Screw You: A Screwed Duet (Five Points, Hell's Kitchen Book 1)

by Serena Akeroyd

  He’d approached me having weighed up the facts, and knew which pressure points to push. It helped that I remembered him. Helped that his mom had talked about how methodical he was as a boy.

  Even as I was reeling at the fact he’d learned I had a connection to Senator Alan Davidson, I was stunned more by the prospect that there was no way out of this.

  No way, no how.

  If there was, Finn wouldn’t have come to me.

  He’d have waited. Found more shit to stick against the walls that were my life, and he wouldn’t have stopped until I was dancing to his tune in the way he wanted.

  So, if I seemed like a pushover, I was.

  I’d been trained to be a pushover when it came to the Five Points.

  We all were.

  Meggie O’Leary had let one of the Pointers rape her, for fuck’s sake, because no one went against the gang.

  Of course, Aidan Donnelly had blown out her rapist’s brain when he’d found out one of his men had raped a fifteen-year-old girl, but that didn’t take away Meggie’s pain, did it?

  And when you saw the Pointers doing anything in my neighborhood, you looked the other goddamn way and hoped to Christ they hadn’t realized you’d seen them.

  I couldn’t even begin to count how many damn drug deals I’d seen going down. I’d witnessed a stabbing, which might even have morphed from assault with a deadly weapon to murder, and I’d even seen someone being shot, too.

  Had I gone to the cops?

  Did I look crazy?

  Of course, I damn well hadn’t.

  We all knew to stay out of Points’ business if it was feasibly possible. Sometimes, it just wasn’t. Their work meshed with our lives, but we had to ignore it, and remember that they worked to their own weird code.

  It was half Catholic, half Old Testament, and half Aidan-Donnelly crazy.

  In fact, the more my conditioning came into play, the more centered I became. I was doing this to protect my father, but I was also doing it to please a Points’ man, because that was what we did.

  We pleased them.

  My mom had told me once that if I was unlucky enough to come to the attention of one of the runners, she’d forgive me if I gave my virginity to them.

  Yeah.

  Fucked up, right?

  Mom was devout Catholic though, and she was naive enough to think that I was willing to wait until marriage before I got laid.

  Of course, things had worked out in her favor until now. But unintentionally.

  Still, that was how it worked.

  She’d known I couldn’t say no. That if I did, I’d get hurt, and being hurt wasn’t worth closing your eyes and thinking of England for however long some punk with a gun pumped between your legs.

  To be honest, the only advantage to my plus size had always been, in my mind anyway, that I’d always coasted under the radar.

  Jenny hadn’t, but she got off on the bad boy thing. She liked being a gangster’s moll as she teasingly labeled it. I always told her she’d watched Once Upon a Time in America too many times.

  But here I was, my time had come to lock horns with the devil, and there was no way I wasn’t about to do exactly as my mom had taught me all those years ago.

  I’d just never thought I’d be close to Finn O’Grady when it happened.

  I’d never thought he’d be the one extorting me into his bed, and I’d sure as hell never imagined that I’d be going somewhere where Aidan Donnelly, the head of the terrifying gang that ruled the roost that was Hell’s Kitchen, was in the same vicinity.

  By the time we made it into the elevator, I was freaking out. Then, Finn touched me, and it was—no lie—like the sun, the moon, and the stars had suddenly come into alignment.

  I’d never felt anything like it before, had never thought I’d experience something that I’d only ever read about in books or seen in movies. And yet, when I’d stared into those eyes of his, wide blue pools that I could drown in—how apt—everything had centered itself again.

  I’d taken a moment to calm down, to breathe, and had known that just as was the case with my mom’s dictates, if I followed Finn’s, I’d be okay.

  Of course, as we were spat out into a very impressive foyer, things went to shit almost immediately.

  Before I had a chance to even take in the wide open spaces, the golden amber marble on the floor, the decor that looked like it belonged in a magazine—and I was in the frickin’ hallway, of all places—I saw him.

