by Dee, Cara
Goddammit.
Uncertainty rose within, but he pushed the queasiness down and pressed forward. He hadn’t reached the edge yet. He could take another couple steps.
To get anywhere, though, it was time to lay it all out there. “Did you hear about the guys who were saved from human trafficking around New Year’s?”
Kellan frowned. “That thing in Florida? Yeah.”
Gray nodded once. “I was one of them.” He continued as surprise and confusion flitted across Kellan’s features. “Jonas was supposed to be one of them too. I was kidnapped last fall, but he got stuck another way. He was looking for a job and was tricked. He died when we were trying to escape.”
It was clear, for once, that Kellan didn’t know how to react. He shifted in his seat, his brows knitted together, and he reached for his smokes. Did he believe Gray?
“One of the guys who also got kidnapped is still out there somewhere,” Gray said. “His buyer took off with him before we could flee.” Warning bells went off inside of him; he had to shut the fuck up soon. Because if he’d gotten things right, Kellan belonged to his own criminal network. And Gray didn’t need a bunch of criminals giving one another a heads-up. Christ, what if this guy was friends with the people in Florida? He didn’t exactly know how these fuckers operated. “We don’t know who the guilty ones are,” he made sure to tell Kellan. “To be honest, I’m safer off never knowing. But if there’s any way to save Jackie, I will.”
He hoped that helped. He hoped mentioning that he didn’t know anything of value would keep him from being a target.
For a long moment, Kellan sat there and observed and smoked his cigarette. And he drummed his fingers against the table, indicating a restlessness or maybe questions piling up. Perhaps he was calculating risks and weighing his options.
Whatever he’d been thinking, he seemed to have made up his mind. “Either you’ve got nothing to lose, or you’re dumb as a bag of rocks, Gray. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.”
Gray suppressed his irritation, mostly because Kellan was probably right.
Yet, here he was. Trying. Despite being weak and pathetic and clueless, Gray was trying.
Fuck.
He broke eye contact and grabbed his beer. He chugged half of it and cursed himself.
“So, you’re one of the small-town guys who got kidnapped,” Kellan deduced. “And you think setting out to…do whatever…on your own—is smart?”
Gray had hardly come here with the intention of bringing up Jackie. It was Jayden, an eight-year-old boy, he was looking for.
“Forget I said anything,” Gray said and wiped his mouth.
Kellan shook his head. “I’m not saying I can’t help, mate. But you gotta watch your back.”
Yeah, he was painfully aware.
“Listen,” Kellan went on, “I’ll give you one thing for free. We already know who’s behind the major trafficking operations outta Florida. So do the authorities. It’s not a big secret. They just can’t pin shite on the higher-ups.”
Gray had heard Darius and Ryan say similar things on the island. “That’s your free advice?”
“No.” Kellan paused. “My two cents that won’t cost you anything is that you’re not looking for information about Alfred Lange’s organization.”
Gray’s stare flashed to Kellan’s, and he swallowed hard. The guy actually knew what he was talking about. Alfred was the name Darius had gotten from the cartel motherfuckers.
“You wanna find a buyer,” Kellan told him. “That’s different. It’s easier.”
Nothing in Gray’s life was easy anymore, so he was skeptical. “In order to find the buyer, I gotta go through the crime organization.”
“Or you let pros handle it,” Kellan pointed out and smiled. “But that would cost you.”
Against his better judgment, Gray blurted out, “How much?”
“Impossible to say,” he replied. “The pros would have to dig around some and get back to you.”
Kellan Ford was good. Somehow, he managed to speak pretty openly without actually risking anything.
Either way, Gray wasn’t sure it mattered. He wasn’t made of money. In fact, he had about two hundred bucks to his name in a frozen account that hadn’t been reopened since his disappearance. If he’d had any more, he wouldn’t be using the credit card his folks had given him.
“I think I’ll pass,” he muttered. “Thank you for the information about the church, though.”
