by Dee, Cara
This Life II
Cara Dee
This Life II
Copyright © 2020 by Cara Dee
All rights reserved
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This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment and may not be reproduced in any way without documented permission of the author, not including brief quotes with links and/or credit to the source. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction and all references to historical events, persons living or dead, and locations are used in a fictional manner. Any other names, characters, incidents, and places are derived from the author’s imagination. The author acknowledges the trademark status and owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction. Characters portrayed in sexual situations are 18 or older.
Edited by Silently Correcting Your Grammar, LLC.
Formatted by Eliza Rae Services.
Contents
Thank you
What are the Irish without music?
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
Epilogue
More from Cara
About Cara
Thank you
Once again, to the amazing fandom where it all started for me. To the readers who told me to publish, to the readers who asked me to listen to Whistler and his princess. I hope you enjoy the second book in the This Life universe!
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A special thank you goes out to my family, to the boss lady, to my personal babysitter, and to Francesca.
What are the Irish without music?
Like with the first book, This Life II has its own playlist on Spotify.
Visit Cara’s Spotify at: open.spotify.com/user/caradeewrites.
You can also find a direct link on her website.
www.caradeewrites.com
1
Finnegan O’Shea
“Eat dick, ya feckless gobshite!” I yelled as I drove past my brother.
With Dropkick Murphys “The Boys Are Back” blaring from the speakers of this gorgeous Ferrari, we broke 120 somewhere in the middle of Montana where the roads stretched longer than my wife’s silence when I’d messed up.
It happened.
How fucked in the head was I if it turned me on when she got mad at me? Not so much the part where I was on her bad side, but seeing that extra spark of fury in her eyes. How she yelled at me. My little hellcat. The silence came afterward; that was when she stewed and stewed and convinced herself to forgive me.
The silence could fucking blow me.
I’d had a good streak, though. She hadn’t been mad at me in almost five days.
Maybe because I hadn’t seen her since then.
Jesus Christ, I missed her. Driving a sports car halfway across the country used to be something that got me going. The adrenaline was still there, humming along with the purr of the engine as I passed Kellan on the interstate, but it wasn’t what it used to be. I’d become one sorry sack of love-sick shite since meeting Emilia.
Patrick, Kellan, Conn, and I drove the last of our high-end beauties straight through North Dakota to a warehouse outside of Minneapolis in under seven hours, which triggered a new bout of anticipation. We were done. We’d relocated all the O’Shea valuables this summer, taking a week here and there to get out of the safe house in Washington state and reconnect as a crew that actually worked. Jewelry, cars, art, and a couple ancient artifacts now had new homes in hidden locations only we were privy to.
Now the fun began.
With the cars behind bolted doors, I threw on my hoodie, lit up a smoke outside the warehouse, and asked for a status report.
“Chicago’s officially empty,” Kellan said. “The last crews arrived in Philly today.”
I nodded. We’d just been waiting for two smaller crews. They’d kept up appearances in Chicago while waiting for my go-ahead. My gaze slid to Patrick.
“No issues coming from Philly,” he said with a shrug. “Business as usual for the old crews.”
With some adjustments, of course. No crew boss traveled without security, and most had sent their wives and children on an extended vacation. But I needed work to continue; I needed shit to look normal. We could no longer bank on being the only ones who had eyes and ears all over Philly, so it was vital that nothing stood out. It was the only way we could catch the Italian rats off guard.
While they were watching us—and they fucking were—we were going to wreak havoc elsewhere, and they wouldn’t notice until it was too late.
For so many years, I’d hated Uncle John with every fiber of my being. He’d taken our syndicate—that my grandfather had spent decades building up—and fucked us all over. Generations of men’s honor and hard work, gone. John fucking Murray was responsible for many good men dying—or ending up in prison—all because he’d wanted to be boss. He’d killed his own father. He’d had my grandfather assassinated. He’d set me up; he’d set so many of us up, and we’d wasted years behind bars.
Yet, the hatred I felt toward him was nothing compared to how I felt about the Italians.
They’d murdered my mother. They’d put my wife in harm’s way.
They’d also kidnapped Uncle John, and fuck that shit. I was the one who was gonna end him—no one else. It was my vendetta.
Taking a drag from my smoke, I contemplated our next immediate move. We were going to Boston, but it was too late to go tonight, and we needed rest.
“We should get something to eat,” I said, glancing around me. “Where’s the truck?”
“On the other side—I’ll get it,” Pat replied and walked off.
I looked to Conn. “Anything new from Washington?”
