The After Party (A Badboys Boxset)

by Karr, Kim

  Scowling, I let my anger out. “Son of a fucking bitch. That’s it. You’re not going there without me anymore.”

  My father slammed his palm on the table beside him and the lamp shook. “Logan, I can take care of myself. I told you I want you to stay out of this. And besides, you know you can’t set foot inside there or anywhere near that little prick.”

  Knowing he was right, and feeling empathetic after my outburst, I said, “Don’t you get it? Now that Gramps is gone he’s trying to break you.”

  My father’s jaw clenched. “Let him try. I’m not as weak as he thinks.”

  “Pop, you have to get out before you can’t. Things are different now. The stakes are so much higher with Gramps gone. He’s got you doing things you’ve never done and you know you shouldn’t be doing them.”

  He sat back in the chair. “You don’t think I know that?”

  I grunted, “I’m not so sure.”

  His voice rose. “Well, I do. And you also know I can’t get out.”

  Frustrated, I stood and went to glance out the window. “It’s been twelve years. I think that’s long enough to be Patrick’s personal counsel, liaison, or whatever the fuck he calls you.”

  My father leaned his head back and shut his eyes. “Son, you know it doesn’t work that way.”

  Practically growling now, I spat, “Fuck him and fuck the way he thinks things should work.”

  My plan had better be successful because if it isn’t, I just might kill the motherfucker. Then where would I be?

  “A life for a life,” my father muttered.

  Feeling like I might explode, I punched the wall. My hand started to throb instantly. “Fuck.”

  Shaking his head, my father went into the kitchen and came back with a bag of frozen peas. “You need to calm down. Put this on your hand and have a seat.”

  I took it and sat on the couch. In a much calmer voice, I said, “Tell me exactly why you went to O’Shea’s like a madman today and what he told you when you were there.”

  My old man let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Logan. There were a few factors that played into my demeanor today, but mostly I’m just tired of people getting hurt. And if this son of a bitch thinks he’s going to get a pass from Patrick because he’s blaming his wife or because his old man Mickey O’Shea, Patrick, and me grew up together, he needed to know neither means shit to Patrick. I wanted to make that crystal clear right off the bat.”

  “Did you get his attention?”

  “I don’t know. I hope I made him weigh his options because if he doesn’t stop thinking out of his ass, he might not even get enough time to try to right the wrong he claims his wife caused.”

  Sympathy?

  I got it.

  He didn’t want any undue harm to come to anyone else.

  And finally, I was learning something that mattered. “What makes you speculate O’Shea thinks he might get a pass?”

  My old man steepled his hands. “It’s just a feeling I got on the phone.”

  I treaded lightly. “Tell me more.”

  “It’s the way he’s handling this whole situation. He’s not stupid. Either he thinks he can get out of this or he has an ace up his sleeve.”

  “What do you think the ace might be?”

  “Who knows? His wife, maybe, or the source.”

  I gave him a questioning look.

  “Some time ago, I was in a meeting with Patrick when Tommy burst in and announced he’d discovered an underground drug operation taking place on Blue Hill turf with a woman as the front man. Patrick didn’t ask questions. Just told Tommy to take care of it, find the source, and squash it.”

  “Patrick leaves something like that for Tommy to take care of? Are you kidding me?”

  “There’s been so much underground drug activity going on over the last few years, Patrick is tired of dealing with it.”

  “But he chose to lead the gang.”

  “I know. But Patrick only wants to deal with the girls, the goods, the numbers, and protection. The rest is up to Tommy.”

  “So what happened after Patrick told Tommy to take care of it?”

  “Months later, Tommy shows up out of the blue and tells Patrick he tried to find the source by playing the chick, but it didn’t work out the way he thought. Patrick flipped out and told Tommy he didn’t want to hear it, he just wants him to take care of it. Later I asked around. It turned out the girl not only somehow lost the drugs, but she lost the cash Tommy had paid her for them as well, and the worst part is, shortly after that, she went missing.”

