6. Declan
6
DECLAN
I dig the heels of my palms into my eye sockets until I see white spots against the darkness. My eyes are burning from alternately staring at a large surveillance monitor and the front entrance of the Black Crown. The casino is bustling with tourists, as it is almost every night I’ve been here for the past week.
“Anything?” Hayden asks and leans back in his seat. We’re stuffed into the back of a surveillance van across the street.
“I haven’t seen Em leave the building once without an escort. He always has at least two people with him, and Emelia is one of them.” I grind my teeth until my jaw hurts. She’s too close to this job. Too close to us. She’s going to end up in a body bag as collateral damage, just like my brother.
A wave of nausea hits me out of nowhere when I think about Silas in the back of that plane as it plummets down to earth. I wonder if it was a ‘quick, on impact’ death. I fucking hope it was, because I don’t think I could bare the thought of him alone and suffering. My jaw pops as I clench the muscles even tighter.
Hayden snaps his fingers in my face, pulling me out of the dark hole I’m sinking into. “Are you even fucking listening to me?” He snaps and smacks my chest twice. “Get out of your head, man.”
“I’m listening,” I retort and shift away from him, not meeting his concerned gaze.
“Then what did I just say?”
I pause for a few moments, trying to remember what he had just said, but in reality I didn’t hear anything except for my brother’s screams echoing through my mind. “Fuck you, Hayden.”
“No thanks,” he responds lightly and picks his nails with the tip of his pocket knife. “I said, we need to get her out of the picture before this gets ugly.”
“She doesn’t leave his side. How are we going to do that?” I click on a camera image and enlarge it on the screen. The camera feed is live, showing Emelia, Tobias, and Hector deep in conversation at the bar in the main lobby. The lens is too far away to pick up audio, but it looks like a heated debate based on the way Emelia is swinging her arms.
We both lean closer to the screen and watch as Tobias nods slowly with an impassive look on his face. Hector’s face, on the other hand, is not emotionless. His eyes narrow and his mouth turns down into a viscous scowl. He says something that causes Emelia to turn on him. She lashes her hand out and wraps one hand around his throat and points a knife at him with the other.
I blink and lean back in surprise, but Hayden only chuckles. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs quietly and leans in closer.
Hector doesn’t fight her off, and I’m shocked to see that Tobias doesn’t say anything or try to control his people. What kind of leader just lets his men threaten each other right in front of him? If Silas or Hayden had pulled that shit with me, I’d have knocked more than a few teeth out. I watch Hector’s face closely, zooming the camera in so that his expression is clearer.
My eyes widen at the set of his jaw and the expression in his eyes. He likes it! Emelia digs the tip of the blade into his collarbone, knicking the skin just enough that a drop of blood seeps to the surface. His eyes close and his shoulders rise as he takes a deep inhale. Her hand is too small to actually choke him out, but it’s enough to be uncomfortable and keep him still.
“Dammit,” Hayden mutters. “I’m getting hard just watching this.”
“Keep it in your pants or I will shoot it off,” I threaten in a low voice without taking my eyes off the screen. I would never admit it to anyone, but seeing her take control like this, seeing the power that she could harness, makes my dick hard too. I’d never let her handle me like that, but watching her do it to someone else is fucking intoxicating.
“Pot, meet kettle,” Hayden chuckles and I look over to see him nodding at the growing erection between my legs.
“Get the fuck out,” I snarl and kick him in the shin.
“I’m going! I’m going!” He holds up his hands and exits the van from the back. “It’s Wednesday. Are you still doing your thing tonight?” He asks as he leans against the open door.
The evening sunlight nearly blinds me as I look over at him and nod once. “Don’t wait up, but leave the kit on the counter, just in case.”
Hayden grunts in response and slams the door, leaving me in the bluish glow of the monitor once more. I glance at the clock on the dash and start shutting down the equipment. If I leave now I can make it before the fights start. I prefer to get there early so I can sit in silence for a while. I pull my arms out of my navy suit jacket and lay it across the passenger seat. Then I roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt, revealing my forearms. My fingers stretch and flex into fists. I need to punch something, and I’d prefer for it to bleed once I’m finished.