He knew Darius’s sister was working on finding Jackie’s buyer, though there was no telling if it would work—or how long it would take. And Gray could admit to himself that it stung not to go further. It resulted in more suffering for Jackie, and at the end of the day, that was all that mattered. Gray felt like such a chickenshit.
Come on, you pussy.
“Can—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Can I have your number if I change my mind?”
Kellan quirked a brow. “Sure.”
Okay. Okay. It was something, at least. Now he had to get the fuck away from here and find Jayden.
Three
That evening, after a couple hours of feeling sorry for himself, Gray had had enough.
He’d caught himself thinking, Of course the priest wasn’t there right now; why could nothing good ever happen to me? And to be honest, it pissed him off. He was free. Jackie wasn’t. Gray had a family and friends. Being alone right now was a choice he’d made himself.
So after getting a sandwich at a bodega, he had checked in to a downtown hotel. He’d eaten, showered, given himself a fuckin’ talking-to, and then he’d hit the hotel gym.
That was where he was now.
He was returning to the church on the outskirts of the city tomorrow, and he’d do it with more confidence. No more pity parties. He had the chance to work out and get stronger. He’d be an idiot to waste it.
He alternated between the treadmill, rowing machine, and free weights in the empty gym. Too much bulk had never been a hockey player’s best friend, especially since Gray’s forte was speed and agility, but he’d lost enough strength that he needed to build up some muscle too. The weights were also a good break for when his thigh cramped up. Even though he was essentially healed from the gunshot, he’d been instructed to take it easy on his leg for up to three months.
He cranked up the volume on one of his workout playlists, then started another round on the treadmill. His phone rested on the display in front of him so he wouldn’t miss any texts from Willow.
He’d texted her earlier, asking if she believed there was an actual chance of tracking down Jackie’s buyer. Her response would help Gray decide whether or not to reach out to Kellan again.
Gray’s chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths, and he lifted his tee to wipe sweat off his face.
It was the white van all over again. He couldn’t stop every vehicle on the road that could be used to transport slaves, but at one point he’d desperately wished for someone to do just that. For the same reasons, he couldn’t risk everything and start asking criminal organizations for favors because they might be able to help. Sooner rather than later, Gray would find himself in a hole he couldn’t get out of.
Kellan might’ve come off as laid-back and charming, but the guy wasn’t fucking around. Being in debt to him was likely not a pleasant experience.
When the seven minutes were up, Gray shut off the program and slowed down to a walk. He chugged from his water and winced at the pain flaring up in his thigh. Maybe he was done running for tonight.
He stepped down from the treadmill and blew out a heavy breath.
There was something he’d told himself to google later, and now he couldn’t remember what it was. He’d thought of it when he’d left the church and been told Father O’Malley wasn’t available today.
Dammit. This was gonna bug Gray. It had to do with Kellan Ford, he remembered that much.
Over by the rack of weights, he grabbed a yoga mat and sat down with his water bottle to
stretch his leg.
His affiliation.
That was it!
As he leaned forward, essentially folding himself in half to touch his toes, he used one hand to navigate his phone. He groaned under his breath when his tendons protested. Then he thought back on one of the tattoos he’d seen on Kellan’s arm and typed Sons of Munster into the search bar.
Holy shit, that was a lot of hits.
Wikipedia seemed like the best place to start.
The Sons of Munster is a crime syndicate that operates out of Chicago and Philadelphia, with factions in New Jersey, London, and Dublin. [citation needed] The organization originated in the south and southwest of Ireland, when two families, the Murrays and O’Sheas, joined forces to help the Irish Republican Army fight for Ireland’s independence[1]…
“Jesus,” Gray mumbled and scrolled down.
