Tiernan: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Dangerous Doms)

by Jane Henry

  Tiernan

  A Dark Irish Mafia Romance

  Jane Henry

  Copyright 2020 by Jane Henry

  Cover photography by Wander Aguiar

  Cover design by Popkitty Designs

  SYNOPSIS

  When I knew Aisling, she was my sister’s best friend.

  Young.

  Innocent.

  Wild.

  But that was then.

  Now I’m hardened and ruthless.

  A bare-knuckle boxer. An enforcer for the Clan.

  And that carefree girl is a slave to her addictions with demons in her eyes.

  And I want her.

  When she witnesses a murder—a murder I committed—

  I have no choice but to take her.

  I’ll keep her silent.

  I’ll keep her hostage.

  I’ll see her freed from her addictions.

  And then I’ll keep her bound to me… forever.

  Chapter 1

  Tiernan

  The slightest sliver of sunlight peaks over the bluish green waves of the Irish Sea. I shiver and quicken my pace along the beach for my warm-up. It will only take another minute before my whole body’s warmed through, but the faster pace will help.

  It’s quiet in the morning, the only sound the soft lapping of waves on the shore and the padding of my trainers on the damp sand. It’s my favorite time of day.

  My breath comes in short, ragged gasps as I speed up my run. The end of the beach is in sight, but it’s not where my run ends. I jog up the rocky steps that lead to the streets of Ballyhock, and run along the path that takes me home, the McCarthy family mansion that overlooks the Irish Sea.

  My routine’s like clockwork. My alarm goes off before the sun rises. I toss on my workout clothes, hit the beach for my morning run, and when I’m good and warmed up I jog back home to the workout room. I lift for an hour, shower, then join the brotherhood for breakfast most days.

  I’m the enforcer for the McCarthy family Clan, and I don’t take my job lightly. I need to be in peak physical shape. As one of the youngest inducted men in the brotherhood, they depend on me. They took me in when I was only a lad, and I won’t ever let them down.

  I jog along the streets of Ballyhock centre, the long way home to ensure I get a long enough run in, when someone steps straight in front of me. I come to a screeching halt, and my temper flares. What kind of a prick stands in front of a man on a run?

  He wears a hood to cover his face, his hands shoved into his pockets. I’m on immediate alert.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I mutter. My instincts are on alert. I don’t carry weapons on a run, but I often don’t need them now. I’ve been trained well enough to know how to use my body as a weapon.

  He lifts his head and meets my eyes, tossing his hood aside.

  “Getting your attention,” Danny Cook says, and I stifle a groan. Danny grins at me, his unabashed smile revealing missing teeth. He’s got the classic face of a man nearly raised in the ring—a nose that’s been broken and reset too many times to count, silvery scars along both cheekbones that even his five o’clock shadow doesn’t hide, and a twitchy stance as if he’s constantly readied on the balls of his feet, ready to throw a punch.

  There was a time when I brawled for extra money, though I know now it was more to prove my worth to the men of the Clan. I was so good in the ring, trained well at St. Albert’s, the Clan’s finishing school, in the art of ealaíona comhraic. My brothers of the Clan helped train me in the Irish martial arts as well. But my specialty lies in dornálaíocht, boxing.

  “Why do you need my attention?” I scowl at him. Though I left the ring on friendly enough terms, it was only because Keenan, clan chief and father figure to us all, insisted.

  “You’re the best fighter we’ve had in decades,” Keenan said at the time, “but that’s exactly what concerns me. You’re in the public ring like that, and fights get messy. An enemy could take advantage easily.”

  I knew he was right. I made myself too easy a target. And though every citizen of Ballyhock knows exactly who we are and what we do, they turn a blind eye toward the darker side of things, for we do our best to be upstanding citizens for all intents and purposes. It isn’t the Ballyhock citizens we’re wary of, though, but our enemies. As the most prominent mob in all of Ireland, we’ve many enemies.

