48 Mac (A Junkyard Boys Novel)

by SH Richardson

  All hell broke loose.

  Ferdi had to jump in front of Mac and hold him back from rushing his father. He was pissed because he’d allowed my kidnapping and subsequent beating without doing shit about it. Oran and Spoon were trading verbal jabs at each other, throwing shade left and right. All while Connor and I shared a quiet understanding without saying a word. I felt such overwhelming sadness at that moment once I realized that once again, love had cost someone else too high a price to be paid.

  “O’Brien knew,” I guessed, shaken. “He knew what she was up to all along and thought he could change her mind. He was willing to die for the woman he loved.”

  The fighting and name calling stopped abruptly.

  “He warned the council ahead of time. He felt his life was in danger from his wife, but he didn’t want anything to happen to her in the interim. He made us promise that if or when he was taken out, that we wouldn’t act until we had a complete confession. We had to respect his wishes. The guards were instructed not to make a move until the final vote was cast.”

  My heart broke for Kellan all over again.

  Still, it was a dick move on Connor’s part.

  “You could’ve been wrong, you know,” I told him.

  “How so?”

  “You gambled that Mac would pledge his life for me. What if he hadn’t? Then what would you have done?”

  “Then he wouldn’t have been the man I raised him to be.” He crossed his leg over his knee, looking way to cool for someone his age. “Besides, he’s a MacCabe. We do what we must for the people we love. Just ask his grandfather on his mother’s side.”

  I smiled, recalling the story of how Mac’s parents got together.

  It was finally over.

  “I’m still not satisfied,” Oran grumbled. “We let her go, and the entire outfit is in jeopardy. It’s too much of a risk.” He turned his dark gaze towards me. “I’ll be watching you, Otelia. One false move, and I swear to Christ…”

  Geez, this guy really needed to get laid. The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. Mac slid into position in front of me and extended his hand.

  I took it.

  “It’s me you should be looking out for, brother,” he warned Oran. “Otelia is my business, and I’ll burn down any man who dare tries to come between me and mine. She’s bled for this family. Look at her fucking face! That alone makes her one of us. Decide, brother.”

  He was fury. He was strength. He was death’s promise.

  “Aye!” shouted Connor.

  “Aye!” came from Spoon.

  “Aye!” Ferdi added.

  Then finally, after a short deliberation, “Aye” spilled from Oran’s lips, and I sighed with relief, turning to Mac. There was only one thing left to say.

  “You owe me a shit ton of ice cream, bucko, and it better not be sherbet.”

  EPILOGUE

  THE WAREHOUSE WAS operating at capacity.

  Theme night. First Saturday of every month, and one of our biggest money makers since putting it into effect. Wall to wall bodies dressed in the most outlandish seventies outfits I’d ever seen in my life. The Saturday Night Fever soundtrack was blasting through the speakers while patrons lost their damn minds dancing The Hustle between bouts. Afro wigs, platform shoes, bellbottom pants, it was Studio 57 incarnate. Even the damn fighters and referees were sporting that shit. Big tree-trunk-ass fuckers getting knocked on their balls in those tight-ass clothes was the funniest shit to ever hit YouTube. It also brought in a shit ton of cash, which was what I enjoyed the most.

  “Yo… I’m never leaving this motherfucker, Darragh. This shit right here is fucking fire.

  I knew I should’ve asked Pops to let me run the fights. I could’ve been my own boss just like you. And the women? Oh Lord, the women…I’m never leavin’, that’s all I’m sayin.’”

  My brother saddled up next to me with a shit-eating grin on his face. He looked so stupid wearing a brown polyester suit, blond wig, and fake gold chains hanging around his neck. I wanted to reach out and knock that shit off the top of his head.

  I held back.

  It had been three months since we’d returned from Boston and Spoon decided it was high time he came to Remington for a visit. He had his own job in the family business, given to him by my father and brother, one he half-assed most of the time. Growing up, Spoon never could concentrate on any one thing for any length of time. He was easily bored; nothing he tried ever held his attention for more than two seconds. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t slightly deranged and had been known to fly off the handle in a fit of rage. Spoon’s easy-going nature and man-whorish ways were a façade, one that had caused more than a few ignorant fools to meet their maker. My father had hope he’d grow out of it. “He just needs to find the right woman,” he liked to say. I called bullshit, but what did I know? He used to say the same thing about me.

  “Glad you approve, Spoon,” I deadpanned. “Oh, and you will be leaving, alright. As soon as this mini vacation of yours is over, back to Boston you go.”

  “Nuh-uh, fuck that, bro. I’m staying. I got bitches to the left of me, bitches to the right, and smack dab in the middle… guess what?” He tapped my shoulder as if I didn’t already know the answer to his stupid-ass question. “Mo bitches. Smashville, here I come.”

  I gave him the side-eye. “Oran might beg to differ.”

  That knocked him down a peg.

  “Don’t be such a killjoy, man…and where’s your fucking costume? You look like someone just took a run at your woman, who I must say is looking gud! Loosen up and have a little fun.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

  “No, what you need to do is take that stick out of your ass and get your boogie on.”

