TWENTY-NINE Killian
TWENTY-NINE
Killian
Another day, another asshole who thought the rules didn’t apply to him.
Dale Qualley, the New York State Gaming Commissioner, learned a hard lesson today about what happens when you owe the Callahan clan money and think you can simply… not pay it.
The man blubbered like a baby the moment my fist connected with his jaw, and by the time we were done with him, he was promising to pay double in penalties just to keep all his fingers and toes.
I crack my knuckles as I climb out of the SUV, the ache in my hands a familiar comfort after a job well done.
The Red Hook warehouse looms ahead of us, the headquarters of our operation.
I lead the boys inside without a word because there’s nothing left to say. We did what needed doing. That’s all there is to it.
The last two and a half months have been like this—one job after another, keeping myself busy with boneman work and boxer training ’til I’m too exhausted to think.
It’s the only way I know how to cope with the gaping hole Jhene left in my life when she walked away.
…not that it’s working.
I still think about her constantly. When I’m pounding the heavy bag at Malone’s Gym, I’m really thinking about the times she sat nearby with her puzzle books pretending not to watch me.
Most nights as I try to fall asleep in my studio, memories of her soft, pliant body next to mine return. I’m left moodily getting up and heading for a two a.m. showing of Taxi Driver at the Rialto.
There’s no escaping Jhene. She looms in my head and heart no matter how busy I am. That’s what happens when you’ve fallen hopelessly in love with a woman.
At least the boxing side of things is looking up.
Ivan Sharapova abruptly retired a few weeks after our showdown at Fedorov’s estate, citing “personal reasons” that everyone in the fighting world knows is code for “I got my ass handed to me so badly I’m in no shape to fight again anytime soon, maybe ever. ”
His sudden exit left the entire weight class in disarray. With his belt now up for grabs, every heavyweight in the country’s vying for a shot.
My next opponent is a bruiser named Big Eddie Nowak, a Polish kid from Chicago who’s got a decent record and fights a little smarter than some of the other big names.
He’s tough, but I’ve been training hard. I’m confident I can take him when the time comes.
If nothing else, it’s still a distraction from thinking about Jhene every few minutes.
“How’d it go?” Ronan asks. He’s with a different group of buttonmen, going over our weapons inventory. We’ve received another shipment from LDS.
I step away from the other guys and answer, “As good as it could go. Qualley’s handled. Cried for his mommy and agreed to pay double. Shouldn’t be any more trouble from him.”
Ronan nods his approval. “Good work, Kill. As always.”
“All in a day’s work. Might stop by the Banshee later to drink in Qualley’s honor. Promised him we’d have a good laugh about his cries at the pub.”
“Sounds deserved,” Ronan says with a low chuckle. “Listen, Kill. I’ve been thinking lately. You’ve thrown yourself back into your work for the clan. You’re doing a lot of the heavy lifting now that my father’s gone and I’ve officially taken over.”
“It’s my job as boneman.”
“True. Which is why it might be time to upgrade your role.”
My brow furrows and I’m blunt as can be. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’ve been in need of a new Warlord ever since I took on Clan Chief. You would make for a pretty damn good pick.”
“But Loch—”
“Loch’s decided he’s done with being an official part of the clan,” Ronan interrupts.
He sticks his hands in his pants pockets and gives a shrug.
“His choice, and after what he’s been through, I’ve gotta respect it.
He’ll be a free agent who’s still involved in family business here and there, but he won’t have a title.
Besides, you’re who I want for Warlord.”
It’s an unexpected proposition.
I’ve been the Callahan’s boneman for the better part of a decade. I worked my way up from buttonman and decided it was where I wanted to be.
Moving up to another rank never occurred to me. It’s never been on my radar.
But as Ronan makes the offer, I think about what it’d mean. I’d be the one commanding the crews of buttonmen. I’d be running a lot of the daily operations.
Never a role I thought I’d want.
It’s why I hated the idea of filling in for Ronan a few months ago. I’m not the guy who wants to be in charge or lead people.
But I’d done it. I’d successfully held the clan together and even waged war against the Bratva.
As if reading my thoughts, a crooked grin comes to Ronan’s face. “You filled in for me as Clan Chief and held your own. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“I’ll… I’ll think about it,” I say slowly. “Never had Warlord on my clan bingo card, but what the hell? It might be time to try on a new hat.”
“Good. Give it some thought and get back to me. Between me and you, I’d be glad to have the backup. Simone’s pregnant, and that means more time off once the baby comes.”