  So I left the ring. I threw myself into every job Keenan gave me. Informant in Boston, international tasks, Clan enforcer. Cormac, second in line to the throne, inducted me to take on his role when he became co-leaders with Keenan. The Clan had grown, Keenan said, in such numbers with both extended family and newly inducted members, the job of clan Chief could no longer be relegated to just one.

  It wasn’t just that, though. I’d earned a reputation as the most agile fighter in the lot, skills necessary to enforce for the Clan.

  “We need you, Tiernan.”

  “No.”

  I sidestep and begin jogging again, but the fucker keeps stride beside me.

  “There’s thirty k on the table, Hurston, win or lose.”

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  As a clan member, I’m financially set for life, but old habits die hard. I was raised in abject poverty until the McCarthy Clan took me and my siblings in when I was a sixteen-year-old lad. Sixteen years having to fight for your food and a roof over your head either makes or breaks you, and you don’t forget what it’s like. I well remember my belly gnawing with hunger, the cold draft of wind that seemed to pierce straight through the thin walls of my childhood home, the ratty clothes I wore that other kids poked fun at.

  There was never anything extra, and even the basic necessities were hard won. So though I’m appreciative of the money I’ve earned as a Clan member, one could say I like to… supplement my income.

  I don’t hide it from Keenan. The man’s like a father to me, and his disapproval would hurt worse than any fucking beating I could take. It’s partly why he sends me on trips and jobs, and it was with great reluctance he took me out of the ring.

  “Lot of feckin’ money,” I mutter, quickening my pace so I wind Danny.

  He wheezes beside me but doesn’t slacken his pace. Motherfucker.

  “Tis,” he agrees. “And the winner gets his pick of the ladies as well.”

  I look at him sharply. “Come again?”

  He grins his toothy grin and nods, an odd look while he’s running his arse off beside me.

  “Half a dozen of Miss Vivian’s finest have donated their services, win or lose.”

  I shake my head.

  “I’m supposed to be enticed by that?”

  I don’t admit I fucking am. The women are gorgeous, and it’s been a long damn time since I’ve had a woman. I haven’t had anyone on the regular since I came back from Boston several years back. The idea of earning thirty thousand euros and a woman for a night with no strings attached fucking appeals.

  I run harder, trying to lose him, but he doesn’t lag. We run past Holy Family Church and the cemetery. Father Finn’s got his watering can out on the front lawn. He’s walking more slowly these days, stooped with both age and the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he manages a smile and wave to me.

  We run past the Armory and Cold Stone Castle, and still, Danny’s yapping on about why this one little fight is worth my time.

  Christ, how I miss being in the ring. I miss the excitement, the adrenaline rush, the sense of victory when I win a fight. I train hard at the gym and I train well, so I still get the burn of lifting and the high of a run, but it’s like a stage performer belting her heart out in the shower. She’s the
only one who hears.

  He must sense weakness, for he comes in for the kill.

  “Keenan will let you,” he says, “And now that Cormac’s co-chief, you could easily persuade him as well.”

  How’d he fucking know it was Keenan that ended my fighting. Furthermore, how does he know Cormac is co-chief?

  I give him a side-eye, but he only gives me his toothy grin.

  “Aw, come off it, Hurston,” he says. “Every damn citizen of Ballyhock knows the workings of the Clan.”

  The hell they do. I’d bet my left bollox they don’t know a fucking fraction.

  I circle back to the mansion. It looms ahead of us, large and dominating on the horizon. Radiant streams of sun hit the windows, making them gleam like beacons in the early morning quiet.

  “Talk to Keenan,” Danny says with a parting salute. “You’ve got my number.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Good day to you, too,” he says with a cackle, and he’s off, gripping his side and wheezing. I can’t help but smile. Good. Hope he collapses, the motherfucker.

  I slow when I approach the gates to the McCarthy home.

