Chapter 25 #2
Dairmuid O’Cronin is the son of an old Irish mobster.
Forty years ago, the O’Cronin family held a large territory.
They exclusively ran the docks and controlled the importation of drugs and weapons into Cali.
Then the institution of the Twelve started and the family lost members, lost loyalties, and lost three-quarters of their territory.
Rumor has it, the patriarch of the family, Liam O’Cronin, has started to lose grip on reality.
Dairmuid defected and became a gun for hire ten years ago.
He’s an unparalleled assassin, a terrifying driver, and he has a shitty attitude.
I like him. The Jackal is one of the very few who can afford his prices, so I’ve spent some time with him over the years.
“Who is his nephew? I can’t imagine an Irish mobster going to Hannaford.”
I hear the swing of the knife in the air and the Jackal’s grunt as he impales the poor idiot’s leg. His victim doesn’t scream, he just lets out a grunt of his own. Buddy, you want to scream. If you don’t, he’ll only get more creative.
“Kid goes by his mom’s name. Arbour. Blond and blue-eyed like her, too. Apparently, he looks fuck-all like the O’Cronins.”
My heart stops.
Harley.
Harley is the mobster’s grandson.
‘Honor before Blood’
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
“Diarmuid will pop in and see him and then drop off the file. Does that work for you, Starbright?” I hear fabric ripping, grunts of pain, and the Jackal’s labored breathing. I hope to God he’s just carving the guy up and not… doing anything worse. I don’t want to think about it.
“Yeah, thanks. You’ll only owe me two favors now.”
He agrees, which comes as a little bit of a shock. He’s been so adamant that he’s just being nice and doing things for me this year that I thought I’d have to stand my ground on that one. “I’ll send you the diamond back with Diarmuid, if you trust him with that.”
Oh, did I mention I have millions of dollars’ worth of uncut diamonds, all of the favors I’m owed, hidden in the safe under my floorboards?
Yeah.
My life is too complicated.
I sit in my doorway pretending to read a book for an hour, but all I really manage to do is devour a protein bar in an attempt to distract myself.
I’ve changed into my old man sweater, some denim shorts, and my thinnest pair of thigh-high socks.
I like to cover the scars on my leg, and it’s already too warm for pants.
I get a lot of curious looks from the other girls, but that’s the point.
One of them will surely narc on me to Avery, and with any luck, it’ll get her ass up here, with an escort sooner, but I’m still getting impatient waiting for her to appear.
Every minute that goes by is a minute closer to Harley being ambushed by his uncle, and it’s all my fault.
Not that I can tell him it’s my fault. I can’t tell him I’m getting information on the Beaumonts without starting another war.
My stomach turns. I have to tell them something.
When Avery finally arrives and breaks my spiraling thoughts, she’s being escorted back to her room by Ash. It’s a pain in the ass because I was hoping it was still Harley’s turn to babysit her. Now I’d have to actually come up with some excuse for them to get Harley up here.
“Too poor for a chair, Mounty?” drawls Ash, Avery’s ballet bag slung over his shoulder. I’ve told him about my stash, so I know he’s baiting me. It’s the next step in our push-pull game.
“I was waiting for you guys to get back.” I haul myself up off the floor and prop my hands on my hips.
Avery doesn’t acknowledge me; she just grabs her bag and saunters into her room.
Ash smirks at me, but I can see something has changed in his eyes.
There’s a softness to them that wasn’t there before.
It’s like every one of our interactions so far has chipped away a little at him, and he’s opening up.
I shiver and rub my arms uselessly. I’m not cold.
Someone should tell my pebbled nipples that fact too.
“I can’t give you any answers, Mounty. But I can say thanks for helping out and keeping quiet about it.” He leans back into the door frame, and my eyes run down the long line of his legs. Focus, Lips, fuck.
“Look, it’s not about Joey. I need to speak to Harley urgently. Can you text him to come here? Or to meet me somewhere else on campus?”
A frown appears on his brow and he straightens. Whatever expression I have on my face is concerning him. He slides his hand into his pocket, but Avery pokes her head out of the door again.
“Stay the fuck away from my cousin.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her swear. Cousin. I forgot about that; the Beaumonts have a mobster for a cousin. This is a fucking mess. I’m in too deep and I need to get out.
Deep breath.
There’s no way out. Only through.
I dart across the hallway and grab Avery’s arm.
She freezes and so does Ash, the tense lines of his body pressed against my chest where he’s trapped between us.
I make sure my grip is gentle so she can’t screech at me and he can’t attack me for touching his beloved sister.
I don’t need to be rough, though; I have their attention.
“Does the name Dairmuid O’Cronin mean anything to you?” I whisper, and then I watch as they both turn to stone. “He’s on his way here to speak to his dear nephew.”
Ash breaks first, cursing long and hard under his breath in creative and colorful ways. I nod curtly and let Avery go.
“Fucking call him. Now.”