48 Mac (A Junkyard Boys Novel)

by SH Richardson

  I wanted to believe that Mac was out there, somewhere, searching frantically for me. That he’d used all his resources to scour the world on threat of bodily harm if they came up empty. I could forgive him for killing a few people, namely Bella O’Brien, if it meant my freedom. As time passed, I allowed for musings of our unlikely association, the regret of things left unsaid, the sting of his harsh betrayal, and the realization that I fell hard and fast, that if given half a chance, I’d do it all again. I took solace in those quiet moments that the promise of love was realized, and if I were destined to die, Gates would know that his wish for me had come true. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Alone, I cried myself into a fitful rest.

  Sometime later, the burgeoning sound of a click, click, click as someone placed a key in the lock startled me from my slumber. Someone was coming back to kill me. I prepared myself for the inevitable gunshot to the head. Who could it be? Bella O’Brien or that asshole who broke into my house? The answer came by way of grumbled curse words, a heavy hand that grabbed the back of my neck in a steel grip, and the putrid smell of stinky aftershave as I was hoisted in the air while still strapped down. I had no idea where I was being taken, but after a few minutes, I realized we weren’t alone. I couldn’t see a damn thing in this blacked-out hood, but my ears worked just fine.

  The hulking piece of shit was asked to wait before we were allowed to go any further. I heard a ding right before we were on the move again, this time inside an elevator. Instincts told me we were headed down—the dip of my stomach, the lightheadedness, the feeling of being weightless. The bag over my head wasn’t helping with the motion sickness. I swallowed back the bile in the back of my throat before the need to projectile vomit.

  More talking.

  Please help me.

  More moving.

  I want to go home.

  Finally, I was lowered to the ground, immobilized. If only I knew karate, I’d bust out of these bindings, backflip off the chair into the Wu Tang stance, and fight my way out of here using the praying mantis style of kung fu. I’d show them not to mess with an angry waitress. Voices echoed around me as if we were in some sort of auditorium. Hell, we could’ve been inside the Apollo Theatre for all I knew. I felt the presence of people all around me. Their eyes bore holes through the dark fabric of the hood. I whimpered around the gag soaked through with saliva, a silent plea for someone, anyone, to take pity on me.

  “Will the accuser step forward and state your case.”

  Hello…who said that?

  Are we in a courtroom?

  Who the hell is on trial?

  A throat cleared to the left of me. “Name’s Hogan, and I was with Kellan the night he was killed. We’d just come back from a meeting. I stood lookout while he exited the car. Next thing I know, I heard a pop, pop, pop and O’Brien went down. I chased the motherfucker, but they got away. Looked around and spotted a wallet they must’ve dropped, tracked them down and bought ’im here.”

  This was about Kellan O’Brien’s murder.

  But…what did that have to do with me?

  “We will now hear from the accused.”

  What fucking accused?

  I was freed from the hood with a vicious yank that took some of my hair with it. Before my eyes could adjust to the brightness of the room, an inhuman roar reverberated across the stage and shook the rafters.

  I’d recognize that manly bellow anywhere.

  Mac was here, and he was fighting his way towards me against the outstretched hands of twenty or so armed men. They were trying in vain to corral the angry bull-like stud, but their attempts were useless. He flung them aside as if they weighed less than crumpled tissue paper. Three men lay on the ground spitting out teeth, blood spurting from their noses, stuck between incoherence and consciousness. And he just kept coming.

  Take that, motherfuckers.

  He’d almost made it to where I was sitting when he was swarmed by a group of men who held him down, knees to his back and neck, while he struggled to break free. I called to him through the gag. He met my stare. Tears brimmed behind my eyelids. He was so beautiful in that moment. Hearing his battle cry even though his own life was at stake was something to behold.

  “I’m going to fucking kill all of you!” he roared, still struggling.

  “ENOUGH!” someone yelled.