  I’ve only lived here for two years, but moving in here has changed everything.

  The McCarthy home, a large, sprawling mansion, overlooks the Irish Sea and all of Ballyhock. It’s surrounded by a greenhouse, a wooden swing set and fort for the younger children at the back, and a beautiful garden tended by Maeve, the McCarthy family matriarch.

  The huge estate boasts over twenty bedrooms thanks to new renovations, five reception rooms, one massive kitchen, a finished basement with our workout rooms, a library, and private interrogation rooms.

  I go in the side entrance to the workout room in the basement, half expecting to see Keenan lifting. He’s an early morning riser like myself, but today the bench is vacant.

  I drink my water, then begin lifting, but my mind is elsewhere.

  I want back in the goddamn ring.

  I want to earn that money.

  I want a pretty girl to spend the night with.

  It seems nearly every one of my Clan brothers has found someone, all but Tully the loner, and Boner, but Tully’s more like the team mascot as well as a brother of the Clan. Tall and gangly, he’s a man whore with the best of them, spending most of his evenings he isn’t working at The Craic, our local sex club.

  Keenan’s married with children, as is Cormac. Nolan’s married to my sister Sheena, and Clan brother Lachlan to my sister Fiona. Tully’s seen a few women here and there, and though he hasn’t settled, it certainly isn’t for lack of opportunity.

  I chalk it up to watching Fiona and Sheena begin to raise families, as if doing so can heal them from their broken upbringing. And a part of me longs for that. Though I’m grateful I’ve been welcomed into this home, I want a family of my own. One that I’m in charge of, that I watch over, a family to provide for and protect.

  I lie flat on my back and press weights, pushing myself to the max while my muscles strain, and sweat pours off my body. It feels fucking good to face this challenge, to welcome the pain in my muscles. I was a right gangly teen, but one could say I’ve come into my own.

  I drop the weights and breathe between sets, when the door to the workout room opens and Keenan enters.

  “Mornin’, Tiernan,” he says, shutting the door behind him.

  I nod. “Keenan.”

  At nearly forty years old, Keenan has the face of a much older man, the strain of his role reflected in the gray at his temples and beard. But still, he keeps himself in tip-top shape. While other mob leaders let their money and prestige sometimes get to them, Keenan fancies himself just one of us.

  I grab the bar and continue to lift.

  “You hear from Lachlan lately?” Keenan asks, heading to a treadmill.

  I shake my head. “Not in a day or so. Everything alright?” My voice is strained with the effort of talking while I lift.

  “Oh, aye,” he says. “But he had a follow-up with Calum in Boston, and I figured if he found anything out you’d be the first to know.”

  I shake my head. It’s been three years since Lachlan and I were together in Boston, but it already feels like a fucking lifetime ago.

  A shadow crosses Keenan’s features, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “You sure everything’s okay?”

  He nods, picking up his pace on the treadmill.

  “Aye. I did find something interesting out, though.”

  “Did you?”

  He nods. “You remember Fiona’s friend Aisling?”

  “Aye. How could I forget the little brat?”

  Billows of blonde curls, a ready laugh, and bewitching eyes capable of conjuring up trouble in her sleep. I remember my sister’s best mate well.

  The memory comes quickly, unbidden. It’s a warm day in Ballyhock and I’m only seventeen years old.

  “Tiernan! You can’t catch me!”

  She squeals with laughter and Fiona’s on her heels, both of them laughing their damn heads off like stealing my t-shirt’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen. They’re barely out of primary school, but fancy themselves all grown up now, what with boys and cars and mobile phones. But they’re still silly little girls, and they get under my fucking skin.

  “You give that back.” I follow them, not chasing them like they’ll have me do, but stalking after them. They’re quick, but they don’t know the cliffs of Ballyhock like I do.

