Filthy Dark: A SECOND CHANCE/SECRET BABY, MAFIA ROMANCE (THE FIVE POINTS' MOB COLLECTION Book 3)

by Serena Akeroyd

  No one should have to see that.

  No one.

  “I don’t think you’re scared of anyone, Brennan,” I told him carefully, well aware that was true.

  Some might say I was still a dreamer, unrealistic, but I knew how to read people. More than when I was a kid.

  I knew what Brennan was and wondered if he knew it too.

  He was Aidan Sr. reincarnate.

  The thought made a shiver rush down my spine, because that meant he was a psychopath, but Brennan had a self-awareness that was very uncomfortable, and made his kindness all the more perplexing and my trust in him all the more concerning and bewildering.

  When Eoghan, Declan’s younger brother, had discovered I’d been hiding a son from the family, he’d gone apeshit.

  Brennan?

  He’d dealt with me—there was that word again—kindly.

  I gulped, and whispered, “Will you do everything in your power to protect my boy?”

  He patted my shoulder. “He’s our boy,” he corrected me, making me shudder. “And you know we will. You should go get him. Bring him here. Not for Declan. We don’t want the boy to see his da like this for the first meeting, but the family will want to get to know him.”

  My stomach twisted, turning sour at the prospect. “I-I have responsibilities up there.”

  He shrugged once more, and I knew he was about to dismiss a decade’s worth of hard work as if it was nothing. “You know they mean shit now.”

  I gritted my teeth with fury. “I’m a professor at the Rhode Island School of Art, Brennan. Do you know how difficult it was to obtain that position? Do you know what I had to sacrifice—”

  He snorted. “Use that argument on Declan, and I’m pretty sure he’ll blow his top.” Another pat. All the more discomforting. “Your life’s been in New York ever since you got pregnant. You’ve just been procrastinating.”

  I wanted to wail that I had a life, that I had plans that had nothing to do with the many and various crimes the family committed. That that wasn’t my future anymore.

  But when I looked at him, I knew what I was seeing.

  The stonewalling that would make it so that if I didn’t do as I was told, Seamus would be taken from me.

  Was it weak to concede defeat?

  Or strong to accept it? Because for my boy, I’d kill. And in this world, those words held real-life consequences.

  I bit my lip, grinding my teeth hard as I shoved away from him, and when I walked toward the door, he called out softly, so softly that I felt the threat worse than if he’d pressed a knife to my throat. “Don’t think to run, Aela. If you do, the consequences will be a thousand times worse.”

  The statement, and that he’d felt he had to repeat the warning, had me shoving the Velcro-ed sheets that acted as a doorway open, dashing out of the freaky clinic I was sitting in, and running to the bathroom so I could puke my guts out.

  The place was beyond weird.

  Situated in the middle of a warehouse, clear, see-through plastic had been rigged up to create a sterile space within a space.

  Inside, there were two hospital beds surrounded by all the equipment you’d expect in an ER or ICU.

  That was the clout the O’Donnellys had.

  They didn’t need access to hospitals, they had their own. Anywhere, any time. With a team of nurses and doctors and surgeons on hand who’d jump to help, it was all the more disconcerting to be in the web again.

  To know the spider was closing in on me, and I was the one stupid enough to come traipsing inside.

  When my knees were aching, my body trembling as the aftereffects of fear, stress, and anxiety hit me, I leaned back and away from the toilet, pushing the lever so it flushed.

  As I watched my meager stomach contents disappear down the drain, I tried to get my thoughts in order.

  Obeying didn’t come easily to me.

  I was known for my anarchist art, known for my feelings on the current government, and my anti-populist stances. It was all well-represented in my work, for God’s sake, and my art was internationally renowned.

  I’d created pieces for bigwigs. Made works of art for billionaires and corporate sharks, even a few Saudi princes.

  Why?

  Because I bled them for all they were worth, for every inch they’d given me to have a piece of Aela O’Neill in their homes, and that money? I gave it back to the people.

  I was a modern-day Robin Hood for a reason.

  I knew what it was like to be controlled, to be under someone’s thumb, and I did my best to protect anyone else from that fate.

  Of course, there was no one here to help me now.

  My Maid Marian was a dude lying on a hospital bed who’d loathe me the second he opened his eyes, and who’d treat me like crap.

  But my fate was entwined with his.

  I should have known it would bring us back together—sometimes, wishful thinking just never got you far enough away.

  I clambered to my feet, and I washed my hands and face with the soap provided. It cut through a day and night’s worth of grease, but I still needed a shower badly.

  Blowing out a breath as I looked in the mirror, taking in the black curls, the blue streaks that were my rebellion, the elfin face that was too weak, and the eyes that were exhausted, I shook my head and pushed myself away from the spotted mirror and the chipped sink and headed on out.

  Was I surprised when a couple of goons appeared at my side?

  Maybe I was.

  Maybe I wasn’t.

  I’d thought Brennan was giving me a semblance of control, making it look like I had a say in this, even though I didn’t.

  The goons?

  Proof otherwise. Proof that I wasn’t to be trusted.

  Pretty smart of them.