  I didn’t know who he was, but he was terrified.

  A bag was over his head, taped around his throat, so I couldn’t see his face, but the way his lungs were working? He was close to hyperventilating.

  Even from this distance, I could see the stains on his pants where he’d obviously urinated, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d be peeing my pants, too, if I was surrounded by Aidan Donnelly and only God knew who else.

  The man in charge was waving a gun in his hand as he paced from one side of the large living room to the other. He didn’t seem to realize there were new people here, he was just ranting about some shit or other as he wafted that damn weapon about.

  At my side, Finn swore under his breath and, waiting until Aidan disappeared out of sight for a handful of seconds thanks to a wall that hid us from him and him from us, he stormed down the corridor and dragged me with him.

  I didn’t even have it in me to argue. I just let him drag me along, so fucking grateful when he shoved me through a doorway and didn’t take me down to that gorgeous salon, which would always be spoiled thanks to the fact someone just had the piss beaten out of them.

  My whole body quivered as I rushed inside the bedroom.

  A quick glance told me it was sartorial elegance in the flesh. There was a California King bed that seemed to go on for miles and miles, and it was covered with a crisp comforter the color of Finn’s eyes. With the plump pillows, and the soft white cotton under sheet, which was revealed thanks to the way the comforter had been folded, I really wanted nothing more than to bury myself under that duvet and hide my head under the squashy down.

  There were stylish rugs placed in artful angles that brought a rich color to the tapestry of the room. Expensive oil paintings with an almost Middle Eastern theme decorated the walls, and combined with the lighting, it was, I realized, as colorful as a souk. Like a little Arabian tent in the middle of Manhattan.

  It was cozy and comfortable, and even better, had several doors leading from it to other rooms.

  I had no desire to hear what was going on. Not even one ounce of me was curious. We learned not to be curious in my neighborhood. That kind of stupid logic got you killed, and as everyone was taught from a young age, if we were stupid around the Points, our moms would be attending our funerals.

  To be fair, I didn’t know if the Five Points had killed any kids. I doubted it, Aidan Donnelly was a God-fearing man, and even if he went to confession to be absolved of all his sins, killing kids just didn’t seem like his kind of remit.

  At least, I hoped so.

  Not that it helped me at the moment.

  My mom was no longer around to attend my funeral, and I was an adult. Aidan, I felt certain, would have no compunction about getting rid of me if I caused too much of a stink for him and his men.

  One of the doors led to a sleek bathroom that was done in all black. The tiles, the vanity, the sink, the shower stall . . . totally black. All done in marble so shiny, I could see my reflection in it. Only the mirror and the faucets gave any relief to the color scheme, and overhead, there was a huge skylight that brought in a shit-ton of light as well as brightening up the room with the gorgeous sky that was so pretty, it made my eyes water.

  Well, it was either that or fear.

  Would that be the last beautiful thing I’d see before Aidan shot me between my eyes for sneaking around?

  My throat closed.

  No. Finn wouldn’t have brought me here if he’d wanted Aidan to kill me.

  Finn wanted to fuck
me, not murder me.

  I realized then how stupid I’d been not telling him my link to him, my link to his mom. The truth was, I’d been so stunned by not only his beauty, but the photos, and the fact that, well, I’d not only believed Finn was dead, but the knowledge that if he’d lived all these years and had never told Fiona of his whereabouts–that spoke of a hatred that I didn’t really need to align myself with.

  The bathroom was useless. I’d stick out like a sitting duck with my pale skin and red hair, so I ducked into another door and found a closet.

  I didn’t care if it made me look like a child. I pulled the door, and dropped to my knees. There were shoes there, but I didn’t give a fuck. I clambered above them, uncaring that the expensive accessories dug into my ass as I huddled in the corner and, for the first time in five years, prayed.

  Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,

  Thy kingdom come, thy will be don—

  Then, like something from my nightmares, I heard it.

  The gunshot.