  I’m home for the weekend, since I normally board at St. Albert’s. Keenan wanted to see me, and to check on my progress at school. So Nolan picked me up last night. I woke up early this morning and trained hard. I want to be a man of the Clan like the men I admire, and they push their bodies to peak physical shape routinely.

  I woke up at the crack of dawn, went running with Nolan, lifted with Lachlan, then ate breakfast with them. After an intense meeting going over international travel and guns trade, I came out to the Cliffs for a walk. But the sun beat down mercilessly, a rare warm day in Ballyhock. I stripped off my shirt and put it under my head as a pillow, and drifted off to sleep.

  I woke to the sounds of giggles.

  Motherfucker.

  I don’t like being woken from a nap, and I don’t like being taunted by Fiona’s bratty friend.

  “Give that back!” I yell.

  “Or what?” she taunts. She looks to Fiona, and covers her hand with her mouth to hide a giggle. “He looks like the giant from Jack’s beanstalk, doesn’t he? All growly and angry and furious. Pounding his chest, because he wants the golden goose.”

  “I’ll give you a fucking golden goose,” I grate out, which only makes them giggle louder. She holds my shirt over the edge of the cliff.

  “Come and get it then.”

  “What are you, twelve?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

  That gets her attention.

  “Fourteen, you twat,” she says, her eyes flashing at me. She balls up my t-shirt, and Fiona gasps.

  “Ais, don’t!”

  Too late. She’s whipped the t-shirt far out into the Irish sea. We watch as if in slow motion as it flutters to the water like a flag, quickly saturates, then sinks below the blue-green waves.

  She looks to me, wide-eyed, the anger quickly gone. “I’m… sorry?” she says, before she turns and they both take off at a run.

  I give them chase. I want to throttle the little brat for losing my t-shirt. Nolan got me that on his last trip to Spain. No one ever gets anything for me. It actually meant something to me. I’m bigger and faster than they are. They squeal, and finally Aisling trips and goes sprawling. Fiona screams, as I catch them.

  I grab Aisling right up off the ground. Her palms are scraped and bleeding, and my desire to shake the living daylights out of her quickly vanishes. Her eyes are damp with tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t really mean to. Sometimes I do things when people make me angry that I regret after.”

  She’s soft and supple in my grasp, a
nd she smells like a field of daisies. I shouldn’t touch her. I shouldn’t be this close to her. I didn’t know she was this pretty.

  I let her go, and grunt. “Sometimes I do things I regret when I’m angry, too.” This isn’t like me. I don’t forgive so easily. But I need to get away from her. She’s just a girl and I’m on the cusp of adulthood. “Head back to the mansion and Fiona will take you to get those scrapes looked after.”

  I practically shove her at Fiona. Aisling looks at me in wide-eyed wonder. “I’m sorry, Tiernan.”

  I wave her away.

  “Go.”

  I watch her and wonder what just happened.

  I blink, coming back to the present.

  Keenan runs harder, his breathing heavier. “Found out something interesting about her last night.”

  “Did you?” Now that’s piqued my curiosity.

  I continue lifting, but my focus is on him.

  He nods. “Seems she’s… fallen into some trouble.”

  A prickle of awareness travels down my spine. She might’ve been a brat, but she was my sister’s best mate.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  He shakes his head. “Mother’s gone off to America, left her with nearly nothing. She left school, couldn’t afford it. Does she still talk with Fiona?”

  I shake my head. “No. They had a falling out soon after Fiona and Lachlan tied the knot.”

  Keenan scowls but doesn’t respond at first. Finally, he sighs.

  “Expected as much,” he says.

  Is he hiding something?

  “Seems she’s gone off her fucking nut, Tiernan. I took an interest in hearing her story. She was around here a lot when Fiona was younger, you know?”

  I nod. Though we lived offsite back then, we spent a lot of time here.

  “So her mum and dad divorced, and her mum married a man in America. Dad shot himself last year, and she’s been scraping to make ends meet. She’s, eh… gotten loose.”

  Bloody hell.