15. Brady
Brady
I watch Cora as she weaves between tables, collecting empty glasses in her bus tub. The way she keeps it propped on her hip makes me envy the black plastic.
I hate the way other men’s eyes follow her. With a woman as sexy as she is, it’s an inevitability, but it still fucking pisses me off. One man ogles her so openly I’m tempted to leap across the bar and kick his ass. Customer reviews be damned.
The man, glassy-eyed, turns to track Cora’s progress. Like an eejit, he slams into the back of another guy. It’s a bigger guy, and the drunk spills his beer down the larger man’s shirt.
The bigger guy turns. His face is contorted, but his fury is silent. A few feet away, Cora’s head snaps toward the interaction. Neither man has made a sound, yet she’s keyed into the building violence.
Now I’m leaping across the bar, an easy vault over the wood. I’ll still be too late. As I push customers aside, Cora shoves her bus tub onto a table. The couple sitting at it start to protest, but she’s already turning away.
She’s leaping for the bigger guy. He’s winding up to swing. The drunken fool watches it all without moving.
Cora catches the larger man’s arm with both hands. He pauses, surprised. I see him register the fact that there’s a beautiful woman hanging off of him, but I’m still a few yards away. I don’t think to yell out. My brain is in fight mode. Action, not words.
The large man lowers his arm, turning toward my wife.
His face splits into a shit-eating grin, and that’s when I finally reach him.
I pull his arm from Cora’s grip, twisting it behind his beer-soaked back.
He shouts in pain, but I’m already frog-marching him toward the front door.
He should be fucking glad that’s all I’m doing.
“Door,” I shout, and the nearest customer holds it open for me.
I throw the big man out onto the sidewalk.
From the ground, he yells about fucking suing, and I tell him good fucking luck with that.
I want to spit on him for good measure. But there are too many bystanders, and my face is well-recognized here, even in the dwindling daylight.
When I turn back toward the pub, Cora’s got the drunken eejit by the collar. Liam’s behind her, trying to take the man from her, but her grip is tight as she forces him through the doorway. My feet make the decision for me, and I step out of her way. She tosses the drunk out on his ass.
The bigger guy, now on his feet, turns his anger on the drunkard. But it’s only to yell obscenities before storming off, nothing to concern us anymore.
Cora brushes off her hands like she’s done with the entire situation, myself and Liam included. She returns inside, leaving us men out in the late summer evening.
“You’ve got yourself a live one,” Liam says. My older brother sounds impressed.
Beside us, the drunk man groans and sits up, rubbing the shoulder he landed on. It’s what he deserves for ogling my wife like that. As the fucker continues moaning to himself, Finn comes outside to join me and Liam. He hates being left out.
“Is it time to go yet?” he asks, and Liam looks toward the western sky. The sun’s disappeared behind the low brick buildings of the South Side, leaving everything a little bit redder. A little bit bloodier.
“We have some prep to do first,” Liam says. “James is meeting us in the basement, then we’ll head out. Less than an hour.”
“We can’t leave before close.” I blurt it without thinking. As a rule, I don’t contradict my older brother. But I’m not about to leave Cora alone in the pub with a bunch of leering men. Liam catches me glancing through the window to see her behind the bar pulling a pint.
“I think she’s proved she can handle herself,” he says. “Call Erin if you’re that concerned about it.”
Erin, our pub’s manager, has our absolute trust. She had the day off today, but she’s probably in her apartment upstairs, and she’s dependable in a tight spot. But I still don’t like the idea of only her and Cora working the pub late at night. Even if Erin’s strapped.
“Have Finn stay behind,” I suggest to Liam. Our younger brother glares at me.
“Have James stay,” he spits. “Or better yet, make Brady stay himself.”
“No,” Liam says. “I want all four of us on this.” He’s only an inch taller than me, but he makes a point of lowering his head to look me in the eye. “Don’t get soft on me, Brady. You’re my best man because you don’t catch feelings.”