  Although I’d only met him once, I identified the voice as coming from Darragh’s father, Connor. It dawned on me then that this was some sort of Irish mob trial and I was the so-called accused! Holy shit. They thought I’d killed O’Brien. That dickhead who broke into my house just accused me of being the mastermind behind a goddamn hit.

  “Jaysus Christ, boyo. Ye have a fucking death wish?” a well-dressed portly man shouted as he stood from his chair.

  I noticed there were five of them up there, high above everything else. The ruling class, if I had to guess. Unfortunately, that also included Bella O’Brien, and from the sour look on her face, she was not at all happy with the turn of events. Mac had so many guns pointed at his head that one wrong move, and he’d end up a splattered stain. Connor seemed to keep his cool as he took in the scene below where he sat. His son was surrounded, yet he hadn’t made a move to call off the dogs. What the fuck, pops?

  “Enough of this!” a third man shouted. “Connor, I hold you personally responsible for your second in command. If he does not relent, I will order the both of you immediately removed from these proceedings and dealt with accordingly. Do I make myself clear?”

  Connor waited a beat before coolly and calmly replying, “Aye.”

  “Stand him the fuck up,” the man ordered.

  Mac was grabbed beneath his arms and pulled to his feet, the barrel of a gun pointed under his chin. He raised his fists, ready to set this motherfucker off yet again when his father leapt from the stage and stood in front of him. He leaned in close and whispered something that only the two of them could hear. Mac stiffened, and I heard a distinct growl coming from the back of his throat before he finally nodded once to his father. The two of them retook their spot on the stage, but his eyes never left mine. Things seemed to settle after that as one of the guards was instructed to remove my gag. I knew enough to keep my mouth shut. None of these people could help me, not even Mac.

  “Ye have been charged with the murder of an Irish boss, lass. What have ye to say about that?’ the stout man from before questioned in earnest.

  My eyes locked in on Mac’s, and my heart soared with relief. The strength in this gaze, the sureness of the stance, the intense desire, everything else faded away until it was just the two of us, alone. Maybe I took one too many shots to the head, but I felt him everywhere—the warmth of his body, his fresh breath as it fanned across my face, his touch as he reached up and delicately tucked a strand of my wayward hair behind my ear. We were communicating without a single spoken word being passed between us, and it meant everything to me.

  “How the fuck did you get here, kitty cat?” he silently asked.

  “Bella had me kidnapped.” I flicked my eyes to said bitch. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I swear I didn’t kill O’Brien. I don’t even own a damn gun, let alone know how to use one. I’m so fucking scared.”

  Mac snarled, showing both rows of perfectly straight teeth. His fists clenched at his side as he fought to restrain himself from launching into another attack.

  “I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you, Otelia. I should’ve been there to protect you, and I wasn’t. I swear on my life that will never happen again.”

  “I believe you.” I sighed.

  “I didn’t fuck her.”

  “Didn’t fuck who?”

  “Bella O’Brien. The other night during the average Joe fights, when you came to my office. I didn’t fuck her. She tried, but I turned her down flat.”

  “Yeah, but you fucked her before. Don’t try and deny it, Mac.” I narrowed my eyes. He had the nerve to look contrite for a split second. “And you lied to me about
meeting up with that troll the other day. When I get out of this mess, you and I are going to discuss MY new particulars, buster. Prepare to feel the pain, Casanova. You have some lessons to learn.”

  “Yours is the only pussy I want in my bed, kitty cat. That sweet ass belongs to me, and I plan on taking it as soon as I’m done killing a few people.” He crossed his arms on his chest.

  My life was in danger, I was beaten to a bloody pulp, and I was expected to plead my innocence in front of this makeshift mob council, yet through it all, I managed a sincere smile. Since this was my dying fantasy, I chose to believe that Mac would’ve wanted me to know that particular truth about him and Bella. She really had no idea the type of man he had become since she’d left him. He caught my untimely smirk and shook his head in disbelief before leveling me with a hard gaze.

