Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Lochlan
“We’re bleeding out, Loch. Hate to say it, but that’s where we’re at.”
Marco leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest as he delivers the grim assessment.
The condemned apartment feels smaller than usual this evening, the walls pressing in as the rest of my band of merry misfits gather for our meeting.
We’re seated around the fold-out table we’ve set up in what used to be somebody’s living room.
Aleksei is stone faced, his single eye fixed on the far wall as if he’s already checked out of this conversation.
Akio’s hunched over his laptop, pretending to work on his latest project but clearly listening to every word.
Petrit’s on my left, arms crossed, his injured foot still wrapped from the ambush weeks ago.
Robby’s chair sits empty. He hasn’t had the guts to show his face since I threatened him over the burner phone.
“The lower guys are getting even more restless,” Marco continues. “Can’t blame them. We had to abandon the estate and have been bouncing between shitholes for weeks. Nobody’s seen a proper payday in over a month. Morale’s in the gutter.”
“Morale’s the least of our problems,” I answer.
“Yeah, but this isn’t what we were promised, Loch. You’ve gotta admit that. We were told we’d be raking in millions by now.”
I cut him a hard glare. “The money has never been the top priority. It was a perk and nothing else. Right now we’ve got bigger problems. My family’s doing their damnedest to locate us, and we’ve got the Bratva situation to deal with.
That’s not even touching the NYPD and the Feds.
Paydays and morale are at the bottom of the list.”
“Tell that to the two guys who jumped ship earlier today,” Marco says with a shrug.
His tone grows defensive as my glare only hardens.
“What? You didn’t hear? Donnie and Vic got picked up by the Sixth Street crew.
Said they’d rather run corners for some upstart street gang than keep waiting around for a payday that’s never coming. ”
“Good riddance,” Aleksei grunts. “They were weak.”
“Weak or not, they were bodies. We’re running low on those.”
My jaw pulses from tension, the rest of my face arranged in a deep scowl.
I hate admitting it, but Marco’s made some good points. When I started this operation, I had a solid crew of loyal men willing to follow me into hell.
Now I’m down to a handful of misfits hiding in a condemned building, bleeding money and manpower while my enemies close in from every direction.
“What about Robby?” I ask, changing the subject. “Any updates?”
Aleksei shakes his head. “I’ve been watching him like you asked. Nothing abnormal. He visits his kid at the hospital, picks up groceries, goes to work, goes home. Keeps his nose clean.”
“That’s probably ’cuz he knows we’ve got our eye on him,” Marco points out. “If I were him, I’d be on my best behavior too. Doesn’t mean he’s still not talking to the Russians behind our backs.”
“Or it means he’s actually innocent and someone really is setting him up,” Akio mutters from his corner of the table without taking his eyes off his laptop screen. “Just a thought. Feel free to ignore the guy who actually understands how planted evidence works.”
Marco holds up his hands to show indifference. “I’m just saying we can’t afford to let our guard down. Not with everything that’s at stake.”
“Keep tailing him,” I say to Aleksei. “I want to know everywhere he goes and everybody he talks to. If he so much as says hello to a Russian, I want to hear about it.”
Aleksei nods. “Done.”
“Good. Now get back to putting the final touches on our strike against the Callahans at the gala this Friday. We’ve got to make sure it’s airtight. No fuck ups.”
The meeting breaks up, the guys drifting off to their respective corners of the shithole apartment. I stay seated at the table, staring out the window and wondering how the fuck everything went so sideways.
Only a couple weeks ago, I had a plan.
A clear, simple plan: destroy the Callahans and make every last one of them pay for what they did to me and my son.
Now I’ve got a fractured crew, a depleted war chest, and a woman I can’t stop thinking about no matter how hard I try.
But I’ve got no choice except to move forward. To see this out to the end.
This Friday, everything’s coming to a head once and for all.
It’s half past midnight, and I’m still wide awake. My mind’s running a mile a minute as I stare up at the ceiling of the room I’ve claimed as my own.
Sleep doesn’t come easy these days. Every time I close my eyes, I see Chantal’s face—blood-streaked and terrified as Killian escorted her away from me on that dark road. I hear her voice calling my name and feel her fingers slipping out of mine as I let her go.
Letting her go was the right call. I know that.
She’s safer without me. Better off without me.