I’m his best man because I’m smart, reliable, and fucking ruthless. I clench my jaw and call Erin.
* * *
The four of us do what we have to. None of it is pretty.
I don’t particularly enjoy setting men on fire, but apparently I’m good at it.
The trick is in the preparation. As soon as Liam told us the plan, I packed gas masks for me and the boys.
This way the smoke doesn’t trigger my mild asthma, and we’re spared the smell of gasoline and burning flesh.
There’s no avoiding the screaming though. I wanted to cut their vocal cords first and save ourselves the torment. But Liam says their screams are necessary for the one we’re leaving alive. He has a point.
Reeking of smoke and charred flesh, we return to the pub well past close.
I’d assigned Peter to keep an eye on Cora for the rest of her shift, and he texted to confirm when he dropped her off at the high-rise.
So there’s no risk of running into her here.
She could use a glimpse of how truly brutal I can be, but it won’t be tonight.
We enter through the pub’s back door this time, then go straight down to the basement to scrub up and get changed. One of the bastards got me in the shoulder with a knife, but it’s shallow enough I can take care of it at home.
When Liam sees my wound, he grimaces. He tells us all that we did what was necessary, and we did a good job of it. Then he leaves without any further discussion, and James takes away our sooty clothes for disposal.
Finn and I don’t say much on our walk home. A fleet of cars at our beck and call, but we both need the crisp air to clear our heads. All I can think about is Cora. I know it’s fucked up. I just burned three men alive. Yet all I could see in the flames was that fire in her ice-blue eyes.
The fire of deep-seated violence.
And more violence is coming, whether we like it or not. We need to be ready.
I turn to my younger brother beside me.
“You did well tonight,” I tell him, but he snorts. His broken nose gives the sound extra derision, probably another reason he refused to have it reset.
“You sound like Liam,” he says.
“I’m serious. You kept your head. Sometimes you lose control and act like a dipshit liability.” This last part is true, but I only say it because it’s something Liam would never say to any of his men.
“Fuck off,” Finn says without spite. We walk another few darkened blocks with our senses heightened for trouble.
“I need you to do something for me.” I’m not asking, I’m telling. “I have to go into the office tomorrow. I need you to watch Cora while I’m gone.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Finn asks.
I don’t dignify his question with an answer. He turns his head to the side and spits.
“She’s a Muloney.”
“She’s an O’Sullivan.”
“She’s—”
“She’s my wife.” I cut my brother off before he says something stupid. He grumbles to himself.
“So when you say watch her, is she just going to be in your apartment?”
“Probably,” I say. Probably not, if I know Cora. “But if she goes anywhere, I need you to follow her.”
“You want me to be her tail or her bodyguard?”
“Both. Just don’t let her see you.” I shouldn’t have to, but I add, “Please, Finn. We killed three men tonight. Brutally. There will be retaliation. I’m trusting you to keep my wife safe.”
In other circumstances, I would’ve asked James or Peter. But my younger brother proved himself tonight. Without him, the bastard’s knife might’ve gotten me in the heart instead of just my shoulder. Finn sighs heavily as our high-rise comes into view.
“Alright,” he says. “But you owe me.”
I really don’t, given that we’re family. But I agree with him anyway.
When we get inside, the security guard gives us a respectful nod. I trust him the way I trust any of our men, but my wife’s safety depends on too many others. It should only take me.
Finn grunts something like goodnight as he steps out on his floor. Then it’s only me in the elevator. I take a deep breath.
This night is only the fucking start.
War is coming.
The doors open to our penthouse, spotless as I always keep it and fully lit.
Cora’s curled up asleep on a couch. I pull off my shoes to walk quietly toward her.
She’s wearing a Loyola sweatshirt and leggings.
The sweatshirt is so worn her elbows show through, and she’s got her arms crossed like she’s cold.
I take a blanket from another couch to drape over her.
Don’t get soft on me, Brady.
I clench the blanket in my fist, then toss it back where it was. It makes the lightest thwump, but apparently that’s all it takes.