Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Ronan
“This is fucking suicide, and you know it.”
Killian’s glaring out at the city streets ahead as we tear through Manhattan. He’s driving me toward Simone’s location despite his protests otherwise.
“I’ve got no other choice,” I say. “Dren has Simone, and Eddie’s a fucking backstabbing piece of shit.”
“Wait ’til I get my hands on the little wobbly throated fucker. I’ll rearrange his whole fucking face—”
“Worry about that later. After we get through tonight.”
“So that’s it?” he asks out of frustration. “We deliver our warlord to their fucking doorstep with no fight? What happened to Sean and the boys? They’re on standby, Ronan. We call them in. Surround the warehouse. Take out every last one of those Albanian fucks—”
“What part of they’ve got Simone don’t you understand?” I snap. “I come unarmed, and she’s released. Anything else and he kills her.”
“So what, you’re just gonna hand yourself over? Let them torture you? Kill you? You’re the heir now that Lochlan’s gone. You can’t throw your life away for—”
“She’s my wife!” I bark at him. “It’s my job to protect her! I took a vow that I would, and I always will!”
He falls silent, his jaw working like he’s chewing on gravel.
The silence stretches between us as we race down more streets. I stare out the window, my mind calculating the different scenarios of how tonight could play out.
Dren gave the address, and I double-checked it using the tracking device on her wedding ring.
He’s got her at some shoddy old warehouse in Mott Haven. Not typically Albanian territory, but nothing about tonight is typical.
I could do like Killian suggested and round up Sean and the others to stage an attack. But there’re so many unknown variables it could be what costs us our lives. It could be what costs me Simone.
“This isn’t about some wedding vow,” Killian pipes up moments later. “Some fucking alliance with the Langstons—this is about your feelings for her. You actually give a damn.”
My expression darkens as I give no answer to his accusation.
Instead the tense silence filling up the SUV speaks for me.
The truth is, I’m still coming to terms with it myself. It’s the fact I’ve spent months now reminding myself Simone was nothing more than my wife on paper; she was a pawn I was arranged to marry in this feud.
While she was my wife and that afforded her certain things, it didn’t make our marriage real.
Our feelings authentic.
It didn’t mean I had to actually give a damn about her.
Even as Dad accused me of harboring feelings for her, I was in denial. I insisted it was just me getting to know the woman or learning how to find common ground since we were stuck with each other.
The lie became increasingly difficult to keep up as time went by. But what I didn’t expect was to be confronted with the possibility she and her family had been playing me all along.
I damn sure didn’t anticipate how betrayed it would make me feel—or how I’d feel in the face of Simone being in danger.
In light of my suspicions being wrong. If Dren’s got her, then she didn’t betray the family at all. The suspicion was misguided when Eddie was the lowlife backstabbing his own flesh and blood.
Simone’s innocent. Her life is in peril because I didn’t protect her like I said I would, and now our mistrust in each other has been used against me.
We’ve left Manhattan behind. Killian slows down as we come within a few blocks of the warehouse address.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, braking. “You really are a lovesick fool, Ronan. Doing this.”
I cut him a sidelong glance, unfazed by the ribbing. “Maybe someday you’ll understand. ’Til then, shut the fuck up and do what I tell you. Pull over and drop me off. Then get out of here. Don’t interfere, no matter what happens.”
The boneman doesn’t like it. His features sharpen, though he does as he’s told and brakes a block away from the warehouse.
“I don’t like this,” he grits out. “I don’t fucking like it at all.”
“You don’t have to like it. But this is what it’s come down to.”
“If you die tonight, I’m gonna be really fucking pissed at you.”
“Then let’s hope I survive the night.”
They’re my parting words as I get out of the SUV and start down the street. The January night provides an immediate chill, the temperatures so low the air freezes into frost. Cold weather’s not enough to distract me from what I’ve got to do.
My long black coat billows as I stride down the street, and the high beams from the SUV fade. Killian’s driven off, and I’m officially alone.
I’ve got nobody but me, myself, and I against Dren and his men.
But I’m not about to cower in fear. I’ve never been one to shy away from a fight, and I ain’t about to start now.
If anything, I’m cockier. More fucking hardheaded and determined than ever to find a way out of this situation.
My thoughts narrow to defeating Dren, saving Simone, and throttling my nephew ’til his eyes pop out of their sockets. I won’t go down ’til I’ve accomplished all three. Once I do, death can take me if it’s necessary.
I’m just not about to go out without taking these bastards with me.
The warehouse appears on the next block. I stride toward it as if this is some civilized business meeting I’m showing up for and not some potential death sentence where my nemesis has stacked the chips against me.
Two of Dren’s men await my arrival. As I head toward the front entrance, they’re ready with weapons visibly resting on their hips. They study me on approach with eyes full of loathing.
They hate my fucking guts. The feeling’s more than mutual.
“Am I late for the party?” I ask loudly. “I came as fast as I could once I heard my buddy Dren was throwing one.”
The men merely glare as I pass them up and stroll into the warehouse like it’s my territory and not theirs. But as I make it inside, more men step up to pat me down. They quickly and efficiently check that I’ve come unarmed as requested then steal my phone.
“Ronan Callahan,” the fucker with a unibrow says. “The boss is expecting you.”
“He better make this quick.”
I start forward without waiting for their instruction, heading for the main floor where the entryway leads to.
Sure enough, the large room opens up to reveal crates and machines and Dren standing with his men.
Then there’s Eddie, who’s off to the side with a bound Simone.
My expression remains composed and unreadable, though my insides clench with fury when I notice the bruises on my wife.
Her dress is torn, and she’s got bloodspots under her nostrils. I can tell her left cheek is more swollen than the right.
It’s a test in self-control to keep myself in check. To keep from losing my shit and swinging on all these bastards.