We’d spent the last half of the summer in a safe house in some small town no one had heard of up the coast north of Seattle, and it was where Emilia and the others were departing from tomorrow afternoon. Pop was with them, so he’d guide Emilia and Sarah through their first experiences using fake identities. They’d drive over to Vancouver, and from there, fly to Toronto. Then drive across the border to Buffalo with another set of IDs before making the six-hour drive to Boston.
Pat and I were avoiding air travel. We didn’t think anyone would notice us or give a shit even if they did—it wasn’t as if we’d done anything wrong—but it wasn’t the attention from the authorities we worried about. We had to stay under the radar because of the Italians.
“Not much,” Conn answered. “Kids’re bored.”
I couldn’t blame them. Granted, our safe house was more of a forest mansion, but it’d taken about a week before my little cousins had been asking to go into town. Another week before Emilia and Luna had tried to bargain with us, stating they’d be “super careful” if they could just duck out for an hour to pick up groceries instead of having everything delivered.
We’d had to say no, despite the fact that we were relatively certain no one even knew we’d been on the West Coast.
There was no room for error in my plan.
We checked in to a shitty motel for the night and met up in the room I shared with Kellan. Patrick had gone out and bought food, and we ate while
we mapped out the next couple days.
“Well, top priority is to get Finn back to Emilia,” my brother said around his burger. “Does she insert the stick up your ass before you go somewhere, or does it happen naturally?”
I ignored him, busy staring at a map of the Boston area. Okay, so perhaps I wasn’t the happiest fucker when I didn’t have my wife with me—fucking sue me. Besides, someone had to take responsibility around here.
“Someone call Liam—make sure he’s ready,” I said, sticking a few fries into my mouth.
Liam was, as I liked to call him, one of Uncle John’s three good deeds. The other two being Alec and Nessa, Liam’s preteen brother and sister, whom Emilia and I had looked after this summer. Liam had gotten out of prison just a month ago, and he was ready to work. The two of us were putting together a brand-new crew for this gig, which would hopefully result in the management this syndicate sorely needed. New boss, new underboss, new structure, new everything.
This operation would be a huge test for us. If we succeeded, the Sons of Munster would rise again under O’Shea leadership, and the days of Murray betrayal could be put behind us.
Liam would also restore his name if this worked. After all, his piece-of-shit father was just one Murray in a long line of better ones.
“How far are we driving tomorrow?” Conn asked.
“I wanna get to Cleveland,” I replied, then squinted. “There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”
Patrick laughed, only to let out a wistful sigh after. “I see glimpses of my little brother sometimes.”
“Oi, if you’re so desperate for a clown twenty-four seven, give Sarah a costume,” I snapped. “Or you could try to be funny for once.”
“That was better,” he told me.
I rolled my eyes and bit into my burger. Motherfucker.
There wasn’t a chance in hell I’d show up at Liam’s property outside of Boston looking like some common mortal. I hadn’t seen Emilia in almost a week, and she needed a visual reminder of why she forgave me for my fuckups.
We rented nicer wheels and made a lucky tailor rich when we went bespoke and wanted the suits within four hours.
Then we had chowder and sandwiches at an oceanside restaurant outside of Providence.
The sun was shining. I was hours away from seeing my wife. The food was good; the beer was good. My mood was improving.
Okay, so now the fun began.
“This is gonna fucking work, mates.” I jammed the rest of my sandwich into my mouth and pulled down my shades from the top of my head. “Youse realize how rich this is gonna make us?”
Kellan smirked and finished his beer. “Baby face is back.”
I stroked my trimmed beard dramatically and swallowed my food. Nothing baby face-ish about this gorgeous mug.
“Have you been thinking about positions?” Patrick asked me. “Afterward, I mean. You better not ship me to Chicago.”
No, and fuck no. I hadn’t really thought about the positions we’d have once this was over—though some shoes were filled already—and as if I could send him to Chicago. I didn’t hate him.
“The only place I’m shipping all of us right now is Boston,” I said, throwing away my sandwich wrapper. “Let’s go. I wanna stop in the city and pick up something for Emilia.”
Conn groaned. “I don’t need another reminder of what a shitty husband I am, Finn.”
I cleared my throat and stood up from the picnic table. “Your wife probably doesn’t require a gift, mate. But maybe you should stop banging Luna.” It irritated me.
Kellan swung his gaze—or glare—to Conn. “You’re sleeping with my sister? I’ll fucking end you!”
I let the two fight.
Conn was one of my best men, and he knew my stance on loyalty. Or lack thereof in his case. If you couldn’t be faithful to the woman you’d married, how could I trust you to be faithful to the syndicate?