  “Be strong, Otelia. I’ll get us out of this. Trust me.”

  “Did ye hear the question, lass? Or do you ye need me to repeat it?” Fat man asked.

  Oh, right.

  The accusation.

  I grudgingly relinquished Hallucination Mac from my thoughts, steeled my shoulders, and looked them all straight in the eyes before declaring, “Not. Fucking. Guilty.”

  CHAPTER 41

  MacCabe

  THE STAB OF fury that started at the base of my balls and traveled upward was so intense, I could barely stand upright without feeling its sting. Seeing Otelia in that chair, under a bright spotlight, frightened out of her mind, hit me on a visceral level. A piece of my soul died in her beautiful blue eyes when that hood was yanked from her head. She wasn’t safe back home in Remington, pissed because she thought she’d caught me fucking Bella. No. She’d been taken against her will, used as a goddamn punching bag, and dragged to Boston to face the Irish council, alone, on some trumped-up murder charges. I should’ve left more than one man behind to cover her back. His presumed death and Otelia’s suffering were both on me.

  My father whispered in my ear to remember my place and what he’d taught me and my brothers about the old ways. The last thing I wanted to hear was his idiotic reprimand, not when I was this close to disarming one of the men and emptying the clip into anyone who stood in my path. If he hadn’t intervened when he did, I would’ve aired this motherfucker out before the first cunt knew what hit him. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he recognized Otelia as the woman from my penthouse. Though battered and bruised, she was still fucking stunning, and he never forgot a face. But this was mob business, and I was a privileged outsider with zero control against a room full of armed soldiers. As boss, he needed to show dominion over his subordinates. I understood that. Didn’t mean I had to like it or accept it for long. In my core, I knew I’d failed her, and in my heart, I realized that in the short time since meeting this brave and sassy woman, she’d never once failed me. I watched as an almost serene smile formed on her parted lips. Strange that she found any of this shit funny; even stranger was my need to kiss her senseless regardless of the danger.

  I wondered what she was thinking about.

  I remained wrathful in my need to get to her, fervency barely controlled, and I could guarantee its persistence long after these fuckers were dead and buried. I stood on the stage like a stone statue, my body keyed up to inflict pain on every single person who had anything to do with Otelia being terror-stricken.

  The so-called accuser?

  That twelve-sandwich- eatin’ motherfucker would be the first on my roster to catch a bullet, right after I discovered who set this whole thing in motion. No way his dumb ass was the mastermind behind the orchestrated killing of O’Brien and subsequent frame-up which somehow found its way before the council. Otelia’s eyes had cut towards Bella’s locale several times when the head of the O’Sullivan clan asked for her plea. Her glare had manifested from fear to downright loathing right before she made her position clear to everyone.

  “Not. Fucking. Guilty.”

  Such a brave little kitty cat.

  “I must say I’m greatly disturbed by the appearance of this young woman, that and the obvious lack of malevolence necessary to pull off something so…blatant,” the head of the Kelly clan spoke up. “I’d like to know what other proof you have that it was this woman who killed O’Brien and not someone else, Hogan. Did you actually witness her pulling the trigger?”

  “What difference does it make? She killed my husband, and I want justice,” Bella demanded.

  “Says you, you psycho bitch,” Otelia snapped back. “I didn’t kill anyone, you slag twat, so go fuck yourself with a busted chainsaw.”

  “The accused will remain quiet and respectful,” my father chastised.

  Otelia wisely closed her mouth, but it didn’t stop her muttering under her breath about a cage and five minutes alone to whoop Bella’s ass. She definitely had something there. I’d been on a killing spree inside my own head since I was forced to retake my position at my father’s side. Hogan was already dead, fingers severed, cock split in half, and just for shits and giggles, I’d use a funnel to pour hot cooking oil inside his asshole. It was the least I could do.

  The longer he stood around with his dick in his hand, the more he made himself out to be a fucking liar. Worse yet, he seemed to be taking his cues from someone else. He followed a well-rehearsed script that had more holes in it than a wheel of swiss cheese.