She deserves a chance at a normal life that doesn’t involve hiding in condemned buildings and dodging bullets.
But knowing something and accepting it are two different things. Even as weeks have passed and I’ve urged myself to move the fuck on, I haven’t been able to.
I reach for the laptop on the floor beside the mattress and pull it onto my chest. I’m just checking on the security feeds. Making sure the perimeter cameras are still working and nobody’s found our location.
That’s the lie I tell myself every night.
My fingers navigate to the surveillance interface Akio set up, scrolling past the feeds from Callahan House and the various Callahan-owned properties we’ve been monitoring. I don’t stop ’til I reach the feed I should’ve deleted weeks ago.
Chantal’s recently moved out of her pompous prick father’s penthouse and back into her apartment in another neighborhood. From what I’ve gathered, they’ve had a falling out about her mother.
I click over to her apartment to find her getting ready for bed.
The poor girl’s finally got the sling off, but by how delicately she moves it’s obvious her arm is still in a fragile state.
She pads around her bedroom in an oversized T-shirt.
Her round face is freshly washed, stripped of the luxury makeup she wears day to day.
She yawns, flicking off the big light and then crawling into her bed with her phone and Kindle. It’s difficult for her to maneuver still relying heavily on one arm than the other, but she manages.
It’s unbelievable I spend so much damn time watching her do the most mundane things—scroll on her phone and moisturize her arms and legs. Fix herself coffee in the mornings.
Yet I can’t take my eyes off the screen. It brings a sense of peace watching her do the simplest tasks because it reminds me she’s survived.
…she’s alright even if we’ll never be together.
After half an hour switching between her phone and Kindle, she reaches over and twists off the bedside lamp.
The feed goes dark except for the vague glow of city lights bleeding through her curtains.
I close the laptop with more force than necessary and shove it back onto the floor.
This has gotta stop.
I’ve already checked, double checked, triple fucking checked that she’s alright. She’s moving on with her life, and there’s no use torturing myself by observing her on a daily basis.
I’ve got much bigger problems to prioritize. It’s because I’ve let myself fixate on her the way that I have that shit has hit the fan.
Laying back on the mattress, my gaze returns to the ceiling. The reality of the situation settles over me like a dark cloud.
My crew’s falling apart. Our money is almost gone. Ronan and the clan are hunting me, and it’s only a matter of time before they find me.
There’s only one way this ends, and I’ve known it from the beginning.
I’m gonna die. For real this time. Probably soon.
…probably in some gruesome and bloody last stand against my family.
The real question is how many of them I’m taking with me.
For so long I’ve had rage burning inside me. So much fury I could barely contain it at times. Chantal once told me it left me blinded; I couldn’t see the truth of the situation.
But as much as I’ve come to care about her, she’s wrong about my brother and the Callahans. They betrayed me, leaving me to take the fall while they carried on like nothing. Then they took my son from me.
There’s no forgiveness to be found. No way to square this except death.
My eyes close as I urge sleep to take me.
Friday night, we hit up the big donor’s gala and take Ronan and the clan by surprise. I’m officially done hiding. Done running from the inevitable.
It’s time to end this, one way or another.
Friday evening rolls around, and we’re strapped up and ready outside the Crown Plaza. The historic hotel is lit up like a fucking beacon, searchlights sending bright beams toward the night sky.
At the main entrance a plush red carpet has been unfurled down the front steps, because God forbid wealthy elitist assholes step on the regular ground like the rest of us.
But we won’t be entering the Crown through the front door tonight—we’ll be making our own special guest appearance.
We technically won’t even need to go inside the hoity toity hotel. If it all goes according to plan, we’ll catch Ronan off guard as he leaves the event.
“Everything still a go?” Petrit asks over the phone.
“Still good,” I answer. “You and Aleksei know what to do. Have you checked in with Marco?”
“Last I heard, he’s still with some of the low-level guys waiting by the interstate in case the Callahans make a break for it.”
“Keep me in the loop.” I hang up on him and return my attention to the hotel.
We’ve been in position for over an hour, biding our time. Aleksei and Petrit are stationed near the parking garage entrance, ready to move the moment Ronan and his crew head for their vehicles.
I’m parked across the street in a blacked-out SUV, monitoring the hotel’s security feeds on my phone thanks to Akio’s magic fingers.