Lachlan: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Dangerous Doms)

by Jane Henry

  “Oh?”

  He bows his head, and for one moment, I see the boyish look that makes my heart flutter. He takes something out of his pocket, a small package wrapped in plain white paper, taped to an envelope.

  I feel oddly stricken. A part of me wants to take that present from his hands and throw it as far as I can into the Irish Sea.

  “Here,” he says, handing it to me. Our fingers touch. My eyes go involuntarily to his when awareness travels between us.

  Lachlan takes care of me. He protects me. But we never, ever touch.

  He pulls his hand away and scowls at me.

  “Thank you,” I say out of habit, but my temper’s barely in check.

  “Don’t open it front of me,” he says, his voice rough and husky. “Wait until I’m gone.”

  I look up curiously at him.

  What?

  “Why’d you even come?” I snap.

  I watch as his eyes grow heated, and he clenches his jaw.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You clearly don’t want to be here.” My anger’s rising, and I know I should stop it, but I can’t. I want his approval so badly I could cry, not… not this cold detachment. I know I’m baiting him, but I’m angry and hurt. He’s not like this cold, detached man. This isn’t him, and I don’t know what to make of it.

  “It isn’t that,” he says through clenched teeth. “You don’t know everything there is to know.”

  I scoff and toss my head back. “Of course I don’t.” I grit my teeth. “Because I’m only a child. Right?”

  As if he’s old enough to be my father.

  As if.

  He winces as if I struck him, and I’m instantly remorseful. I open my mouth to apologize, but I don’t know what to say.

  “I wish,” he whispers. Then to my shock and horror, he bends down to me. My heart hammers, and my mouth goes dry. I’ve never been so close to him, and he smells a hundred times better than I imagined, strong, masculine, and powerful. Is he going to kiss me? Oh, God, right here on the lawn with everyone here?

  I’m stock still as if frozen in ice when his lips brush my cheek. My skin tingles where we touch. He whispers in my ear, his voice low and deep, sending shivers down my spine. “Happy birthday, Fiona. Open it alone, please.”

  Then he turns and leaves. I watch him go, a part of my heart going with him. I look down at the little gift-wrapped package in my hand, and when I look up again, he’s gone.

  “He moved heaven and Earth to be here tonight, you know,” comes a voice from behind me.

  I look to see Sheena standing behind me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s on his way to an international job.”

  I swallow hard.

  Why is Keenan sending everyone I love away?

  “Where?” I ask, trying to be brave and not cry.

  “Not sure,” she says. “It’s often confidential, isn’t it? All I know is that he’s got a job to do. Was supposed to leave night before last, but he told Keenan he wouldn’t go and miss your birthday.”

  Well, now I feel like a total jerk.

  “Oh.” Such a small word for such big feelings.

  “What’s that?” she asks, gesturing to the package in my hand.

  I look forlornly at the package. “A gift from Lachlan. He wants me to open it later.” I put it in my pocket. It feels hot and heavy like a burning coal. I’m vividly aware of its presence, preoccupied with the thought of a gift from him.

  He touched this. It was in his pocket, just a moment ago. It’s for me.

  “Anyhow, came to get you for cake. The little ones are getting antsy.” Music filters through speakers, a slow waltz that makes my heart ache.

  “Right, then,” I say with a smile. “Thank you.”

  We walk back under the tent.

  “I thought it’d be different, Sheena.” If I can’t confide in my older sister, who can I?

  “What?”

  I sigh. “Being eighteen.”

  “You mean Lachlan.” She’s not one to beat around the bush.

  “Aye. I mean… he’s always been a bit distant, but I thought—well, I mean—” I bite my lip.

  Way to botch things up, Fiona.

  “I thought now that I’m eighteen…” my voice trails off.

  “Ah, lass, don’t you see,” Sheena says, taking my hand with a sad smile. “It’s because you’re eighteen. He’s a man of honor, Fiona. He abides by a code he’d die before he’d break. And no way on God’s green earth he’d have touched you when you were still a child.”

  “Still a child?” I ask. “Sheena, nothing changed overnight.”

