32. Connor
CONNOR
It’s not my style, giving up control.
I hate letting my father go anywhere dangerous. He’s a good man, Cathal Maguire. Part of a hellhole of a family but kept his hands clean. Did his best to raise me after Mom died. Always has been the heart and soul of our family, the man I turn to for moral advice, a calm and centered presence.
Now he’s strapping on body armor and clipping a mic to his shirt.
“You sure this’ll work?” he asks, tapping it.
“Yes, and don’t do that again.” I point at the bud in my ear. “It’ll blow out my freaking skull.”
“Wouldn’t want that, though it might be a small improvement.” Dad finishes dressing and buttons up his shirt. “How do I look?”
“Like an asshole.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I should’ve gotten a fresh cut.”
“Dad—“
“Stop. It’ll be fine. I need to do this.”
I want to keep arguing. My father hasn’t put himself in danger before. He’s strong in other ways: a family man, a dependable worker, but this isn’t him.
I hold a gun out. “You should probably take one.”
He pushes it away. “I’d end up shooting myself most likely. Deck’s not here to kill me.”
“You sure?”
“What would he gain?” Dad puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll be alright. Stick to the plan.”
“Same to you, old man.”
His grin is almost comforting.
Dad leaves alone in his Mercedes. Marcus follows with the forward team in a black truck, keeping to a steady distance. I bring up the rear in a surveillance van kitted out with listening equipment and multiple drones for camera images.
This isn’t my specialty. I’d rather be in Dad’s place, out on the front lines, taking all the risk. But Deck would bolt if I appeared. My cousin’s a traitor, but he isn’t stupid.
“You good, brother?” Marcus’s voice comes over the comms system.
I radio him back. “Fine. Happy. Having fun.”
“That’s how it should be.”
I watch the city pass outside the window. “You ever wonder why Deck did it?”
“Nah, not at all. Deck’s always been a prick.”
“Seriously.”
“I’m not kidding. Deck resented you from the moment you took power. He’s traditional, and that’s exactly why he couldn’t lead. He would’ve kept the Maguires in the Dark Ages.”
“I used to think I wanted to be more like him. Tough, a little crazy.”
“Yeah, look where that got him.” I listen to the static before Marcus speaks again. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“I know that.”
“But you need to hear it, don’t you? Deck made his call. Now you have to make yours.”
“For the family.”
“Damn right.”
I let the conversation drop as we roll toward the edge of the city and a warehouse owned by WashCo.
It’s dark and late, past ten, and nobody’s working anymore.
The front gate was left open, but we park on the far side of the building near a service entrance.
I doubt Deck even knows about it. Once I’m in position, I release the camera drones and turn on Dad’s feed, but all I get is him listening to Willie Nelson in the car and humming to himself.
I get eyes on his car a few moments later.
Dad’s parked in the main lot outside the structure.
There are no other vehicles around. I’m anxious, wondering if Deck’s going to show, if he maybe spotted the drones on his approach, but I shouldn’t have worried.
A few minutes later, three cars arrive and circle around Dad before coming to a halt.
Deck’s the first out of a dark gray sedan. Dad whispers over the mic, “Showtime.”
I say nothing. He can’t hear me anyway. I lower the drone to get a better view.
Deck looks like shit. His shirt’s dirty and untucked. He looks like he hasn’t showered in a day or more. His eyes are rimmed with red and shadowed in black. There are a few other soldiers with him, but only a few, and none look happy.
“Glad you came, Deck,” Dad says loudly, standing beside his door. He doesn’t approach. “You look like shit.”
“You look bad yourself, Uncle.” Deck nods at him. “Sorry about the face.”
“I get it. You did what you had to do.”
Deck’s expression darkens. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”
“What was the end game, Deck? What did you think would happen after you took Connor’s wife?”
“The family should be his priority. Not some random pregnant girl. Connor’s going to throw away everything we built.” Deck’s hand turns to a fist and his jaw works. “Everything I bled for.”
“You know that’s not true. He loves the girl.”
“He threw us against the Gallaghers. You know that was bad.”
“Why are we here, Deck?” Dad sounds calm. It’s impressive. Dad’s always been solid in a crisis. I know he blames himself for what happened during the attack, but it’s clear he shouldn’t. There’s no way Cathal Maguire didn’t try his damnedest to take care of everyone around him.
“I know I can’t come back.” Deck’s tone wavers for a moment. I zoom the drone in. His face is twisted in agony, and I realize this is painful for him. All his life, he’s been a part of the Maguire clan.
Now he’s on the outside.