He liked to bitch about the fact that his wife was back in Dublin. Move her to the States, I said. Then he got quiet, ’cause he didn’t actually want her here. He wanted an excuse to fuck around.
It was a fucking shame. I’d thought he adored his wife—until I’d caught him and Luna together this summer.
Patrick and I walked back to our cars.
“I was wondering when you were gonna drop that one,” he chuckled.
I side-eyed him and brought out my smokes. “You knew about them?”
“Aye.” He nodded and lit up his own smoke. “It’s none’a my business, though.”
I frowned, disagreeing. Loyalty sure as hell was my business. “I hope you’re not doing Sarah dirty.”
He gave me a cunty look. “I’m not doing anything dirty whatsoever—how’s that?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Poor bloke still wasn’t getting any. Perhaps he should give Sarah our fucking name already. With the mayhem taking place in Philly right after my wedding, there hadn’t been another one. Pop and I were on his case about it; Pat and Sarah could do something small. But they were both on the fence and didn’t wanna discuss it.
When the city of Boston was in the rearview, we hit the highway and blasted some more Dropkick Murphys—or I did, at least—and broke every traffic law there was.
I’d been a good boy all goddamn summer. Speeding in the nothingness of Montana didn’t count. Okay, maybe some other places too.
I could practically feel the distance between Emilia and me closing. The sun was dropping lower for each mile we ticked off, and unless Pop drove like an old lady, they would arrive at Liam’s place in a couple hours. Perfect time for me to get an update before all my focus landed on Emilia.
Liam’s estate—or ranch, was more accurate—was in the middle of nowhere, and it was designed much like my parents’ compound outside of Gettysburg. Floor-to-ceiling windows were replaced by wood beams, and the guesthouse was a nondescript barn. Other than that, the design was the same. Nestled in the woods, after a three-mile drive on a narrow road, were the gates of the property I’d only seen pictures of so far.
Rolling down the window, I flipped off the camera attached to the side of the gate. Seconds later, it opened, revealing a road leading up to the main house. The barn was on the left, a shed-like structure on the right, where I spotted someone from Liam’s crew. He worked security.
I relaxed instantly. The hedges that surrounded the property shielded the same electric fence we had at the compound. Here, Emilia would be safe.
Maybe I could finally get her pregnant here too.
The lamps around the cul-de-sac lit up as I drove to the front of the house and killed the engine. Smart move of my cousin to make the place look so rustic. If I didn’t know the property was less than a year old, I would’ve thought a family had lived here for decades. It breathed memories and history, and I could picture sitting there on the wraparound porch with my family, Emilia on my lap, a beer in my hand…
Stepping out of the car, I looked up at the ranch and saw Liam coming out. And wasn’t he a sight for sore eyes. I’d missed the fucker. We used to joke that he was the older brother I’d always wanted—to piss off Patrick—and we sort of looked the part already. We’d been mistaken for brothers more often than Pat and I had.
Liam wasn’t alone. Two Dobermans flanked him.
“That your new posse, mate?” I smirked.
He chuckled and jogged down the steps. “If it ain’t our new boss. Can I be there when ye tell the old-timers?”
I grinned and hauled him in for a tight hug. “Good to see you, cousin.”
“Aye, you too. It’s been too long.” He gave me a hard squeeze and clapped me on the back. “I see you upgraded your wardrobe. Ronan would be proud.” He flicked a button on my vest and smiled. “You’ve changed, Finn. Damn.”
He hadn’t. Being a few years older than me, he’d grown into suits before his incarceration. He hadn’t been the scrawny eighteen-year-old punk I’d been back then.
“My grandfather would’ve been proud of you
too,” I said. It was the truth.
“Your mother—God rest her soul—is bossing him around now,” Liam replied, his gaze sliding to the others who were approaching. “Oi, lads. Nice shiner, Conn. Didn’t you get into enough trouble back home?”
I snorted and looked over at Conn. He was sporting a darkening black eye.
“He’s been screwing my sister,” Kellan stated and walked over to hug Liam. “Freedom looks good on you.”
Liam scratched his eyebrow. “We have a lot of catching up to do, I reckon.” After handing out hugs to Pat and Conn, too, Liam nodded toward the ranch and said dinner was being served in the control room. Good, I thought. We weren’t going to waste time.
Before Emilia and the others arrived, I wanted our crew put together and for everyone to know their role.
Saving the grand tour for later, we crossed the hallway that seemed to connect all downstairs areas and took the stairs to the basement. Liam unlocked a heavy steel door, revealing a long, concrete corridor. Another thing this place had in common with the compound. The ranch could practically be the drop site of a nuclear bomb, and he would be safe down here.
I brought out my phone, seeing I had no reception.