  I purse my lips and shake my head. This is preposterous.

  She sighs sadly. “Not so, love. Everything changed last night. Now here you are, with nothing to hold him back from you but his own convictions.”

  “Well that’s bollox,” I say hotly.

  She laughs out loud. “Be patient, Fiona. Good things come to those who wait.”

  “Never my strong suit,” I mutter. Isn’t she full of platitudes and clichés today? Bloody hell.

  I go through the motions of eating cake and unwrapping presents. I try to enjoy the party as best I can, but my mind is elsewhere.

  I sneak away at the first possible opportunity. After cake and presents, I quietly make my way to the greenhouse when the party’s still in full swing. I can’t wait any longer to see what he got me.

  My hands tremble when I unwrap it. There’s a black velvet box beneath the paper. I can’t breathe. I’m frozen in place, staring at the beautiful box, before I can move. I’ve imagined an engagement ring, and in my teen fantasies even scrawled my name in diaries, only to rip them out and tear them into tiny little pieces.

  Fiona McCarthy

  Fiona McCarthy

  Fiona McCarthy

  Finally, curiosity kills me, and I slowly open the lid.

  I gasp when a stream of light from the window gleams on the locket nestled against black velvet. It’s a rose gold oval, heavy in my palm, carved with intricate Celtic knots. Holding my breath, with trembling fingers, I open the locket.

  Inside is a picture of me. But it isn’t today’s me. I’m just a teen. There’s nothing else.

  I open the card, my heart stuttering just looking at his straight, bold, masculine script. I can hear his brogue and the deep timbre of his voice in the words on paper. I tremble a little. This feels intimate. It’s the most intimacy I’ve ever had with him.

  Dear Fiona,

  Happy eighteenth birthday.

  I thought for a long time about what I wanted to give you. I knew it had to be something special… to commemorate your moving from childhood into adulthood. And when I saw this locket in the jeweler’s, I knew it was yours.

  It’s unique, one of a kind… like you.

  It’s sturdy and strong… like you.

  And it’s beautiful… like you.

  Inside I put a picture of you when you were just thirteen, the year I met you. I want you to remember that girl. Whenever you’re sad, or lonely, or scared, look at her. And remember how far you’ve come.

  With love,

  Lachlan

  My hand shakes as I remove it and slide it over my head. I close my eyes and draw in a breath.

  I read the note over and over again, until I have it memorized, but there are two lines I will never forget.

  It’s beautiful… like you.

  With love, Lachlan.

  Chapter 2

  Lachlan

  I leave when the party’s in full swing, even though my heart wants to be right here. With my family. My brothers.

  Fiona.

  Boner and Tully, two of my Clan brothers, are waiting for me at the Craic.

  I never go anymore. I used to, when I was younger, but now even looking at the women there feels like a betrayal to Fiona.

  But that has to change.

  I can’t think of her that way. Never should have to begin with
.

  Up until today, it was easy enough to tell myself that she was too young for me. That my feelings for her were no more than brotherly affection. That I’d take care of her for no other reason than because it was the right thing to do.

  It wasn’t until we took her family away from Stone City, to the McCarthy family mansion of Ballyhock, that things began to really change.

  The day we went to her family’s house, I came to help Nolan. He didn’t tell me who’d be there. Hell, I’m not sure he knew himself.

  I can still feel the chill of that night when the sun set, as we piled into the car and drove to Stone City. I can still see the dilapidated streets, still smell the scent of stale cigarette smoke and whiskey lingering in the air. I can still see her home, dingy and dark, with a worn front step and smudges on the windows. I can still see her, the very first time I laid eyes on her.

  Though petite, she held herself with confidence, proud even as a young lass. She was the spitting image of her sister with her flaming red hair, freckled cheeks, and pouty lips.

  I’ll never forget that day. I was only a lad, straight out of St. Albert’s, and she was only a lass, handed a crap deal in life. Living in utter destitution with Ireland’s poorest of the poor in Stone City, she did her best to rise above. She was stunningly beautiful, her innocence and purity miraculously intact. I’m neither a superstitious nor romantic man, but I swear, when I first laid eyes on her, something inside me whispered one word that rocked me off my axis: her.