The Philadelphia branch is considered the largest and is run by O’Shea affiliates.[7] Little is known about the syndicate’s leadership in Philadelphia. Names of interest include Shannon O’Shea and his two sons, Patrick and Finnegan O’Shea. Shannon was exonerated from all charges[8] in the Murray Uprising[9], while Patrick and Finnegan were charged with…
Gray straightened and scanned the following paragraphs. Most names were links to their own Wiki pages, and it went on and on. Kellan Ford was part of this. Gray couldn’t find his name anywhere, but the tattoo said it all. He was associated.
Gray had barely managed to escape the clutches of one mafia, and now he’d sat down and had a beer with someone from another, similar organization?
Had he lost his fucking mind?
At the same time…
No. He wasn’t gonna go back and forth again. He’d flip his shit.
As if sensing Gray needed a stabilizer—or good news—Willow’s response popped up at the top of the screen, and Gray clicked on the message.
It will take some time. They don’t keep IDs or pictures—or any paper trail, for that matter—but I am following the transactions and narrowing down the possible candidates one by one. It helps that the buyer is American. I will find him.
Thank fuck. Gray scrubbed a hand over his face and felt his shoulders sag with relief. He and Darius had given her all the info they had on Jackie’s buyer. What he looked like, his accent, how he dressed, and anything of interest he’d uttered during meals. Darius had been able to provide more intel than Gray, obviously. Back on the yacht, Gray’s biggest focus had been on staying alive.
This was good, though. He wasn’t erasing Kellan’s number anytime soon, but he could at least let go of that option for the time being. He would wait for Willow—a bit longer.
After another night of reliving the horrors of his recent past, Gray made himself a cup of coffee in his room, pouring two packets of insta-mix into the paper mug, and hoped the caffeine would keep him alert. Then he got dressed and headed out.
The weather was nicer today. Blue sky, not a cloud in sight, but it was frigid.
The church Kellan Ford had directed Gray to was in a working-class neighborhood with a predominantly Irish population. Next to the church was a small square where Gray could count at least six shops and pubs that used Celtic or British fonts for their signs.
It was easier to find parking out here. He parked on the street in front of the square and spotted a nun at the nearby bus stop. She had five young girls with her and laughed at what one was speaking animatedly about.
Four old men braved the cold and shared two benches in the square.
A mother walked her son briskly across the area.
A guy came out from a corner store and opened a pack of cigarettes.
It was all so ordinary, the whole scene, and yet Gray’s chest burned with envy and sadness. He wanted the ordinary. His ordinary existence had been ripped away from him. He missed the time when his biggest issues were about making ends meet and whether or not his coach would ever leave his wife.
Fuck. It was too easy to slip into pity-party mode.
Gray shook his head and stepped out of the truck, then zipped up his jacket all the way and walked toward the church.
A sleek black sports car was parked right outside. It didn’t belong here. Aston Martin. Gray eyed it and thought of Kellan. Mobsters made a lot of money, right? And he’d sent Gray to this church for a reason. Maybe other associates went here too. Because it was important to pray after you’d done something criminal.
The world was fucked up.
Someone left the church as Gray approached, and he caught the door and slipped in.
Just like yesterday, the first thing that hit him was the scent of paraffin wax.
It was a beautiful church; he couldn’t deny that. Both grand and intimate, lavish and cozy. The pews were empty, except for three. A man in a suit had his head bowed in prayer, two old women sat next to each other across the aisle, and near the front, a woman sat with a child.
Gray glanced around to see if—there. A priest appeared from the side. There was an open space and microphones set up, perhaps for a choir, and a few doors led somewhere. Gray wasn’t religious, and he’d never really set foot in a Catholic church before yesterday.
Heading down the aisle toward the front, he waited until he was close enough so he could keep his voice down.
“Excuse me.”
The priest glanced up from what looked like a day planner, and he smiled politely. “Yes?”
“Are you Father O’Malley?” Gray wondered.
The priest nodded and gave him his full attention. “I am. How can I help you?”
Gray’s first impression of the man was that he seemed kind. He was older, maybe in his late sixties, with gray hair and deep laugh lines, but there was youth in his eyes. His hair wasn’t tidy, which came off as charming.
