48 Mac (A Junkyard Boys Novel)

by SH Richardson

  Kallum O’Brien.

  “He started making moves about six months ago, slow at first, undetectable,” Ferdi shared. “Now, he’s balls to the wall, throwing cash around like Skittles. If that doesn’t work, he’s spreading rumors, plans to put us out of business by any means necessary. That said, he’d be the only game in town once we’re eliminated, no other choice but to go his way.”

  “What makes him think it’s that fucking easy?” I growled. “We’re just supposed to bend over and spread our ass cheeks for the fucking?”

  “No clue, but the fighters are getting restless. Don’t wanna lose their roids, tax free income, fresh pussy, or whatever else that keeps them coming back to the ring.”

  “Find out who’s on the fence that might be considering jumping. Convince them of the health risks associated with that decision, Ferdi. We break ground on our new facility in a few days. The last thing we need is bullshit rumors fucking with our expansion.”

  “I agree, Darragh.” He rubbed a hand down his stubbled face. His brows pinched together, shoulders hunched in concentration. Something else was on his mind.

  “What is it?” I snapped.

  “Wanna tell me what the fuck Bella O’Brien was doing here? Could be why her old man is on the war path, gunning for our piece of the underground fights.”

  I did not want to have to get into this with him. “It’s handled. She won’t be coming back.”

  “Please tell me you did not fuck that man’s wife, Darragh. Jesus fucking…do you have any idea the kind of shit storm something like that could bring if word got out?”

  Ferdi was too perceptive for his own good. Of course, he would know about Bella’s unexpected visit. Nothing happened within these four walls that he wasn’t privy to or acquainted with. His ass was on his shoulders for a reason, one I couldn’t exactly blame him for, but still, what was done was done. I didn’t need him to tell me how badly I’d fucked up.

  “I said it’s handled. Sack up and handle business, end of.”

  Lying to each other was against the rules, but lying to myself? Well, that was another story. Truth was, I hadn’t handled a damn thing pertaining to Bella. Filling her with my hard cock didn’t count. Had she confessed her longing for me to her husband, and that was the reason for his newfound interest? Were they working together to distract me long enough to steal my hard work right from under me? Was it all just a bunch of fucking bullshit, the apology, the promise of everlasting devotion? Whatever the motive, it still amounted to the same fucking thing. My business was being threatened, and that, simply, would not do. A strange look crossed Ferdi’s brooding features before he shook his head as if to clear it. Frustration evident in his harsh gaze and biting words.

  “Otelia seems nice,” he nudged. “Does she know you’re fucking a married woman? No wonder you were all up in my shit because I was talking to her. Your invited guest, my ass. You got a thing for her.”

  “What the fuck is this, Ferdi? Do your fucking job and stop worrying about shit that doesn’t concern you, and that includes Otelia. It’s none of your business where I stick my dick.”

  I endured Ferdi’s surly mood, antagonistic scowl, and combative retorts every time we tried to navigate our way through this minefield of invading enemies. We prided ourselves on working as a team—two men, one collective brain, acting in tandem to further our agenda. No secrets, no lies, and loyalty above all else. We were not functioning on the same vibe at the moment, which sucked big, hairy dick. Attendance at the fights had gone down twenty percent in a matter of days, which I explained away as coincidence. Ferdi thought differently.

  Things had to be handled delicately and with the Boston family in mind. You didn’t just go up against a boss with your dick in your hand. There were rules, expectations. It wasn’t unusual for mafiosos to expand their interest into other money-making endeavors. I didn’t hold the monopoly on underground fights, but that didn’t mean I had to share either. Remington was my territory, my fucking hard work. I wasn’t about to give it up under any circumstances. I’d been kicking this shit around in my head for days and coming up empty. I preferred to be alone with my thoughts, so I sent Ferdi to question the remaining fighters about O’Brien’s offer. They needed to know that disloyalty would be met with swift retribution.

  The private intercom buzzed inside my penthouse, which was hella strange this time of night. I walked over and pressed the button, ready to tear into someone’s ass for disturbing me.