The van shudders to life and I pull out, heading to the empty parking garage on 13th Street, where I park and walk the rest of the way to the warehouse district on the Southside of the river. They call it No Man’s Land because the cops and other government agencies don’t venture out this far. It’s reserved for off-the-book deals, fights, and other forms of illegal activity. I’ve even seen a few street races happen around the block.
I step into the vacant, dimly lit concrete room and look around, only a few people are here. They look up when I walk in, but no one makes a move to walk towards me. They continue setting up the makeshift ring and pulling bleachers out from against the walls. I unbutton my shirt, letting it glide off my shoulders and drape it over the back of a chair in a dark corner. I pull off my shoes, socks, and pants, leaving me standing in nothing but my boxer briefs.
“Hey, Kennedy,” a man calls from the other side of the ring. “You want the usual or just the scraps?”
I level him with a blank stare. “I want it all the way through.”
“Fuck. You sure? We have a line-up tonight.”
Am I sure?
Of course I am fucking sure. I’m so numb to everything around me. Maybe after a few punches I’ll start to feel something again. Anything would be better at this point. It’s gotten so bad that even Emelia is starting to see the numbness in my eyes. I feel like I’m just existing, going through the motions to fulfill everyone else’s expectations of me.
He takes my silence as a confirmation and nods his head nervously. “First round is in twenty.”
“I’ll be ready,” I state darkly and drop my weight into the chair. My forearms rest against the tops of my knees as I lean forward and fix my gaze on a crack snaking through the concrete floor. My fists clench and unclench repeatedly and my eyes begin to dry out as I stare, unblinking, at one spot and let my mind unravel.
I think about Emelia bleeding out on our sofa the night that Hector brought her in. I think about Hayden sitting in silence for days on end staring at Silas’ bedroom door. I think about all the ways that I could have handled everything differently. All the ‘what ifs’ that surround that day, and every day before that.
What if I had never taken the call and met with O’leary?
What if I had never agreed to the job in the first place?
What if I had just killed Tobias and his whole staff by blowing the casino to rubble?
What if I had sent Silas home and I went after Emelia instead?
What if, what if, what if.
I rake my fingers through my hair aggressively and inhale sharply. My eyes sting as I blink furiously and shake my head, trying to escape the demons circling inside me. Fucking shit. My chest tightens at an image of Silas laughing at some smartass remark Emelia made over take-out Chinese. His face was open and his smile was bright. He was happy.
I know if anything had been done differently we wouldn’t have met Emelia, but if we hadn’t met her, Silas would still be alive. But would he be happy?
“Ready?” I’m pulled out of my turmoil by a short dark-skinned man with shoulder-length dreadlocks. His dark eyes look me up and down, assessing.
“Yep,” I respond and stand to my full height, twisting my neck from side to side until it cracks.
“You know the rules,” he calls after me as I make my way through the crowds that I gathered without me knowing.
“For me… There are no rules,” I say darkly and emerge into the circle of light in the center of the room. A muscled man with scars littering his chest and abdomen bounces on the balls of his feet and swings his right arm in a wide windmill. He looks me up and down slowly before a wicked grin splits his face.
I know what he’s thinking. I don’t look like much of a fighter other than the thick slabs of muscle and the tattoos that cover my skin. I’m not bruised and battered. My nose isn’t crooked from being broken, my ears aren’t swollen and the cartilage isn’t permanently damaged.
What he doesn’t know is that the tattoos hide all of my scars, and my face isn’t disfigured because I never let anyone get close enough to land a blow above my shoulders. I return his smile with a viscous smirk of my own and move closer, pulling my hands up in front of my face.
A voice rumbles through the speakers hanging from the rafters overhead. “Place your bets now, because this one isn’t going to last long! Knockout Kennedy and Two Punch Thompson face off starts now! Here we go!” The crowd erupts into screams as I circle around Thompson and block his first three swings.
“I can’t wait to knock those teeth outta your skull,” he sneers and spits at my feet.
“Well, go on then,” I encourage and spread my arms wide, leaving my face unprotected. He lunges forward and swings wildly, but I duck and dip around every punch. He gets one closer than I care to admit. I feel the air against my cheek as his knuckles barely miss me. My jaw clenches as he lands a blow to my abdomen before I can drop my arm.
