Killian
We track two armored vehicles weaving through the darkened streets to an abandoned factory complex on the outskirts of Boston.
There are no lights visible from the seemingly disused warehouse they drive up to, but Ignacio has been amassing recruits and three of his men are inside.
Not quite an army yet, and if all goes well tonight, it never will be.
We’ve been staking out this particular pit of desolation for eight days now, splitting our men into two shifts, with Malachy and I taking charge of one each. Keeping away from him suits me fine. He’s the only one who knows why I’m being even less talkative than Lorcan.
For the last week, I’ve been lost in my own thoughts. I shouldn’t have looked up the translation of the term of endearment Katarina used on me. She’s pretty much guaranteed my heart will never be whole again.
Why does my life suck so much? How would things have turned out if I’d been born into a different world?
Having spent my formative years in Ireland with my aunt and cousins, I’d caught a glimpse of what normal might look like.
They had their spicier moments, sure, and my uncle was in prison more often than not, but my cousins had choices I never had.
They could go anywhere. Be anyone. I was always John McConkey’s son and heir.
I still am, I remind myself, but I don’t feel it in my bones. I never did, and when Malachy sidles up next to me, alerted to the activity at the warehouse, I see him with fresh eyes. He stepped up while I was stepping back. What if I stepped away completely? It’d be messy and painful, but…
“Is it them?” he asks.
I hand him my binoculars so he can see for himself. “We can’t say for sure. All three vehicles drove inside without anyone getting out.”
We’ve taken over the third floor of a deserted office block on the edge of the complex.
Every window is broken, but the walls and partially intact roof protect us from the worst of the elements.
It’s been dry today, but October in Boston is proving to be brutal, and my fingers and toes are numb.
I’ve been fantasizing about lying on a beach with Katarina on the Gold Coast of Australia, or beneath a palm tree on some isolated island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Bliss.
“There’s only one way to find out if it’s them,” says another new arrival. “Time for us to go in.”
My grip on my temper is only marginally better than my grip on reality. I take a breath before straightening up and turning to Lorcan.
“We’ve had this discussion and the answer’s still no,” I say icily.
“He needs to be a part of this,” Malachy replies, expanding on Lorcan’s scowling response. “More than any of us.”
“And more than any of us, he’ll be affected by what goes down here.” I say without taking my eyes off Lorcan. I refuse to be out-glared by my middle brother. “My decision is final. When we move in, you stay here. You can help keep track of comms.”
It wasn’t two months ago that Lorcan had a knife to Ronan’s throat. This discussion isn’t one I need to get into, but Malachy has to have the last word. “Killian, he’s ready.”
Not trusting myself with a response, I leave the pair to go check my kit.
In addition to my handguns and blades, I have grenades, smoke bombs, extra ammo and a M4 assault rifle.
Every other member of our team starts moving too.
They’ve all been assigned roles. Some will take up sniper positions around the warehouse, and the rest are split between me and Malachy. I’m not going to change things up now.
“Let’s move out.”
I’m one of the last to leave and block Lorcan’s exit. Malachy is in the stairwell, close enough to deliver his parting shot. “He’s been doing the work, Killian. You’re holding him back, and more than that, you’re knocking him down.”
Lorcan folds his arms. He knows it’s my call, and despite the encouragement from Malachy, he’ll accept my decision. But how can I make an informed decision when I’m the one who’s been out of the loop? By rights, I should trust Malachy’s judgement.
“You could be coming face to face with Ignacio, Diego or Tomas. Maybe all three. Can you guarantee it won’t trigger an episode?”
“Of course I can’t,” Lorcan replies. “But if I feel overwhelmed, I’ll remove myself. I have the tools to talk myself back from the ledge.”
“Did you go back to therapy?” The most he’s ever lasted is three sessions. He nods. “And it’s helping?”
He rolls his eyes. The footfalls in the stairwell are growing fainter. “We’ll soon find out unless you’re going to keep us here all fucking night.”
“I’m guilty of making some questionable decisions lately,” I warn. “Don’t make this another one.”
The air is sharp and my lungs burn as I lead my group of eight to the entrance where the armored cars entered the warehouse. Malachy has taken an equal number of men to the rear of the building. Lorcan stays with me.
We plant explosives to create our entry points, and once both teams are synchronized, the night explodes.