  “Who was the chick?” I already knew the answer.

  My old man closed his eyes. “O’Shea’s wife.”

  Interesting. Maybe she wasn’t in rehab like Elle had said. “Do you believe she somehow lost the drugs and money?”

  He opened his eyes. “Do you?”

  “It sounds like she was working with someone who double-crossed her or she stashed them both for later and then disappeared.”

  My old man nodded in agreement.

  “Where does O’Shea think she is?”

  “He says he knows as much as we do. She just up and disappeared. He claims to have known nothing about the operation she was running, and says he doesn’t know where the drugs or the money are that she told Tommy she lost.”

  I scrubbed my jaw. “Do you believe him?”

  He flung me a look. “No reason not to. He hasn’t been involved in Blue Hill affairs at all—ever.”

  “But?”

  “But, no reason to believe him, either. The whole thing is weird.”

  “What exactly does Patrick want from him?”

  “He hasn’t told me, but my guess is he wants both the money and the drugs as compensation. I overheard Tommy say he wants the girl.”

  “All three? That’s insane.”

  “O’Shea’s wife disappeared with Blue Hill money and what were also, technically, their drugs. Patrick wants retribution.”

  “And O’Shea. What was his answer when you told him his payday would be coming?”

  “He didn’t have one. He kept quiet.”

  “But he knows he needs to deliver something soon?”

  “He does. I told him twice. He also knows that if he doesn’t, something bad is going to happen. All I can say is, he’s been warned.”

  “And even after you delivered the message, he was still acting calm and cool, like it was no big deal?”

  My father nodded.

  “Do you believe he has a huge trump card to present if he doesn’t deliver all three things? Because, come on, he can’t be that stupid.”

  His shoulders lifted. “He could be just buying time, hoping his wife turns back up before the deadline.”

  “Or maybe he does have something in his back pocket as you mentioned earlier, like the missing drugs and money that his wife stashed away.”

  He pursed his lips. “Yeah, could be either. Not sure.”

  “Does he have money to front if all else fails?”

  My father shrugged. “I can’t imagine he has the kind of money he’s going to need.”

  I didn’t know O’Shea, but I could see his arrogance a mile away and I knew if he didn’t lose it, he was going to get someone killed. “What do you think Patrick will settle for?”

  “It’s possible O’Shea knows who the big supplier is and plans to spill it to Patrick when the time comes.”

  My eyes widened. “Would that be enough to satisfy Patrick?”

  “In the short term, maybe. It depends on who it is and what O’Shea knows about him.”

  My head was spinning.

  When Patrick declared O’Shea’s payday, all the cards would be on the table, but until then, we could only speculate.

  Putting all the unknowns aside for now, I focused on the known. “Someone slashed her tire.” I didn’t have to clarify who the her was. After what happened earlier, I was certain he knew.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure it was slas
hed. I saw it.”

  “Logan, you don’t know it was Patrick or Tommy who did it.”

  With a shake of my head, I admitted, “It would be a huge coincidence if it wasn’t.”

  “Listen, son, I have to say, I don’t think Patrick knows about her.”

  I looked up. “What did Patrick say to you when he finally showed tonight?”

  “Not that much.”

  “Then what was the summons for?”

  My father sat beside me. “Just flexing his control. Nothing out of the ordinary. He wanted to know how my visit with O’Shea went so he could plan his next move. Nothing we couldn’t have taken care of over the phone.”

  “Did he ask about the girl?”

  My old man shook his head. “Like I said, O’Shea’s wife has been missing for three months. Whoever that woman is that was in his office tonight, she couldn’t have been her. O’Shea wouldn’t be that stupid to have her walking around in the open when he knows she’s wanted by the Blue Hill Gang. That girl must have been a nanny or girlfriend.”