  I blinked in surprise, struck by a frisson of awareness that passed between us when our eyes met. It wasn’t sexual, and it wasn’t platonic, but something else altogether.

  I asked her name, and she answered, her sweet voice carrying through the small room like church bells in summer.

  “Fiona,” she said. I told her her name was beautiful.

  Like you, I supplied in my head. Like you.

  We brought them home, and the need to protect her, to ensure that she never lost the innocence in her eyes or the sweet, trusting smile, consumed me. I went to bed that night and punched my pillow before I tried to rest, but I couldn’t.

  I told myself it was because the children we’d rescued that night shared a similarity to me: orphaned at a young age, I craved family and stability. The McCarthy clan gave me that. But the very next morning, when I saw her at breakfast, I knew it was no hero’s rescue that distracted me.

  She flushed when she looked at me, and I couldn’t help but respond with a smile and warm welcome. It was dangerous. I denied the truth staring me in the face. She’d felt what I had, and it was fucking lethal. Sugar-laced poison that could lure me in and seize my heart.

  I schooled myself in any way I could. I lifted weights until my muscles ached and sweat dripped from my body. I ran at the gym until my lungs threatened to burst. I threw myself into my work, leading my brothers of the Clan. I earned my reputation as a natural leader, but they don’t know the truth. They don’t know that I was trying to occupy my mind so I wouldn’t fall for her. They didn’t know I did exactly what I was taught by my mentor and teacher, Malachy, at school. I pushed my body into hard labor to punish myself for the sins of my flesh I had yet to commit.

  I never did anything. I never acted out on my longing for her. I never flirted, or even mentally entertained any thought beyond protecting her. For that was my job and is to this day: to devote my life to the safety and well-being of the Clan. Fiona’s one of us now. I threw myself into taking care of Fiona.

  She had a guard like all of them did, especially when she fell under the protection and guardianship of Nolan and Sheena. But I was the one who oversaw her guards, who took them to task if they weren’t vigilant. I was the one who saw to her safety, her protection. I still am.

  I kept what I did hidden from her, but I knew. I knew who her friends and allies were, and when she was bullied at school by an overbearing arsehole who tried to rough her up, I was the one that paid him a visit. My brothers held me back. We may be above the law, but I could have killed him. I roughed him up. I let him know who I was.

  No one bullied her after that.

  Tonight, when I saw her arrive with Tiernan, my heart longed to go to her. To gather her in my arms and wish her a happy birthday. To kiss her pouty lips and give thanks to the heavens she isn’t a child anymore but a woman.

  But I held myself back. She’s still so young. She’s got a lifetime before her, and I won’t take that from her. In my heart, I know. If I pursued her, she’d let me.

  I wish to God she wouldn’t. She deserves more than me. She deserves to follow her dreams and her heart.

  Her childhood was stolen from her. I won’t steal any more of what’s hers.

  “Lach.”

  Boner and Tully sit at the bar when I enter The Craic. Here, the kinkier Irish find their home, in the seductive call of the private club nestled in the back. I jerk my head in greeting and join them at the bar, sliding onto a stool next to Boner. Tall and lanky, Boner’s the Clan’s Labrador retriever, and a cousin of mine. Hell, I don’t even remember his christened name. Malachy gave him the nickname Boner when he was at St. Albert’s, and true to form, Boner rolled with it.

  “Another round, Rafferty,” Tully orders in his gruff voice. Much bigger than Boner, Tully dwarfs the barstool and takes up half the counter, and his long hair and beard have a mind of their own. Tully’s older than me by a full decade, but like all men of the Clan, he’s like a brother.

  I take the pint Boner pushes over to me gratefully, lift it to my lips, and take a long, cleansing pull from the thick, frothy Guinness. I sigh in contentment when I plunk the pint back on the bar, half emptied.

  “Christ, I needed that.”