A shredded roller shutter flies over our heads and light spills from inside the warehouse.
I don’t check for Lorcan’s reaction, I have to trust him, and the best way to help him if he is struggling, is to deal with whatever and whoever we’re about to face.
The warehouse is crammed with wooden crates to create a warren where opposing sides can take cover and hide. The one thing in our favor is that the upper level is in serious disrepair and a partially collapsed metal stairway cuts off access. All the enemy fire comes from ground level.
Gunfire and shouting track us from left and right, followed by choked coughs as the first smoke bombs are set off. I pull on my mask and make my first kill before the smoke completely obscures him.
“One down,” I say into my comms.
There are more calls as we move deeper. Lorcan takes someone down and Malachy eliminates two. The bastard just had to beat us.
When the smoke begins to clear, our body count is up to nine. I’d estimate there were six in each vehicle entering the warehouse, plus the original three in the warehouse, making fifteen in total. That leaves six.
When I reach the first armored vehicle, the driver’s cab is empty and the door left ajar. I throw in a grenade and shut the door before moving on to the second. As I launch another grenade, the first vehicle implodes. No one’s going to be escaping tonight.
In an eruption of fresh gunfire, a bullet zaps past my ear just as Lorcan pulls me to the ground.
We crawl behind the nearest crate and I quickly locate the gunman.
I take the shot, but before I can celebrate another hit, one of our men has reportedly taken a bullet.
Malachy is with him and kills the shooter. We’re lucky. Our guy is only wounded.
Four more to locate.
We close in as one to corner the remaining targets. Two more of Ignacio’s soldiers are killed.
Two left.
The bad news is none of the fatalities so far have been identified as primary targets. Either my numbers aren’t stacking up or Ignacio and his two sons aren’t here together.
Impatient to find out who’s getting crossed off our list, our formation tightens around a wall of crates stacked two high.
“Are you really going to make us come and drag you out?” I ask.
A man curses in Spanish. The voice is too young to be Ignacio’s. “The only way I’ll be coming out, McConkey, is in a coffin. You might want to measure one up for yourself.”
I check Lorcan’s reaction. If anyone can recognize a Valera by voice, it’s him. His expression is stoic. “Tomas.”
The younger son belongs to me. Or Malachy. “Looks like I’ll be fighting you for the honors on this one, Mal.” I can see him on the opposite end of the wall of crates. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
Malachy gestures to my right. “We’re standing down. Our man’s got this.”
I don’t argue when Lorcan slides past me. His M4 rests casually in his arms as he circles around the barrier separating us from Tomas. We’re all wearing Kevlar, but that doesn’t make us immortal. I take a breath to bark a warning, but there’s nothing I could say that Lorcan doesn’t know already.
In all the missions since our mother died, I’ve reminded Lorcan how strong and capable he is, but it was always qualified with a ‘proceed only if you’re sure you can do it,’ or a ‘no one will judge you if you need to step away.’ Malachy’s style isn’t as cautious.
He’s believed in our brother, and now, Lorcan believes in himself. He just better not fucking die.
I raise my rifle and shadow Lorcan. His shoulder skims a crate and he pauses. One more step and he’ll break cover. Malachy mirrors my position so we’re ready to attack from both sides of the wall. We don’t know if Tomas is alone, or what weapons he has.
Lorcan raises his assault rifle. “Ready?”
When I nod, Lorcan spins fast, the barrel of his rifle following his line of sight. I’m behind him as we face Tomas Valera. He’s alone, one less adversary than I’d estimated and two less Valeras than I’d hoped for.
Tomas has his hands resting at his sides and a smug grin on his ugly face. He’s making it too easy.
“Want to talk?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t, hoping we can take some pleasure in torturing information out of him. I need the distraction. Katarina’s party is in a few days, her departure the day after that. If I think about her too much, I might do something stupid.
Tomas’s gaze flicks briefly to Lorcan then to me. “I’m not much of a talker. Much like your idiot brother.”
Lorcan lowers his aim and fires off a couple of rounds into Tomas’s calves. The Valera scum drops to his knees with a cry, his teeth tightly gritted and his hands clenched. Lorcan’s aim returns to his head.
“Tell us where your father is,” I demand.
Tomas manages a trembling smile. “With any luck, digging up your mother’s body so we can piss all over her again.”