  And like it hadn’t interrupted, I continued with a harried, terrified inner voice,

  –done, on Earth as it is in heaven. . . .

  Chapter Five

  Finn

  To say I was pissed that Aidan had entered my apartment without permission was an understatement.

  To say I was pissed that he’d also brought a fucking John to my home?

  Yeah. I was raging.

  Any other fucker would know how disrespectful that shit was, but the trouble was, Aidan wasn’t like ‘any other fucker.’ And you couldn’t approach him mad.

  Getting my temper under control was difficult.

  There were so many goddamn wrongs going down in my fucking home that I wasn’t sure which to process, and as I stepped toward my fucking living room and saw the puddle of piss and blood staining my rug, my nostrils flared in rage.

  Eoghan cleared his throat, caught my eye, and shook his head.

  I knew why he was warning me off.

  Aidan was never very rational.

  But clashing with him when he was pissed off?

  I’d be asking for the same five-star service the poor bastard tied to one of my dining chairs was getting.

  Christ.

  Why had I even tried to make this place nice?

  I’d spent a fucking fortune on it. Trying to make myself a goddamn home.

  Why fucking bother?

  “About damn time,” Aidan snarled as he finally sensed I was here.

  In the corner, I saw Aidan Jr. leaning against the wall, phone in his hands. He looked bored, and from the way his fingers were flying over the screen, he was either sorting out a hook up tonight or he was playing some stupid game.

  Unlike his pa, Jr. hadn’t inherited the same zeal, and even though we all knew that Aidan’s heart wasn’t in the work, he was the eldest, and he’d inherit when Aidan Sr. died.

  Truthfully, I couldn’t wait for that day.

  I loved Aidan Sr. I did. Fucked up, yeah, but when he wasn’t off in his crazy head, he was a great guy. Knew more about the Knicks than any man still breathing. I swear, he was like one of those didacts. Knew so many statistics–could reel them off–that sometimes, it was like talking to Rain Man.

  On Sundays, after church—which I only attended because it was required for those of us on Aidan’s inner council—we all headed back to the house, and Magdalena would have a huge Sunday roast ready for lunch.

  We’d shoot the shit, chill out in front of Aidan’s big screen, which was on par with a screen at a cinema, and eat until we were blue in the face.

  Magdalena was awesome.

  She was a fighter, and I loved that about her.

  Back in the day, word was that Aidan had been handy with his fists. Coming from his background? I didn’t outright blame him. You did what you’d been taught, after all, but Magdalena knocked that fucking lesson right out of him.

  He had a huge ass scar marring the back of his skull to prove it, too.

  He’d gotten handy with his fists, she’d clomped him over the head with a rolling pin.

  It was the one occasion where Aidan had looked set to serve jail time, until Magdalena had turned a leaf and had told the cops Aidan hadn’t been beating her, but she had, in fact, thought he was an intruder.

  The cops had been head over heels with the notion of getting the notorious Aidan Donnelly behind bars on a domestic violence charge. It was Al Capone all over again, but Magdalena? She’d left it just close enough to make Aidan sweat.

  What a woman.

  See, that was what a wife and mother should do.

  She gave shit back when it was reaped on her. She didn’t just fucking take it. Not like my mother. She didn’t stand there and watch as her piece of shit husband beat on her boy.

  Though Aidan had definitely laid a few scars on his sons, me, and the rest of the Points, he was under no illusion that if Magdalena ever found that out, he would wake up screaming one night as she snipped off his balls.

  With a dull pair of kitchen scissors.

  Maybe rusty ones, too. Just to make sure he got tetanus while she was at it.

  Magdalena was a multi-tasker like that.

  We knew not to share any of those salient facts about the scars on Conor’s back, or Brennan’s weak wrist, with the small woman whose might was bigger than her brawn.

  The only person Aidan Donnelly was scared of, ironically enough, was his wife. And I fucking loved him for that.

  But the day when he couldn’t darken my door again would come as a relief.

  The older he was, the more bat-shit he became.