  “Sorry to bother you, Mr. MacCabe, but there’s a woman down in the lobby demanding to see you. She seems…overwrought.” I could hear shouting the background but couldn’t make out what they were saying. “We tried to send her away, but she won’t take no for an answer. Would you like us to call the authorities?” the hotel manager asked.

  “No, I’ll be right down.”

  I could’ve sent one of the boys, but I decided to handle it myself. My whereabouts weren’t a secret, but I also didn’t go around advertising that shit either. It’s why I never brought women here when I wanted to fuck, too messy once the deed was done. Whoever it was had a lot of fucking explaining to do, summoning me like I was hired help.

  I could hear screaming before the damn elevator doors opened. I rounded the corner, pissed as all get out, and froze in my tracks.

  “You get his ass down here right fucking now, asshole.”

  The fuck?

  “Otelia? What happened?”

  The first thing I noticed were her beautiful blue eyes. They were big as saucers, manic, and unfocused. The swelling and redness, an indication she had been crying, pupils blown to hell. The woman I knew didn’t fucking cry; she was fearless in the face of any obstacle. I reached her in two long strides. My arms encircled her waist, holding her steady. Sweet Jesus, she was fucking barefoot on the cold-ass floor. Where the hell were her shoes? Her whole body was shaking uncontrollably, and that’s when I noticed the blood stain on her tiny little T-shirt.

  “Are you injured?” I shouted. “Are you hurt?”

  I gave her arms a shake, just enough to grab her attention. There were no outward signs of gun powder from a bullet hole, no stab wounds, but I had to be sure.

  “You tell them, Mac. Tell them I’m not part of the mob, tell them to leave me alone. I watched the Godfather movies—severed horse head, make him an offer he can’t refuse. I know what that means.”

  Godfather movies?

  The fuck was she talking about?

  “Otelia, listen to me...” I tried to calm her down to no avail.

  “No, Mac! They came to my house, put blood on my door, hung a dead fish outside,” she screeched, on the verge of hysteria. “You tell them, Mac. Please, you tell them it’s a mistake.”

  “Okay, kitty cat, I’ll tell them.”

  I guided her towards the elevators with one arm while reaching for my phone with the other. The last thing either of us needed was for that nosy-ass hotel manager to start running his mouth. I hit speed dial to get Ferdi on the line. He might have been pissed at me, but now wasn’t the time for our little misunderstanding. I gave him two clear instructions: Get to Otelia’s house and check it out. Meet me back at the penthouse expeditiously.

  I needed answers, and I needed them fast.

  Otelia settled worriedly into the crux of my arm by the time we made it to the top floor. The loss of adrenalin left her damn near impotent during the short distance, relying on my strength to carry us both. The whole while, my depraved mind kept thinking of the many ways to inflict harm on a person, to cause them absolute pain, to end their fucking lives. It didn’t matter that I was missing most of the facts or the full story. Otelia was convinced that whatever happened had something to do with me. It was why she’d sought me out, begged me to make it go away, and sat prostate on my leather sofa like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. I was her guy.

  “It’s so fucking cold in here,” she remarked behind chattering teeth.

  I poured her a shot of Jameso
n and grabbed a blanket from the spare bed. Otelia accepted my offerings woodenly and without so much as a glance in my direction. Her entire body sagged in defeat as she settled the fabric on her shoulders while holding the drink in a shaky hand. I was tempted to frame her pretty face between my palms and force her to look at me, to humble me with her beautiful eyes. Watching her fold into herself was wreaking havoc on my senses. I wanted to kill something with my bare hands, make a motherfucker beg for mercy before I snapped his neck. It took more effort than I realized to reel in my murderous thoughts so I could ask Otelia some questions. Someone’s life depended on her answers.

  “Tell me what happened tonight.”

  “I shouldn’t have come here,” she said on a tired exhale. “The junkyard probably would’ve been better with Maribel and Mar…”

  “Meckan can protect his own woman,” I growled. “You let me worry about this. Now, answer my fucking question.” I tried in vain to keep my simmering anger in check.