“That’s right,” Dad says gently. “You took Gallagher money.”
“I know.”
“You betrayed us, Deck.”
“I did it for you though. I know you won’t ever see it, but I did.”
“You sure, son?”
Deck’s jaw tightens. He stares at my dad with true malice now. “Listen to me, Cathal. We’re not kin anymore. I want you to go back to your son and tell him I’m leaving the city. Tell him I’m making my way out west.”
“That’s all you want to say?”
“The Gallaghers are going to destroy you. Lorcan’s not going to let it go. Padraig sure as hell won’t either.”
He doesn’t know then. Deck has no idea that Padraig’s not running the Gallaghers anymore. I’d bet the old man hasn’t for a while now, longer than Sinead’s letting on.
I adjust the drone, scanning the fence line, and catch shadows moving. That’s Marcus getting into position.
“So that’s it? You’re running and leaving us to fend for ourselves?”
“I’m telling you because I still care about everyone. If you want to come, bring your wife, your daughter, anyone else who wants, there’s a place with me. Always will be.”
“Deck.” Dad sounds genuinely sad. “After all this, you believe that?”
“Go to hell, Cathal.” His snarl is low and guttural. “You don’t know a damn thing.”
I leave the van and let the drone stay on autopilot, hovering in the air. I stride into the evening, straight to the fence, and slip through the gap in the gate. I draw my gun, picking up my pace toward the meeting, staying in the shadows as much as I can.
Dad’s backing off. The other car doors open and Deck’s soldiers come out. My heart starts racing as I raise my weapon—but too far—too fucking far?—
I start sprinting into the night.
“Dad!” I scream, voice echoing off the warehouse. “Deck, damn you! Dad! Don’t do it!”
Marcus and his team are streaming toward us from the fence line. Marcus’s voice is calm in my ear, telling me they’re ten seconds away, but it’s too much. I start shooting as Deck’s soldiers raise their weapons and open fire.
“DAD!”
My voice is rough from screaming as I race toward them. Dad’s down on the ground as the gunfire keeps going. None of them hear me as I approach. Deck’s the only one without a weapon, gazing down at my father with a grim sadness, like he didn’t want it to be this way.
I kill two soldiers. The third I shoot in the knee and kick his gun away. Marcus hits from the other side, taking down the men near Deck. I have a moment where I lock eyes with Deck and he stares at me in horror, only belatedly realizing what’s happening, the damn fool.
I charge him. Fury rips into me, rage and hell burning in my core. I slam into Deck and he tries to fight me, but I take him to the ground, a knife sliding from the sheath at my hips. I drive it once into Deck’s chest, again into his belly, screaming as I do it.
“You didn’t have to!” I roar in his face.
“You motherfucker! You didn’t have to! You didn’t have to!
” I stab him, over and over, blood splattering my face and hands.
Deck gags, gasping, hands scrambling at my face, until I drive the tip into his throat and put all my weight behind it.
“You bastard. You fucking bastard. You deserve worse.”
Deck bleeds out and his eyes go dim.
I kneel on my cousin. His corpse warm still. I want to keep pummeling him, but exhaustion overtakes me. I release the knife and slump backwards, breathing hard, gasping. Marcus crouches beside my father, checking him for wounds as our soldiers make sure Deck’s men are down for good.
“Marcus. Please. Tell me.” I crawl to him over the blacktop. “Marcus?—“
“He’s breathing.” Marcus turns to me, grim-faced. “But it’s bad.”
“Get out of the way.” I shove the back door of the car open. “I’m taking him to the hospital.”
“They won’t let you leave. Not with this many bullet wounds. They’ll have questions.”
“I don’t fucking care!”
“Damn it,” Marcus says under his breath as I get my father into the back of the car.
He’s hit in multiple places. The vest saved him from the worst, but it took half a dozen strikes. His legs are bloody, his lower back, his arms. His breathing is shallow. “I got you, Dad. I got you.”
“Let me.” Marcus pulls me back from the car. I try to shake him free, but he shoves harder. “Damn it, Connor, we need you free. Take Deck to Sinead. Finish this fucking nightmare.”
“Marcus—“
“And bail me out of prison, for fuck’s sake.” Marcus gets behind the wheel of my father’s car. “Don’t stand there gawking. I got to fucking drive!”
“Thank you.”
He slams the door, hits the gas, and peels out. I watch him go, our soldiers standing around watching the corpses grimly. Once the car is gone, I walk over to Deck’s body and kneel beside it.
Slowly, carefully, with a kind of loving grace, I start sawing at his neck.