing I’d ever felt, and I knew there was a strong chance I would die today.
“I want you to call that Russian bastard you have watching her and tell him to bring her here.”
Russian bastard?
Was Maxim following my daughter? Or more likely having her followed. That son of a bitch!
“No,” I said.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick.” Every time she said his name, it was an order to inflict more pain. He shoved the knife into my gut again. This time I screamed. The pain was too much. He sliced across my thigh and then jammed the knife into the open cut.
“Do not kill him!” she snapped. “If he won’t cooperate, play with him until he’s unconscious, then drop him at the hospital. My granddaughter will rush to his bedside, and we’ll get her then.”
She walked to the door, turning back to look at me. “You could have been so much more,” she sneered. “If only you hadn’t been born a man.”
She left, and I turned my eyes to Tyran. He placed his knife back in its sheath and cracked his knuckles. “You heard the boss,” he said with glee. “Now I get to play. Payback’s a bitch, Ci, and you’re due for a lot of it.”
Tyran punched me again. Over and over, my head lolled to one side, and then the other. His fist rammed into my gut, and I felt a rib snap. Another punch I was sure hit my liver.
Sylvia told him not to kill me, not because she felt anything toward me as a mother, but because she wanted to set a trap for my daughter. Everything in me raged against the darkness that was closing in. There was nothing I wouldn’t endure to keep my daughter safe.
I’d deal with the Russian bastard later. Right now, I had to focus on Maddie. Staying awake, staying away from the hospital. Keeping Maddie safe and far away from me.
If Sylvia got her clutches on my daughter, she’d never see Henry again. She’d never see her mother again. Tyran stepped back, and I shook my head. I had to stay conscious. I couldn’t give in to the darkness; if I did, Maddie’s life would be in danger.
I could barely see where Tyran was. His anger at my not giving in was palpable.
“You think you’re so tough?” Tyran looked around the room, focusing on the broken table, then he picked up the leg that had been busted off. “Let’s see how you hold up against this.”
As he lifted the table leg over his head, I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me. If he killed me, Maddie might be safe. My body was on fire with pain, but I swore I heard a gunshot as the world faded around me.