  “I’m so tired of waiting, Darragh,” she mumbled. “When is it going to be my turn?”

  My brows pinched together. “Your turn for what? Tell me what happened.”

  Otelia leaned sideways against the arm of the chair and tucked her legs beneath the warmth of her ass. I caught the glass of whisky slipping from her hand just before it hit the ground. Once her eyelids fluttered closed, I knew I wouldn’t get anything else from her tonight. I traced a finger down the curve of her soft cheek resting atop of her hand. One touch seized the air inside my lungs and sparked a tremor that started from my elbow and ended behind my knees. Such a delicate creature, strong-willed and smart, yet some asshole had felt the need to scare the shit out of her tonight. She thought Marcus Mecken was the better choice when it came to protecting her, having her back. It was time she learned what happens to pussies when they tried to cross a MacCabe.

  CHAPTER 24

  Otelia

  I WOKE WITH a terrible sense of Groundhog Day.

  The strange bed, the humongous room, fully clothed, beneath a warm duvet. My hair was a complete rat’s nest, my eyes were crusted over, and I sported a mean case of morning breath that honestly made me feel a little queasy. I might’ve been afraid if it weren’t for the raised voices I heard coming from the other room. I recognized them immediately as belonging to Mac and the big man I’d met the other night, Ferdi. I threw back the covers, ready to get up and face the day, when a two-ton weight fell from the sky and slammed right into chest.

  Everything flashed back to me in a rush, the reason for my being here, the dead fish hanging from my front door, the blood, the fear. I’d returned to this place of horrors to get on Mac’s ass about the mob-type message left for me as some type of warning. Instead of justifiable anger, I’d felt a strong sense of relief when he met me in the lobby, that if this was his fault, he would somehow make it right. It was foolish and naïve, but who else could I turn to? I was on my own in most things, personal safety being one of them, but it would’ve been nice to have another person in my corner.

  “I don’t give a fuck, Ferdi. We track his ass down. Tonight.” Mac’s harsh voice was like an anvil inside my head. He really should consider soundproofing this room if he didn’t want me to eavesdrop.

  “If we show up to that location, it could start a war, one we can’t win. He has the force of the organization behind him, the manpower, and the guns. We don’t stand a chance unless…”

  “Unless what?” Mac growled.

  “We call in your father for reinforcements.”

  A loud crash echoed through the room, the sound of something heavy being pushed around and eventually knocked over. I silently tiptoed over to the door still wearing my pajamas and pressed an ear to the frame. Strange. It was relatively quiet considering all the hubbub a second ago. I wasn’t sure if this was a good time for me to stick my head out and yell, “Good morning. What’s for breakfast?” Fuck it, I decided to take a chance.

  Holy cannoli!

  “Mac. STOP!” I yelled, panicked.

  The air stalled in my lungs with an audible gasp. I was so not expecting the sight before me. Mac’s mahogany desk was turned over on its side, papers strewn all over the place, a total wreck. I figured out pretty damn quickly why there wasn’t any more shouting going on. A teeth-bared, chests-puffed, snarling, foaming-at-the-mouth standoff was happening a few feet away. Mac had a gun trained on Ferdi’s head. He, in turn, had his gun pointed at the center of Mac’s chest. I hesitated, unsure if I should enter this lion’s den without a whip and a chair in hopes of separating these two beasts. Perhaps they’d appeal to my damsel in distress act.

  “Please, Darragh. You’re scaring me. Put the gun away,” I beseeched.

  “Good to see you again, Odie. Wish it were under better circumstances,” Ferdi greeted without turning to face me. “Darragh and I were just discussing the merits of working smarter and not harder. What say you on the subject, sweetheart?”

  Mac’s finger adjusted on the trigger. “Call her sweetheart again, fucknuts, and I guarantee you, working smarter will be the least of your worries.”

  Jesus. Testosterone overload.

  “Um…playing dumb never bothered me none, Ferdi,” I tittered. “How about you put the gun down so we can talk this over, the three of us? If by chance we can’t figure it out, we could Google it or some shit.”