I allow my gaze to linger on her a moment longer, holding hers in silent communication to let her know I’m here and have come for her.
Then I redirect my attention to Dren. “Well? You rang, so I’m here. Let my wife go.”
“Not so fast,” Dren sneers. He’s flanked by none other than his sons, Dardan and Dritan.
The two hulking teenagers we’d planned to off tonight.
Obviously Eddie spoiled the whole operation and allowed for them to escape with their dear dad.
“We have some matters to discuss first,” he goes on.
“Matters like your failed attempt to take me out. Is that not what you were up to tonight?”
“I was,” I admit bluntly. Then I stick my hands in my pockets and shrug. “But it turns out we had a treacherous little weasel on our team so that didn’t pan out.”
Eddie laughs at the insult. “Team? What team, Uncle Ronan? You mean the same team that allowed my father to rot in a prison cell? All while yous carried on like everything was sunshine and roses?”
“Loch made his choices. He knew the risks—”
“He was loyal!” Eddie blurts out, his face reddening from emotion. “My father was loyal to Grandpa Seamus and the clan his whole life, and what did it get him? A six-by-eight cell in Sing Sing. So don’t talk to me about betrayal. The clan betrayed us first.”
“You’re so bold when you’ve got backup, you little shit. You’d never mouth off if it were just me and you. You know I’d shove your head up your own fucking ass.”
“Enough,” Dren interjects out of boredom, his tone flat. “This is not about personal family gripes. This is about who rules the black market. The underworld.”
“If you think the Italians or Russians are about to fall in line, you’re a more delusional fuck than this little shit right here,” I counter, jutting my chin in Eddie’s direction. “You won’t even succeed in taking out the Callahans tonight. We will get our revenge. Even if I’m not alive to see it.”
“Is that so?”
“Deep down, you know it’s true.”
“I don’t think so,” he says simply. A nasty smirk curls onto his face.
“You thought you would eliminate me and my family tonight, but I had already planned several steps ahead, Ronan. Now I will succeed in taking out my biggest competition in the weapons trade and the most dominant family standing in the way of us ruling the streets. But first…”
Dren trails off as he inclines his head, signaling to his men a command I don’t immediately understand.
“First, I think you are owed some pain for the trouble you have caused.” He follows up with Albanian, issuing the rest of his command to his men.
I understand a couple seconds later when one of the guys to my right slams his fist into my gut. I almost double over as his fist drives air out of me, and suddenly it feels like my intestines have been twisted.
But they’re nowhere near done—it’s only the beginning as another one of his guys throws his fist at me next. The second punch lands on my jaw, snapping my head to the side and making the room around me whip past like it’s suddenly started moving.
A third punch comes at the back of my head from somebody behind me. Then another to my ribs and stomach and chest.
I stay standing, even dodging some of the blows as Dren’s men descend on me. Blow after blow rains down as the fuckers jump me. As competent of a fighter as I am, I still don’t stand a chance against this many guys.
My mouth fills with blood. Pain throbs through me from all the hits I take.
Eventually I fall to my knees as more fists connect. Then somebody’s slamming their boot into my head, and I’m dropping the rest of the way to the ground.
The warehouse echoes with the sounds of their violence—grunts of exertion and the thwack of knuckles colliding with parts of my body. Simone’s scream in the distance. Dren’s deep-bellied laughter as he watches me get the shit kicked out of me.
But not once do I beg. Not once do I plead for them to stop.
I grit my teeth and take the fucking beating like a true Callahan would. I egg them on like the brash asshole I am.
“That all you got?!” I call out, spitting blood on the concrete floor. “My nana hits harder than you wimps.”
Dren’s smirk widens. “Always saving face to the end, Ronan. But this is only the beginning. Let’s see how far you can last before you tap out.”
He holds out his palm, in which his son places a machete. The same type I’d used only a few weeks ago when I stopped by their territory and found his cousin at a local restaurant.
“Do you remember what you did to Amar?” he asks. “You cut off his hand. Then you mailed it to me as a gift.”
“The same fucking hand he touched my wife with!” I growl. “He got what he deserved.”
“That is how I feel about you. You see, Ronan, I believe in balance. In justice. An eye for an eye, as they say.” He crouches down in front of me, the machete blade hovering inches from my face.
“So I’m going to take your hand. Then I’m going to make you watch while I kill your wife.
And then, if you’re very lucky, I might let you bleed out before I remove anything else. ”
His men grab my arm and force my hand flat against the concrete floor. The blade presses against my skin, cold and sharp, and I brace myself for the indescribable pain that’s about to come.
Simone’s screaming my name. Eddie’s beside her laughing. Dren’s gleaming with triumph as he pauses and savors the moment, drawing it out like the sadistic fuck he is.
I close my eyes and prepare for the worst. For the most intense pain I’ve probably felt in my life. I try to distract myself with thoughts of how I’m still going to somehow find a way out of this.
At least for Simone. I won’t let them hurt her. I don’t care how stacked the odds are, I refuse to allow it.
The blade bites into my flesh as Dren presses down, the first hot sting of blood welling up around the edge. He’s obviously going to do it as slowly and agonizingly as possible. In a way that truly makes it torture.
But as he’s applying more force, drawing more thick beads of blood, the warehouse doors explode inward.
Gunfire promptly follows, along with shouting from a number of men. There’s the thunder of boots on concrete and the loud thud of crates tumbling over.
Dren’s head snaps up, the blade faltering in his grip, and I wrench my hand free before he can finish the cut.
Through the smoke now hazing the air, I spot some familiar faces. The Callahan Clan has crashed the scene in chaotic fashion, bulldozing their way in.
Not only have my men come, but it’s who’s leading the charge that’s most sobering of all.
My father, showing up in the nick of time.