Lorcan’s next bullet hits Tomas between the eyes and when his body crumples, Malachy and I unload our magazines into the son of a bitch. Tomas is face down, his body a patchwork of bullet holes and I’m still not done. I’m reaching for a fresh clip when Lorcan snags my shoulder and yanks me away.
“Grenade!” he yells.
And then I see it. A grenade has fallen from Tomas’s dead hand, its absent clip near his other.
There’s a stampede of boots and a clatter of heavy weaponry being discarded as we bolt for the nearest exits.
I glance over my shoulder to check Malachy is on the move.
He’s running in the opposite direction and our gazes snag briefly as he checks on me and Lorcan too.
I manage a few more steps with Lorcan ahead of me when a wall of heat hits my back accompanied by a thunderous boom. I stumble, but I keep going. Tomas knew he was trapped and would have chosen to make his last stand close to the highest concentration of explosives so he’d take us out with him.
Sure enough, a second blast hits when we’re feet away from the gaping hole we’d left in the side of the warehouse. The blast lifts me off my feet and busts my eardrums. I don’t hear my yell, but I feel the crash as I land shoulder first on the shutter we’d blown off earlier.
Debris lands around me, and a few of our men too. Lorcan rises unsteadily to his feet and reaches out a hand to pull me up. We wouldn’t have made it out if he hadn’t spotted the grenade, remaining in control while Malachy and I lost our shit firing at a dead body.
“I’m proud of you,” I say.
I can’t hear my own words and neither can Lorcan, but he gets the message and smiles.
He squeezes my arm in response, but hell no, that’s not good enough.
I wrap arms of steal around my brother and hug him tightly.
He hugs me back, if only briefly, before we help the men around us.
Some have shrapnel wounds, but nothing life-threatening.
I gesture to get everyone moving away from the warehouse. I’m not so deaf that I can’t hear the muted thud of minor explosions in what’s left of the building, and there’s no telling what’s to come.
I’ve lost my earpiece, so even if I could hear, there’s no way of checking in with Malachy.
Keeping a safe distance from the warehouse, I start circling the building, Lorcan at my side.
We sweep the ground with our flashlights as we race to find our brother.
I need to know he got out, and I need to know now.
Derelict sheds and machinery block our view, but my heart leaps into my throat when I see beams of light traveling in our direction. Five of our men are unaccounted for but there are only three beams. Two men are missing.
When I’m close enough, I aim my light at the approaching figures. “Thank fuck,” I hiss in a hoarse whisper I can just about hear. “Are you lads OK?”
“We’re grand,” Malachy replies, grimacing as he comes up to me. “Mikey took a bullet in his leg and he’s hobbling along behind us with Conor.”
“I’ll go find them,” says Lorcan, already disappearing into the night.
His eagerness isn’t just about helping the missing men. He wants to slip away before someone, most likely me, says something about feelings and shit.
“One down,” Malachy says as we fall into step.
“Three would have been better.”
“We’ll get them.”
I nod, but tonight might be a matter of one step forward and two steps back. If Ignacio was nearby, he won’t be for long. He’ll burrow deeper somewhere else, and it could be four more years before we get another break. Unless Katarina’s sestra can help again.
“You were right about seeing you in action,” I say, recalling my phone call to Dad when I’d been goading Malachy. “You’ve come into your own. And Lorcan…” I rub the back of my neck. “He needed someone to believe in the old him, not the damaged version we got back.”
All these years I’ve been duty-bound to my family because I believed they couldn’t manage without me. They’ve done more than manage.
“The pair of you have thrived without me.”
Malachy kicks at a stone. “We still need you, Kill,” he says as if he knows my thoughts are leading me straight back to Chicago and into trouble. “I’ve not had to deal with one of Lorcan’s episodes on my own yet. I’m not sure I want to.”
“Just remember there’s a time and place for tough love, and it’s not when he’s disassociating.”
“I won’t need to remember. You’ll be back with us.”
“Sure, I will,” I say. “But I need some breathing space to clear my head first. I’m going to take a little road trip. I’ll take a car and make my own way…” Back home, I go to say, but that might just be a lie.
The ground beneath us shakes as one final, earth-shattering explosion rips through the warehouse. We carry on walking, both pretending we didn’t feel it.