  “Ah, no. I…um…never saw her pull the trigger, just found the wallet. But…but she’s the one. I’m sure of it,” he stammered.

  “Then that makes me even more disturbed,” Kelly pointed out. “We were called here under the guise of absolute certainty that a killer was caught red-handed, no doubt whatsoever, yet you stand here now with half-truths and speculation? Wasting our fucking time?”

  “This is outrageous!” Bella shouted as she rose from her seat. “I demand retribution for Kellan’s murder. Hogan is a trusted soldier in my husband’s organization, and I stand by his word one hundred percent. If he says she did it, then I believe him. I’d bet my life on it.”

  Fuck this shit.

  I stepped to the left of the high-back chair. A strangled sound left my throat before I could stop it, echoing inside the gallery. I had every intention of putting my hands around Bella’s scrawny neck and squeezing the life out of her until my father’s hand shot out and detained me. He gave a slight shake of his head, a warning to settle the hell down, but I was done taking his orders. I wanted Otelia out of that fucking chair and in my arms, where she belonged. I wanted that fucker’s blood spilled for touching what was mine. This antiquated bullshit was giving me the shits. If I had to operate under these rules, I’d never get anything done.

  “Aye, lass, but are ye willing to bet his life on it?” Niall, from the Murphy clan, spoke up.

  Great fucking question.

  “I…I don’t understand?” Bella faltered.

  “Of course, you don’t,” my father answered. “We have absolute authority to order the disposal of anyone who threatens our way of life, swiftly and without consequences. As interim boss to the O’Brien clan, you have unfettered claim to the power behind the family name. However, in this forum, any man can challenge your assertions, to the death if need be.”

  That sly bastard.

  I finally understood what he was trying to tell me.

  Motherfucker.

  “I pledge my life and blood to the accused,” I addressed the council. “As second in command to the MacCabe family, I assert the right of entitlement.”

  “No, Darragh, please no.” Otelia sobbed softly, her eyes flooded with tears.

  “He can’t do that! He’s not the head of the MacCabe clan. He has no say,” Bella sputtered.

  “On the contrary,” my father replied. “As underboss to the family, he has every right to offer his life in exchange for someone else’s. Hogan has made a claim, and he must stand by that claim in a death match as a sign of respect to the outfit. He cannot refuse.”

  “Aye.”

  “Aye”

  �
��Aye”

  The other three council members agreed in unison.

  “Wait a minute now…” Hogan shook his head in disbelief. “Nobody said nothing about no death match. I was just supposed to bring her here and…”

  “Silence,” Bella demanded. “You will stand by your word, Hogan, for Kellan’s honor.”

  He rubbed a hand down his reddened face. Fucker looked ready to bolt. I was already removing my suit jacket and unbuttoning my shirt, ready to get it on. I wasn’t normally a talk shit kind of guy when it came down to busting heads, but I had time today. My father had set a brilliant trap, and Hogan’s dumb ass walked right into it. I taunted him with every step.

  “You ready to die, motherfucker?”

  Whoosh…shirt gone.

  “Not going to take my time with you, little bitch. Consider yourself lucky my woman comes first and you’re the only thing standing in the way between me and her.”

  Whoosh…shoes gone.

  He crossed himself, as if that would help.

  “Don’t pray, asshole. God was the one who told me to kill your ass.”

  Whoosh…socks gone.

  “Bet you never thought your day would end like this, did you?”

  Whoosh…belt gone.

  I stood chest to chest, or should I say, chest to potbelly, with the hefty prick. Two guards lifted Otelia’s chair and moved her further back out of the way. I gave her my best reassuring smile that promised all sorts of crazy shit once I took care of the asshole sweating bullets. He was still fully clothed, looking around for his momma to save him.

  “Might want to lose the suit, dickhead.” He was taller than me but clearly never skipped a meal.