  Fucked up nonsense like this was getting to be a habit that none of us knew how to break without him taking it out on us.

  I wasn’t scared of him. I respected him, even. But I knew, as did we all, that in those moments where Aidan was lost in whatever fucking headspace wet work drove him to, we might as well have been Cartel foot soldiers for all the attention Aidan paid us.

  We could have been enemies.

  Not trusted and beloved sons.

  That was the danger.

  Twelve years ago, I could have asked him what the fuck he was doing, and he’d have clipped me around the ear.

  Now?

  I wasn’t sure if I’d wake up after being pistol whipped.

  That kind of erratic behavior was difficult to monitor, to be around, so we were all like chickens in a henhouse that was set on a minefield.

  Clucking around blindly, just hoping someone else was stupid enough to stand on the trigger.

  “I got here as soon as I could,” I stated, my voice as calm as I could make it.

  “Not soon enough,” Aidan growled, but he wasn’t looking at me.

  Jr. sighed. “You literally texted him five minutes ago, Pa. Cut the man some slack. You know what traffic is like at this time of night.”

  I shot Jr. a grateful look, but he didn’t take his focus off his cell.

  Aidan grumbled, “I guess.”

  “Who’s the stiff?” I asked, because I was under no illusion that although the guy was alive now, he wouldn’t be for long.

  The bag over his head wasn’t to protect our identities, to stop him from revealing us to the cops. It was because he was a dead man, and Aidan was more comfortable keeping his victims out of sight, and out of mind, until he was ready to do the deed.

  “Architect,” Eoghan rasped, and I tilted my head to stare at him.

  “Architect?” I mouthed.

  Eoghan pulled a face and sliced a finger along his throat. Well, that wasn’t very informative.

  “This bastard thought he could short change me,” Aidan growled, and said bastard began to moan behind his gag.

  I’d heard it often enough to translate the muffled apologies and pleas for forgiveness.

  It wasn’t going to work.

  Aidan might believe in atonement and confession for himself and his boys, but for those who crossed him?

  No such l
uck.

  “How did he do that?” I asked, trying to keep my tone soothing. Not that it was easy, considering I was feeling anything but calm.

  “I wanted that wrap around pool, do you remember? On Acuig Heights?”

  I mentally flipped through the manifest for the project that had brought Aoife Keegan into my life, and recalled the pool.

  Aidan had seen a hotel in Asia that had a pool on the side of the building. The base was glass, so when you were swimming, you were looking down to your death.

  It was the kind of sick shit he found amusing, and ever since I’d rummaged through the Points’ property portfolio and had come up with Aoife’s building as a nice location ready for gentrification, he’d been rambling on and on about the pool.

  “Yeah, I remember,” I told him warily, wondering how we’d gone from that to this.

  “Bastard only says it isn’t possible now he promised it to me. Says it goes against the permit we have.”

  My nostrils flared, and I caught Aidan’s gaze with mine. “We can get new permits, Aidan. Getting a new architect isn’t exactly easy.”

  The gushing sounds coming from the gagged man were noisy. He was agreeing and pleading for his life simultaneously.

  I rolled my eyes at the noise.

  Seriously, didn’t people realize how fucking annoying they were? Didn’t they know that pissing off someone with a loaded gun was only going to get you shot fucking sooner?

  Christ.

  “Architects are ten a penny,” Aidan countered, the lilt of our home land coming out.

  None of us had even set foot in Ireland, well, none save for Brennan and Magdalena, and especially not Aidan, but the accent came out every now and again. Usually, when he was at his most enraged.

  Taking the lilt for the warning it was, I murmured, “You know that’s not true, Aidan. We’re building the Heights to be one of the largest skyscrapers in the city. Greaves and Potters are the best on the East Coast with that kind of engineering.”

  “Then we get the best in from the West Coast,” Aidan growled.

  “And that will add time to our schedule.”

  “Schedule?” Aidan snorted. “You can’t even clear the building, so we can pull the bastard down to make way for the Heights.”