  He gyrated his hips against my leg right before I playfully shoved him back. One would think he was the youngest with his carefree antics. It wasn’t long before he spotted something new and shiny to play with that thankfully captured his attention, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I loved my brother to the moon and back, but it was times like this where he tried my patience. A good woman couldn’t come along soon enough.

  I stood on the mezzanine overlooking the sea of bodies with a brand-new set of eyes. I felt humbled at what I saw given the trials it took to get here. The expansion out west was now complete and thriving beyond all our expectations. Most of that had everything to do with the new partner I took on, a real tough businessperson who was smart as a whip. We worked great together, trading ideas that were both innovative and well thought out. I needed that fresh perspective in case another Kellan O’Brien tried to crawl out of the woodwork. After the shitstorm that went down with Bella and the council, I couldn’t ignore my personal contribution to the fray and make some adjustments as a result.

  My father and I hit a rough patch after his duplicity that had nearly cost Otelia her life. The images of what could’ve happened to my headstrong woman, they haunted me, haunted my dreams, and my nightmares. He’d presented it in a way that made total sense for someone not accustomed to the rules of the syndicate. Accusing one of the bosses of wrongdoing without proof could’ve cost the family its standing, and with that in mind, he’d made a choice. One he would gladly make again under the same conditions. I still had a hard time reconciling that with having to watch Otelia battered and bruised, so we agreed to disagree on the subject. I was made to pay a substantial penalty to the outfit’s operating fund for my transgression with Bella. Her pussy wasn’t worth it, in my opinion, but we do what we must in order to keep the peace. Oran took over as head of the family while my parents set off on a cruise around the world.

  Oran’s recent ascension hadn’t quelled his surly disposition. He was still behaving like a dick, but as long as he kept his ass in Boston, I was willing to overlook it. He stuck to his lane, and I stuck to mine. It was safer that way, for the both of us. Ferdi stayed behind to help him with the transition, which had left my hands full trying to juggle the business and a stubb
orn-ass woman with a petty side who’d refused to give me the time of day. Apparently, fucking “psycho bitches” was a crime punishable by the cold shoulder and silent treatment. I admit, I’d deserved her ire. My dick was partially to blame for Bella’s plan to dead her husband. So, I’d indulged her little tantrum for a short time.

  She’d pushed, I’d pulled.

  She’d run, I’d chased.

  She’d fought, I’d fought harder.

  Otelia used my despicable fuckup with Bella to get exactly what she wanted, starting with the banning of Marci Laine from ever attending one of my fights. I personally delivered that message and wasn’t the least bit sorry to see her move the fuck on if that’s what it took to make my woman happy. But her trivialities didn’t stop there. She insisted that the penthouse rental had to go, some bullshit about it perpetuating the bachelor gangsta lifestyle that gave women the wrong idea. I’d already planned on moving out but spitefully kept that from her. I let her think she had me by the balls and purchased a ten-thousand-square-foot house in the hills. Otelia thought it was a monstrosity and exuded small dick energy, so I sold it and bought an even bigger one. That ended her little conniption fit and checked off another one of her reasons not to fuck with Darragh boxes on her made-up list.

  Her final request? A large donation to the local hospice on behalf of Marcus Mecken for the horrible way I’d treated him. Her words. That little demand was the hardest to conciliate in comparison to the others. It wasn’t about the money or the cause; it was the presumption that I was somehow unjust in the steps I necessitated to further my business. I could never regret the turn of events that brought us together. I told her as much when I denied her that one indulgence. I made the donation anonymously, and in return, she retaliated by freezing me out.

  Such a brave little kitty cat.

  Ultimately, I had enough of her bullshit and locked her in my penthouse for forty-eight hours, just like old times. I won her absolution with hard cock pounding inside her sweet pussy till all she could think about was more, more, more. The following morning, I had her shit packed up and moved into the monstrosity before she made it out of bed.

  Who said compromise was bad?

  I watched Otelia as she made her way towards me and couldn’t keep the smile from crossing my lips. She looked beautiful dressed as Cleopatra Jones in a tiny minidress, rocking knee-high platform boots, with large dangling earrings. Her hips swaying as she climbed the steps to the top, seductively licking her lips, my dick surged against my zipper in appreciation. I made a show of adjusting my hard-on. Her doe eyes peered up at me as she sustained her unhurried stride.

  “How’s it hanging, partner?” she crooned, head tilted to the side.

  “You tell me, boss woman. We making any money tonight?”

  “Damn straight we are, thanks to me.”

  She threw her arms around my neck and gave me a slopping wet kiss. I tugged her closer, needing to feel her soft tits pressed against my chest. I’d waited all night to have her all to myself, and I took advantage of our little moment together.

  “And humble to boot.” I kissed the side of her neck, causing her to squeal.

  “How about we get out of here? We’ve done enough work for the night,” she coaxed.

  “I would need a damn good reason to leave my place of business, Otelia.”

  “Would you now?”

  “Uh-huh.” I smirked.

  She turned around and lifted her dress just high enough to tease, giving her ass a little shake.

  “I can think of forty-eight sparkling reasons, Mr. MacCabe. Take your pick.”

  Too much and not enough.

  “Splendid,” I groaned.

  In a snap, I threw her over my shoulder, awarding her backside with a hard smack.

  “Fucking splendid.”

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