  I recoiled at the word girlfriend and couldn’t stop the jealousy that spiked in my veins. “She’s not his wife,” I said flatly, trying to pull my shit together.

  My father scrubbed his jaw. “That’s what I thought. Like I said, he’s not that stupid.”

  “She’s not the nanny or girlfriend, either.”

  His eyes narrowed on me. “Logan.”

  “Look, she has nothing to do with this. I want her left alone.”

  “You don’t know she’s not involved.”

  He was right, I didn’t—but my gut told me she was an innocent. I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “If you thought she was his wife, what’s to prevent Patrick from thinking the same thing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

  “Who is she, Logan?”

  “His wife’s sister. She’s new in town.”

  “And you know this information how?”

  Confessing, I answered, “I ran into her.”

  He narrowed his eyes once again. “You ran into her?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “And you don’t think she’s involved?” he snapped.

  For once, I stayed calm. “No, I don’t think she is. What makes you think Patrick doesn’t know about her?”

  My father shrugged. “I stayed clear of mentioning her and Patrick didn’t say jack about her. Just mentioned the missing wife. Asked if she’d been found and if O’Shea said anything about her.”

  Clearly, my interest had been evident. “What did you tell him?”

  He drew himself up. “I told him the wife hadn’t been located as far as I knew and that O’Shea was still claiming to know nothing about her disappearance. But Logan, Patrick already knew about the baby girl.”

  “Do you think he has someone besides you on O’Shea?”

  He looked out the window. “It’s possible, but baby news is easy to find out.”

  “If he does have someone on O’Shea, maybe he’s following anyone close to him and that’s who slashed her tire?”

  He pulled the curtains closed. “Like I said, it’s possible, or maybe some punk on the street did it and you’re overreacting.”

  I was done with that conversation. I knew I wasn’t overreacting. “Maybe. Did Patrick say anything else tonight that mattered?”

  With a deep sigh, he told me, “He declared the payday.”

  “What? When?”

  “He’s giving O’Shea until next Friday. Seven days. If he doesn’t have the money, the drugs, and his wife by then, I’m to deliver a message.”

  Troubled, I squeezed the frozen bag with my fingers. “What’s the message?”

  A weighted silence fell between us.

  “Pop, tell me,” I said softly.

  Shifting his eyes toward the closed curtains seemed to make it easier for him to speak. “He’ll let me know.”

  “Cocksucker,” I muttered.

  The television was still on and my father stared at it. “I want you to go back to New York and stay there. I’m fine. I can handle the client load and I can handle Patrick.”

  I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees. “I can’t do that.”

  Cautious now, he spoke softly. “Why?”

  I looked up. “Because of her. I can’t explain it, but I don’t want her or that little girl hurt.”

  He drew in a breath. “They aren’t your concern.”

  “I can’t leave.”

  “Just say it, Logan. The woman looks like Emily.”

  Unable to stand the pain of the memories, I pushed up and headed for the doorway. I knew that was coming, but still, I wasn’t going there.

  My father’s reaction was to follow me. He just wasn’t going to let it go that easy. He also knew I’d never stand in the kitchen willingly and talk about it, so he had limited time to make his point.

  But feeling like I owed him an explanation, I stopped just before I opened the door. “Yes, she does. But my reasons for being concerned about her aren’t what you’re thinking.”

  I could tell he didn’t believe me.

  “Pop, I’m not attracted to her because she looks like Emily, but I am attracted to her. And I’m afraid for her because she does look like Emily. I’m afraid of what will happen if Patrick—or worse, Tommy—notices the similarity.”

  “Yeah, I am too,” he sighed.

  That wasn’t reassuring at all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ELLE

  Cries in the night.

  That’s what I remembered most from my childhood. The root of my self-pronounced aversion to desire. With the memories ripped open so unexpectedly, I had a hard time sleeping.

  Nightmares.

  My nightmares.