  When I cast both men a look, I saw Eoghan in the background, Dec’s younger brother, eying me.

  And I knew.

  He’d sent the goons.

  I gritted my teeth. I was grateful that Aidan Sr. and Lena O’Donnelly weren’t here anymore. After the old man had slapped Brennan for speaking up, for telling the old man to calm down because he was freaking the staff out with his wild temper, I was grateful that they’d gone to Finn O’Grady’s apartment to get some rest. Only having to deal with my babysitters was a boon, but I still ignored Eoghan and stormed out into the street.

  There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, but I had to make sure Seamus was prepared for the future that was coming our way.

  Unfortunately for me, he was a teenager.

  And teenagers were like mini mafiosos without the murdering power.

  FML.

  DECLAN

  “You’re shitting me.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

  A statement because I knew Brennan was joking. He had to be, didn’t he?

  Of course, there was massive concern over the fact that he was the one imparting this news to me.

  After all, Brennan rarely joked.

  It wasn’t that he was somber, it was that he saw the world a little differently. There was nothing wrong with that considering the world we lived in was a shower of shit, but still, he wasn’t easily amused.

  And he’d never laugh or joke about the fact that I had a son out there.

  A son I’d fathered with Aela O’Neill.

  My throat tightened at the memories of her. She’d been the one who got away. The one I’d loved. Who I’d let get away.

  At the time, a part of me had been relieved when she’d gone, so there’d been no blame. No recriminations. I’d even thought she was smart to leave the city.

  A lot of people underestimated her, but never me.

  She was a little ditzy because her mind was usually in a sketchpad, cooking up various things for her projects, but anyone who failed to see how smart she was deserved to be in the outer circle.

  She’d been one of the best people I’d known.

  Until shit had gone wrong. Until my past had come crawling up
my butt and I’d had to let go of the best thing that had ever happened to me.

  “How?

  Brennan scowled at me. “How?”

  Because I knew why he was scowling, I rolled my eyes even though that hurt, and ground out, “I don’t need a talk on the birds and the bees, Bren. I’m just talking out loud.”

  “Oh.” He shrugged. “You were boning her on the side for a while. You were dumb back then. Not too hard to figure it out.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Fuck off, you never knew that.”

  His lips twisted slightly. “I know everything about the family.”

  That had me complaining, “When you and Eoghan say crap like that, it’s creepy as fuck.”

  “Maybe, but you should be grateful. At least I know the stuff that would make our enemies come if they got their hands on our weaknesses.”

  “You didn’t know about my son though, did you?” I wasn’t smug about that, because I wished I’d known about him too, but Brennan could be an arrogant shithead sometimes.

  He wriggled his shoulders. “I can be forgiven for that. When you were busy boning Catholic schoolgirls—”

  “I was a Catholic schoolboy at the time,” I groused. “So don’t make me out to be a pervert—”

  “I was working full-time, and you know I had to work hard to make the docks ours.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Overachiever.”

  His lips twisted. “You’re taking this better than I thought.”

  “Probably the drugs. They’re wearing off,” I replied honestly, staring around the hospital ward that was something from a nightmare.

  Or an episode of The Blacklist.

  I’d only woken up in one of these joints once before, and I had to say, I hated it.

  We drew out the big guns when someone was badly injured, illegally, and waking up like this was just horrendous and something I wouldn’t wish on an enemy. Being in the middle of a black space in a bright area that was covered up in plastic sheeting made me feel like the kid in E.T., when the house was all excluded.

  Fuck, I’d hated that movie, and that goddamn alien still visited me in my dreams.

  Reaching up to rub my eyes, I muttered, “The drugs make everything bearable, I guess.”

  Brennan snorted. “Don’t get any ideas. We’ve already got one junkie in the family.”

  I grunted. “Aidan ain’t no junkie.”

  “You’re a fool if you don’t think he is. Just because he isn’t shooting up and doesn’t have track marks all over his body doesn’t mean he isn’t an addict. We’re pussyfooting around him—”

  I raised a hand. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

  Brennan winced. “Sorry, bro.”

  “No. It’s okay. We need to do something about him, you’re right. But I just got my ass handed to me. You need to remember that.”

  He pursed his lips. “You were reckless.”

  “Maybe.”

  As one of the lieutenants of the Five Points' Mob, I often got my hands dirty. Brennan too. It was part of the job, part of the life.

  We were high-ranking—the highest because our father trusted no one more than he trusted his boys—but we were still involved with integral parts of the puzzle, even though in most families like ours, the heirs were untouchable, rarely getting involved in wet work.

  Things had devolved a few nights ago. Aela O’Neill—a blast from the past if ever there was one—had been visited by an MC Prez’s daughter.

  The kid had discovered that her partner had been kidnapped by the Famiglia, and the Italian cunts were going to kill him unless we helped rescue him.

  While we sure as fuck were no white knights, the Hell’s Rebels MC was renowned for the quality and their level of production of ghost guns—a type of weapon that had no serial number on them, so they couldn’t be traced.

  When we’d cut a deal, we’d gone in and saved the fucker, but I’d gotten shot up in the process. I knew for a fact that we’d lost another of our men too.