  “Y’alright, lad?” Boner asks, a twinkle in his eye. Short of death or tragedy, Boner’s the most jovial of the lot, always ready with a quick laugh, a sordid joke, or a cold pint.

  “Alright,” I mutter. I’ve already said too much. I lift my pint and drain the rest. Silently, Tully lifts a finger to Rafferty and orders me another.

  “Saw you at the birthday party,” Tully says, giving me a sidelong look. I don’t meet his eyes, but take the second pint from Rafferty and begin nursing it.

  “’Twas an excellent party,” Boner says with uncharacteristic soberness. “The girls did it up right, didn’t they?”

  “Aye.”

  “You reckon she was surprised?” Tully asks.

  I shrug. I don’t want to talk about Fiona.

  “By what?” Boner asks. “The party, or her brooding hero?”

  Jesus.

  He smacks my arm, and Guinness sloshes on the counter. I glare at him and deck him back, harder than he hit me.

  “Fuck off,” I tell him. “Christ.”

  I finish the second pint and order a third.

  Boner’s eyes widen, and he holds up his hands in surrender. “Now, now, lad, keep it in yer pants, will ya? Easy does it.”

  “Boner,” Tully says quietly. “Leave off.”

  Boner shakes his head and gets to his feet. “Fine, then, I’ll leave you two pussies to drink up. I’ve got a much stronger appetite to fill than that.”

  And he’s off, leaving me and Tully alone.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” he says with an apologetic wince. “I didn’t know bringing up —”

  “It’s fine.”

  He closes his mouth and nods, looking away off in the distance as he sips his pint.

  I feel better by the time I’ve finished my third pint. I don’t drink much, but like most men of the Clan, Guinness flows in my veins like blood, and occasionally I need my fill.

  “Join me in the back?” Tully asks. He gives me a curious look. I haven’t joined them in the back in so long, he must wonder what I’m playing at, what he can expect from me. The back of the Craic is where the real action takes place, anchored with club safewords and a team of security guards. I’m tempted, but I’m not sure I can even think of another woman. Though there’s literally nothing b
etween me and Fiona, it feels like a form of betrayal.

  “It’s stress relieving to have your way with a pretty girl,” Tully says quietly. “Get a fucking blow job and forget about the seriousness of life, lad.” A low pulse of need begins low in my belly. Your own fucking fist in a shower’s like licking an ice cube when you’re dying of thirst. It slakes the need, but only for a moment. And Christ, it’s been so fucking long.

  “No commitments,” Tully continues, feeding me the words I need to hear in small bits. “Go in, go home, no harm, no foul. They’ll lose their fucking knickers if you walk in there.”

  Members here know the McCarthy clan, and the women are eager to please. It surprised me at first. We’re no fucking saints. Keenan explained to me we’re sort of celebrities here, and I’ve seen with my own eyes that he’s right. Though we’re criminals ourselves, we keep the seedier lot out of Ballyhock. The Clan is responsible for Ballyhock’s low crime rate and affluence. We give generously to the church and the schools, solidifying ourselves as benefactors. Robin Hood and his merry men, as it were.

  Every man of the Clan is financially set for life, granted a home, the protection of the brotherhood, and damn near anything he needs. It’s also no secret that when a man of the Clan claims a woman, she becomes the epicenter of his universe. In turn, the women of the Clan are passionately devoted to their men.

  But over the years, as the men have married off, the single men of the Clan have dwindled. It’d go to your head if you let it, knowing that the women here are eager to be with one of us. Boner takes full advantage. Though I haven’t been here lately, I’m told it isn’t unusual to find him with not one woman but two on his arm, sometimes more.

  I polish off my pint, throw a tip in the jar for Rafferty, who gives me a thankful nod, and I jerk my chin to Tully. “I’ll join you,” I tell him. “But no woman for me tonight.”

  Maybe tonight it’ll satisfy me just to get a whiff of what my brothers like.

  “Good lad,” Tully says, smacking my back in approval so hard I nearly lose my footing. He rises, and we walk to the entrance at the back. “And anyway,” Tully says, sobering. “Is it true that Keenan’s got you going to Boston?”