  They kept waking me up, forcing me to remember what I’ve tried so hard to forget. My fists gripped the sheets and I fought the panic they evoked, but it was too late—they’d already surfaced.

  “I asked you to take your clothes off,” he barked.

  “The doctor said we should wait at least two weeks.”

  “It’s close enough.”

  “But Henry, the doctor said—”

  “Do you think I give a shit what advice some doctor is giving you? You’re my wife and I’ll fuck you whenever I want to.”

  “Have you been drinking, Henry?”

  “This isn’t about my drinking.”

  “But it is. I’m not sure you’re thinking clearly. It hasn’t been that long since I lost the baby.”

  He huffed in frustration. “Susan. Not this again. It’s the same thing every night. Now I’ve waited long enough. Take your clothes off or I’ll rip them off.”

  My mother protested. “Henry, I’m not ready.”

  Under his breath he muttered, “You never are.”

  “That’s not true. I’m just not sure I’m up to it.”

  “Fine, then lift your nightgown and turn around.”

  My mother sighed.

  My father’s voice was soft when he spoke again. “Come on, baby, I need to be inside you. It’s been weeks. You know how crazy I get when I can’t have you.”

  I was confused by the silence, but then a few minutes later, I heard the mattress shift.

  I was six and in my bed, clutching my teddy bear. The walls were so thin. When the creaking started, my big sister crawled in beside me and hugged me. “Don’t listen, Gabby. Don’t listen,” she whispered. She always blocked out the noises at night. I never could. I didn’t like to hear my daddy angry and my mommy upset.

  There was a thumping against the wall and my mother started to cry. I couldn’t help but listen. I wanted to help her.

  “What’s he doing to her, Lizzy? Why is she crying?” I whispered.

  “Shhh . . . close your eyes. Think happy thoughts. Don’t listen.”

  I tried, but nothing could block out my father’s words. “I provide for you. Why can’t you just take care of my needs without all this h
orseshit all the time?”

  “I try, Henry, I do. I can’t help how I feel, though,” she whimpered.

  Skin slapped against skin. “You like it this way. Tell me you do.”

  “Henry, please,” my mother cried.

  Sweat covered my body. I wanted to climb through the walls and tell him to leave her alone. “We should go help her,” I told my sister.

  “No, never do that,” my sister warned. “Do you hear me?”

  I nodded.

  I heard my father laugh. “That’s it, beg for it.”

  I wondered if everything was okay now, but then I heard the thumping against the wall, and it was getting louder and coming quicker.

  “Please stop,” my mother cried.

  He let out a huge sigh. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Could you please just stop complaining? Every time, Susan. Every time it’s something.”

  “It hurts.”

  “You know, Susan, if you can’t give me what I want, then you can damn well spread your legs when I tell you to or take it this way.”

  “Henry, please. It’s not like that.”

  “Fuck, can’t you give me anything I ask for?”

  Her sobs grew. “Please don’t blame me for losing the baby.”

  The thumping stopped.

  “Who else should I blame? You lost my son. And now that it’s time to try for another, you’re not ready. How will the Sterling name carry on? This is on you, Susan.”

  “The doctor said we should consult with her before we decide on another pregnancy. She says my diabetes is continuing to weaken my kidney function and the miscarriages are a result of that.”

  “Fuck that. You’re a strong woman. She’s just being overcautious. They’re all like that.”

  The thumping started up again and this time my mother was crying even louder. I could tell she was in pain.

  “What’s he doing to her?” I asked Lizzy again.

  She was still squeezing her eyes shut. “Just something a husband and wife do together when they love each other.”

  “But it doesn’t sound like Mommy likes it.”

  “Sometimes you do what you have to for love, Gabby. You’ll see.”

  The pounding ceased. “Stop your fucking crying. Just turn around and put me in your mouth,” he barked.

  The mattress shifted again. Then my father started moaning. “That’s it. That’s it baby. See, you do know how to make me happy.”