  Neither one made a move to relinquish their power position, both prepared to dig in for the long haul. I turned on the waterworks, complete with sniffles and hard sobs. That got their attention long enough for them to spear me a glance and take a deep breath. A few more grunts, hard stares, and a promise to “finish this shit later down the road”, they disbursed. Once the guns were finally sheathed, I attacked.

  “You two motherfuckers”—I pointed between the both of them—“need to take a chill pill. The next time you want to play cowboys and Indians, make sure I’m not around to see it. I got enough to worry about without the two of you trying to kill each other.”

  I took a seat on the leather sofa, folded my arms under my breasts, and scowled at the two morons who I assumed were friends as well as business partners. Imagine what could’ve happened if I hadn’t interrupted their little show of my dick is bigger than yours?

  Mac glared daggers at Ferdi. “We don’t involve my father, and we are going to those fights tonight. So, strap up, check the weight of your cock, and meet me back here at eight.”

  “It’s not my cock you should be worried about, brother,” Ferdi rallied.

  Enough was enough.

  “Alright, fellas.” I stood and approached the angry mobster. He seemed to be the safest bet. “Would you mind giving us some time to talk, Ferdi? I really would appreciate it.”

  Pays to be nice to others, that’s my moto.

  “He’s all yours,” he grunted, shouldering past us. “I’ll be back before eight, prick.”

  I waited until we were alone before poking the beast. Mac looked a little rabid with his disheveled dark hair and rumpled clothing, still sexy as all hell but a bit unhinged. I stood quietly and observed this dubious individual who was once my captor. The gun incident had obviously disturbed his usually put-together demeanor. I wondered if he really would’ve pulled the trigger, or was it all for show? One look, and I realized that the answer to that question was a resounding yes. Mac didn’t operate on pretense. If he pulled it, he was damn sure ready to use it.

  It took him a while to settled down enough to right his desk and pour himself a drink. I had no idea what time it was, but I guessed it was twelve o’clock somewhere. He took a heaping sip, and I waited until some of the tension left his shoulders and his breathing evened out.

  “Care to tell me what that was all about? If you wanted to flash me your big pistol, there are better ways to go about doing that.”

  He didn’t get the joke.

  “Ferdi forgets who the boss is sometimes. I was just giving him a little reminder,” he replied.

  “Okay, tough gu
y. Want to explain how I ended up in that room, in that bed…. again?”

  “No.” Okkaay.

  For as much as I wanted to dwell on his non-answer answers, there was something else that took priority over his supposed ill feelings. Last night, my home, my sanctuary, my safe place, was violated. I had a strong suspicion it had something to do with Mac and his mob cronies. Who else would tack a dead fish to my door and cover it with blood? I didn’t have enemies. Shit was brewing in his world, and somehow, I had gotten caught up in the mix.

  “Do you know what happened at my house last night, Darragh?”

  His shoulders tensed, the muscles around his collarbone bunched together as the grip on the glass he was holding tightened. I wouldn’t allow him to evade this time, not when my life was in jeopardy, or so it would seem. My patience was wearing thin waiting for him to kick his shit into gear and start talking. I stood to leave, determined to find my answers elsewhere.

  “A man named Kellan O’Brien is trying to take over my business,” he replied.

  Leave it up to him to mention the only thing he gave a flying fuck about, his goddamn fight club. Kidnapping? Well, that’s ok, I’ll call you my invited guest cause I’m a money hungry bastard. Blackmail? If he dies, let em’. He knew the risk. Murder? Friend or foe, my enterprise is my top priority. I continued to move towards the door. He wasn’t being forthcoming, and I was sick of his bullshit.

  “I’m out of here, Mac. Good luck with all that.”

  The crash of glass stopped me from reaching for the handle.

  “Ferdi found one of those home surveillance cameras a few feet down the road from your place. Pulled the footage and ran the plate on a car that drove away right around the time of the incident. It was registered to a holding company that’s a legitimate front for a shipping conglomerate out of Boston.” He ran a hand down his face, contemplating if he wanted to continue or not. I decided for him.