“Let me guess, the honeymoon where you two must’ve been fucking like rabbits.”
His grin only spreads. “Actually, no. It was all the fucking before the honeymoon. She’s starting to show, so can’t keep it a secret much longer.
” He turns as if about to return to the weapons inventory, then pauses before he does.
“By the way, you coming to the surprise party we’re having for Chantal at Callahan House? ”
“When have I ever been into parties, Ro?”
“Drop by for a few minutes. You might see some familiar faces.”
He walks off and leaves me to ponder the cryptic message—and the new job promotion offer.
I fucking hate parties.
Always have, probably always will.
Exactly why I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking as I turn up to Callahan House for Chantal’s surprise birthday party.
Sean’s with me as we arrive a few minutes late and realize the surprise part already happened.
“Drinks,” the redhead says. He pivots toward the minibar. “I’ll catch up with you later, Kill. Don’t wait up.”
I shake my head and grab a bottle of beer from a passing server. I make my way through the house, occasionally nodding at faces I recognize and ignoring the ones I don’t.
The house is packed with people ranging from clan members, Callahan associates, their wives and girlfriends, some of Chantal’s friends, and a few others I don’t know.
I head out to the terrace where most people are gathered and find a spot where I can be disgruntled and sullen in peace.
She catches my eye almost immediately.
Jhene’s hovering on the opposite end of the terrace with a cocktail in hand, quietly observing her surroundings.
My pulse jumps in my veins at the sight of her.
How’s it possible she’s gotten more beautiful since the last time I saw her?
Her curls are fuller and shinier than I remember, teasing her shoulders as she wears them down. Her glasses are perched on her face, but they can’t hide how pretty her coffee-brown eyes are or the shy little smile she gives whenever someone glances her way.
She’s put on a touch of makeup. Just some gloss that shines on lips I still vividly remember the feel of.
The maroon party dress she’s wearing is hardly revealing, stopping mid-thigh and featuring a scoop neckline, but it still looks so fucking sexy on her.
The fact that my stray put on a dress at all when she normally hates formal occasions automatically makes it special.
It makes my pulse pound even harder.
As if sensing my gaze on her, she suddenly looks up. Our eyes lock over the short distance, the crowd of people in between us turning invisible.
We can only see each other as we stare for a second, then she offers her signature shy smile.
Go talk to her, you fucking idiot.
I force a breath through my lungs, take a swig of my beer, and push myself forward.
It’s a good sign that she doesn’t run away as I approach. She stays put and watches me, a glint flashing in her dark eyes.
“Hey,” I say huskily.
Fucking genius, you asshat. Got anything better?
“Hey,” she echoes, voice soft.
We stare at each other for a second, like this is our first day on planet earth and we don’t know how to human. I try again.
“You look good,” I say. “Really good.”
“Thanks. You do too.”
“Thanks. You look go—” I start again, then cut myself off with a scowl. “I mean shit. Sorry, my mouth and brain aren’t cooperating right now. This is… fucking awkward.”
She laughs, her whole face lighting up like old times. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? I’m glad it’s not just me.”
“You want to take a walk?” I nod toward the garden beyond the terrace. “Might help take the edge off.”
“Sure. I’d like that.”
We fall into step together as we leave the terrace behind and make our way along the winding path that leads toward the Callahan estate’s garden.
It’s quieter over here, the noise of the party fading to a distant murmur and the moonlight casting long shadows across the chipped marble statues that dot the landscape.
“So,” I say after a stretch of silence. “How’ve you been?”
“Pretty okay,” Jhene answers, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Actually… better than okay. I’m taking classes at the local community college. Math, mostly. And I’m seeing a therapist, which has been... helpful.”
“That’s good. You always were too smart to be working at an Irish pub.”
She snorts. “I’ll admit the Banshee wasn’t exactly my dream job. Then again, pretty sure I wasn’t the dream waitress.”
“You happened to be my favorite.”
“You’re totally not biased or anything,” she says, shooting me a sideways glance. “But I do remember that first night—you hated that I was on your table.”
“What can I say?” I ask in return. “I can be slow at times.”
“To be fair—and as you so often pointed out—I wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine.”
“That’s a mild way to put it.”
Her smile grows as she takes the teasing in jest. “I owe it to you, you know. Being able to start over like I have. I bought an apartment. A small two bedroom in Sunset Park. Might not sound like much, but it’s mine.”