  A sad day.

  And even worse, my body hurt like a fucker.

  In my own way, I was used to pain though. We all were. Knife fights, gun fights, fist fights—they were par for the course.

  That was my life, and I didn’t want—

  My jaw clenched.

  I shouldn’t think about that crap.

  Couldn’t.

  Because if I did, I’d do something stupid. I’d be kind or something. I’d think of the son I didn’t know existed and not of the family, and family was everything.

  It was all.

  That was our creed. Something that had been drilled into us for a lifetime.

  But with that creed came the realization that if I didn’t protect the boy who I’d never known about, he’d be in danger too.

  “What’s that look on your face?”

  Brennan’s question had me blinking at him. “Huh? Nothing.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “What’s going on with you, Dec? I thought you’d be wicked pissed. That’s why I made sure to tell you on my own. Didn’t want you upsetting Ma.”

  I scowled. “Why do you always think I’m going to upset Ma?”

  His lips twitched. “Because you usually do.”

  “Now you’re just pissing me off,” I growled.

  “That’s what I do best.” His sage tone had me huffing, before he said, “I thought you’d be furious.”

  I wasn’t.

  That was the kicker.

  I wasn’t furious, and I knew I should be.

  I had a son.

  And family was everything.

  I should have been there for him, should have helped him grow, should have helped form him into the man he was going to be some day.

  Instead, I’d had no input, but I got it.

  I did.

  And I was almost sad for the kid, because now?

  He was going to be introduced into the life, and it wasn’t a good life.

  I could admit that to myself.

  I could admit it when I’d never thought a damn thing about what I did for a living before, because what I did was just the way of it.

  As natural as night following day.

  O’Donnellys worked for the family.

  That was it.

  How it worked.

  Like clockwork.

  My da had worked for his father, and his brothers had done the same—not that they were as smart as us, of course. But still. We’d turned the fam around, gotten us out of the penny-ante shit, and turned us into a corporation.

  But that didn’t take away from the bones of what we were.

  And I wasn’t sure if I wanted a kid of mine doing that, being involved in this crap.

  The dilemma had me wondering if Finn, one of our family friends and the Points’ money man, was feeling the same way about his kid.

  His wife had just had a baby, well, a while back, and I had to wonder if he thought about his son doing the shit we did.

  “You’re not angry.”

  The simple statement had me blinking at the opening in the ward. It was odd because it was a make-shift door with plastic sheets that were Velcroed together, so the sound of the ripping should have dragged me from my thoughts. It hadn’t.

  Maybe the drugs were dulling everything.

  I stared at my brother, Eoghan, and shook my head. “I will be. Just give me time.”

  But he didn’t smirk at me.

  He just stared at me.

  Christ.

  Brennan and Eoghan always saw too much.

  I felt like a petri dish with the way they were both gawking at me, and I scowled at them. “What do you want me to do? Go full out Hulk on you?”

  Brennan shrugged. “I think that was what I anticipated.”

  “Did the doctors say he woke up too early?” Eoghan asked Brennan, pissing me off that they were talking around me, not to me.

  I heaved an irritated breath. “Look, I’m tired. I need to rest.”

  I didn’t.<
br />
  I felt wide awake.

  I was definitely more mellow than I should be, definitely a lot more chilled about this situation… yeah, had to be the drugs.

  Eoghan grunted. “Stay awake for a little bit longer. Ma’s on her way. She was shitting herself.”

  “Not literally, I hope,” I rumbled, trying to tease and failing.

  Brennan and Eoghan didn’t crack a smile—serious fuckers. “Jesus, where’s Conor? At least he’ll laugh at my crappy jokes.”

  “He’s asleep in the waiting room. We’re all exhausted because we’ve been here for two goddamn days watching over you.”

  My mouth turned down. “Yeah. I get it.”

  “No. I don’t think you do,” Brennan retorted.

  I gritted my teeth before I muttered, “Move the pillows out from behind my head. This position hurts.”

  Eoghan moved toward me and helped shuffle out the two pillows a nurse had stacked under my shoulders when I’d woken up and found Brennan sitting at my bedside.

  The instant relief was enough to make me sigh heavily. I allowed myself to rock back and let my muscles settle.

  “I’m just going to rest my eyes,” I mumbled, suddenly needing the peace of sleep and a spare moment to stop the buzzing in my head that had nothing to do with almost being shot, blood loss, drugs, or the aftereffects of emergency surgery.

  A low hum of conversation came next, and I heard the Velcro softly open and close as they left me to the nightmare ward.

  I rocked my head to the side, saw the partition between me and the other guy, Ink, the man we’d gone in to save, and saw he was out cold.

  Then again, he’d been tortured. I figured it probably wasn’t the first time, judging by all the scars I could see on the parts of his body that weren’t covered up with tape, gauze, and wires, but still, torture always took it out of a person.

  I pursed my lips, rolled my head up to the ceiling where those godawful surgical lights were blaring onto me, and even though it hurt, I reached up and covered my eyes with my forearm.

  I needed to reassimilate things. Needed to figure out what the hell I was thinking and feeling.

  I was a father.