And he was friends with mobsters?
“My name is Gray Nolan,” Gray said. “I’m looking for a boy. He’s eight years old—Jayden Chapman. I knew his big brother.”
Recognition flitted past in Father O’Malley’s eyes. “You know Jonas?”
Relief struck Gray hard. He’d come to the right place. “Yeah. Well—yeah.” He decided against sharing anything right away. “Does that mean you know where I can find Jayden?”
“I sure do.” Father O’Malley paused. “You don’t strike me as someone who works for Child Protective Services…”
“Oh yeah, no—I’m not. I mean, I don’t.” Gray felt dumb. He should’ve started by mentioning Kellan. “Kellan Ford sent me here. I met with him yesterday.” Since he knew Jayden was hiding from the authorities, it made sense that he surrounded himself with people who respected his wishes to stay off the radar. “I’m really only here on Jonas’s behalf.”
Something changed in Father O’Malley’s expression. His gaze grew gentle, and sympathy seeped in. “He’s not okay, is he?”
Fuck. Gray let out a breath and shook his head.
“That saddens me.” Father O’Malley looked toward the altar, then back to Gray. “Jayden comes by the shelter next door for lunch most days. It’s only for women and children, so I’ll have someone send him over here afterward if you don’t mind waiting around a bit.”
“Of course, no, I don’t mind. I’ll be here.”
Gray had a couple hours to kill, so he started by heading across the square. He bought some fresh rolls at a bakery and some other stuff at a corner store. Fruit, couple of sodas, cream cheese, and candy. Then, while munching on a roll, he checked out the shelter on the other side of the church.
It was a simple brick building with a fire escape on the front. Barred windows on the first floor, a few signs with directions, rules, and opening hours. Men were directed to another shelter down the street, and single fathers and LGBTQ persons were instructed to call the office.
Two women stepped out on the stoop and lit up cigarettes, and Gray returned to the church. No need to get caught being too snoopy.
A silence blanketed him the second he was back inside the church. Traffic noise an
d chirping birds faded, and he took a deep breath and let the temporary peace settle. Religion had never been his thing, but he couldn’t deny the church had a calming atmosphere.
The man in a suit he’d seen before was still here, and Father O’Malley was seated next to him now.
Gray chose a pew farther down the aisle and took a seat with his paper bag next to him. People came and went, some to give a quick prayer at the altar, some to light a candle. Eventually, the man in a suit left too, and Father O’Malley went back to doing…whatever it was he did. He chatted with an old lady for a few minutes, seemingly giving her comforting words, judging by how she appeared to feel better when she left.
It was impossible to reconcile with the fact that this old man had mobster connections.
“Malley!”
Gray whipped around toward the entrance and the source of the loud, unmistakably young voice. Could that be Jayden? Hell, it had to be. Those pale brown eyes haunted Gray every night.
The boy stalked down the aisle, aiming for Father O’Malley, and shrugged and smirked when the priest reminded him to keep his voice down in the church. Father O’Malley was amused, and he ruffled the boy’s shaggy hair.
Gray’s heart pounded when he observed the kid. It was Jayden. He had no doubt. Little things came back to him, insignificant mannerisms he hadn’t paid attention to before, but now it was so clear. He remembered how Jonas’s forehead creased and how he’d scratch his shoulder when he was working something out in his head. Jayden was doing the same thing right now. Whatever Father O’Malley said to him made the boy quiet down and think hard.
How did Jayden survive on his own? Gray found himself with a pile of questions that built up quickly. Or rather, the urgency to have them answered increased. Philadelphia couldn’t be an easy city to live in. For chrissakes, the kid was eight.
Gray had avoided one follow-up question for days, though now he couldn’t hold it back any longer. He had to face the reality and come up with a plan to actually help the boy. He did have a place in mind, but what if Jayden didn’t agree? To him, Gray was a complete stranger.