I grunt and shift, but can’t escape his knuckles as he pounds into my sides. That is definitely going to bruise a kidney. I let him get a few more hits in, focusing on the pain that radiates throughout my stomach and sides. I relish it since it’s the only thing I seem to be able to feel anymore.
“That all you got? Ready to give up?” Thompson pulls back to catch his breath and circles his arms, stretching out the tired muscles. They always do this. Every time I get in the ring, they come at me with full force and tire themselves out before I’ve even landed a few good hits. What a fucking waste.
“Not a fucking chance,” I grumble and surge forward so fast that he doesn’t even have time to throw his fists up. My right fist connects with his jaw and then my left fist connects with his nose. The cartilage crunches under my fist, and blood pours from both nostrils as he drops to his knees. Thompson groans out a curse and then slumps forward, his face pressed against the cold concrete with a crimson puddle growing beneath his face.
I step back and watch as two people come forward to drag him away by his ankles. Fucking pussy. My arms come up and I reset for the next fight. I don’t know how many people came out tonight to participate, but I’m in it for the long haul at this point. I am either going to leave with broken knuckles or in an ambulance.
After three more fights, I’m starting to feel my energy waning. The last man got a few good hits to the side of my head before I dropped him and my ears are still ringing. I shuffle forward and meet the final fighter of the night. My stomach drops to the floor as I take in his red hair and green eyes. He was one of the Irish bodyguards that drove away with Silas all those months ago. One of the last people to see him alive and breathing.
Anger bubbles within me and my muscles begin to tingle, a newfound energy emerging from my rage. He steps forward with a wicked grin. “Alright there, Kennedy?” he says with a heavy accent. He fucking knows who I am, and he fucking knows that I know who he is.
I can’t stop myself. I lunge forward and start throwing punch after punch, which he dodges easily enough. He’s got fresh muscles, while I’m running on fumes and rage, and he knows it. A guttural cry escapes my lips as I swing and connect with his side. He lurches forward at the strength behind my punch and I take my other hand and pull his head down until his nose connects with my knee.
He stumbles back and wipes the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. His teeth are stained red as he smiles at me. “What’s got your cock in a knot?” he calls out as I straighten my spine and spit blood.
I don’t say anything, I just watch his movements. He takes two steps to the right, slides his left foot slightly back, and then jumps forward with a flurry of punches. I get hit a few times, taking fists to the jaw and side of the head, but I don’t fight back. I block and let him hit whatever he can.
The anger dissipates and I’m left with that hollow feeling inside again. Maybe this is what I deserve. To get the shit beat out of me because I couldn’t protect my own family. He lands a punch straight to my nose and I drop to my knees. Just finish me off, you fucking prick . I just want to sink into the dark void of unconsciousness for a little while and get away from all my grief and anger and pain and guilt.
A pair of hands grab my biceps and haul me back to my feet. “Get the fuck up, Declan. You can wallow in self-pity later. A broken nose and black eyes are not going to bring him back.” I feel myself being pushed forward and I stumble back into the light. My eyes open just in time to see the fighter swing at me again, but I duck and land a double body shot.
After my knuckles connect with his skin, I inhale sharply and channel all my emotions into this one moment. I lash out with my fists and hit him anywhere I can reach that I know will cause damage. After one rapid jab cross combo, he falls to the floor in a heap of blood and sweat. I look over my shoulder to see if I can find whoever pulled me up, but all I see are men shouting and shoving each other to get to the money pits. My tongue traces over my split lip and I spit a blood clot onto the floor. Fuck, this is not going to go over well tomorrow morning.
I shuffle over to my chair in the corner and pull on my clothes slowly. Every muscle feels like I lit it on fire, and my kidneys are screaming in protest at even the slightest twist. The man from the beginning of the night walks over and drops a wad of cash into my palm without a word. I nod once and make my way through the crowd of people. The cool night air ghosting across my heated skin sends a shiver down my spine. I look over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of movement in the shadows.
The lights of a motorcycle cut through the darkness as it thunders in the opposite direction and I’m nearly thrown to my knees at the memory of Silas on a bike with a similar style light set-up.
Fucking hell, I miss my brother.