Jaded Soul: A Standalone Irish Mafia Romance

by Fox, Nicole

  “Letting me?” Saoirse repeats. “I’d revise that word choice, pal.”

  “Hey, hey, no harm intended,” Kian says quickly. “I’m just saying, you’re not prepared for this.”

  “Says the cripple in a cast.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Have you had any combat training?”

  “Uh… no.”

  “Taken any self-defense classes?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Used a gun? Aimed a gun? Ever even held a gun?”

  She sighs. “Okay, I see your point. But like I told Cillian, I’m a fast learner.”

  Kian’s about to say something, but I jump in.

  “Brother, she feels strongly about this. And she’s not going to stay locked up in a room until the coast is clear,” I say. “She wants to be here. We’re going to respect that.”

  Kian stares at me for a moment and then nods slowly.

  “Alright then. I guess it’s up to the two of you.”

  Saoirse smiles gently as she turns to me. “Thank you.”

  “Hold on a second before you go thanking me,” I say. “Kian’s right—you still have no training and no experience in a situation like this. You want to be here. That’s one thing. But you’re not gonna be on the front line.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you stay by the gates, behind my men,” I tell her. “And before you lecture me about gender roles and equality, it has nothing to do with you being a woman. You’ve never been in this position before. They have. It’s about protecting them from you as much as protecting you from the enemy. Got it?”

  “That’s a fair compromise,” she acquiesces with a squirm.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. I was sure that the battle to get her to accept that bargain would be nastier than anything the Kinahans could bring.

  “Thank God,” I say. “For a moment, I thought you were gonna be all stubborn.”

  She glares at me. “Asshole.”

  I chuckle and grab her, squeezing her ass in the process.

  “Cillian!” she scolds, sounding completely mortified. She pushes me off her and then looks around to see who might have seen that.

  Kian just shakes his head at the both of us. “You two gonna be able to keep your head in the game?”

  I turn to my brother, realizing that he’s probably going to be the harder of the two to deal with. He’s sure as hell not gonna like what I say next.

  “Brother…” My tone gets his attention.

  “What?” he asks, hostile right off the bat.

  “You might have to sit this one out.”

  “You fucking kidding me right now?” he growls. “Christ. I knew you’d try and do this.”

  “Try and do what?” I demand. “Save your fucking life?”

  “I can handle this. I’m good as new.”

  “That’s your pride talking,” I say. “Your leg is basically mush right now, and in case you forgot, you just crashed your car into a bridge yesterday.”

  I can see it in his eyes: he knows I’m making sense. He knows that he can’t fight at one hundred percent capacity like he’s used to.

  But he doesn’t want to leave me out there alone.

  “Cillian, you’ve got like fifteen men,” he points out. “The Kinahans are gonna come in fucking droves. We’re not going to be able to hold them all off.”

  “Luckily, we’ve got high walls.”

  Kian grimaces. “This isn’t the Middle Ages. They know about this castle and they’re going to come prepared. One well-thrown explosive is all it’ll take to bring that gate smashing—”

  His words are swallowed whole by a massive explosion just outside the portcullis.

  Immediately after, two of my men coming running towards us.

  “Two vehicles!” one screams. “They’re using explosives to break down the entrance.”

  Kian whirls around to me. “Did I call it or what?”

  “Jesus,” I say, grabbing Saoirse and forcing her behind me, even though the gate is still holding for now.

  Another explosion goes off. Saoirse cringes against the noise.

  I grab one of the handguns and offer it to her. “This is the safety,” I tell her, speaking fast. “There—now it’s off. Meaning when you pull the trigger –”

  “A bullet comes out the other end,” Saoirse interrupts. “I got that part.”

  I nod. “You wanted a lesson, so here it is. Keep both your eyes open. Aim. Then pull the trigger. Got it?”

  “Got it,” she says with a determined nod.

  I want to kiss her hard. To imprint the feel of my lips against hers.

  But there’s no time.

  Another explosion goes off and the portcullis starts to shiver slowly. “It’s gonna come down with the next one,” one of the guards warns.

  I look around at the scant number of fighters that I’ve managed to gather. I know we’ve got back-up on the way, but I have no idea when they’ll get here or if they’ll be enough when they do.

  “How many men did you see out there?” I ask the guard who spoke first.

  “Two vehicles. No more than twelve men in total.”

  I frown. “The early birds clearly want the victory,” I say. “Maybe that will work in our advantage. If we finish these guys off before the rest show up, we might have a shot.”

  I look around at the men.

  “We still have the advantage of stone walls. No fight is a lost cause. And in any case, we’ve got to remember the most important thing: every O’Sullivan man is worth twenty Kinahan bastards.”

  The man raise their fists in the air and bellow in agreement.

  I notice Kian smiling in the corner next to Saoirse, who’s still clutching the gun I just handed her.

  The gate starts to shiver on its gigantic hinges.

  Then the last explosion brings it down with a thundering scream that rattles the ground we’re standing on.

  “Close the doors,” I signal to one of the men. “And get to the shooting points.”

  “Nice speech,” Kian says.

  “Sarcasm?”

  “I would never.”

  I roll my eyes. “I didn’t have time to prepare an epic battle speech, okay? I’ll save that for the movie they make about today.”

  Kian laughs. I know he’s just trying to release some of the pressure that’s built up between my shoulder blades. Saoirse sidles up closer to my side before her fingers wind through mine.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” I tell her.

  She looks at me and swallows. “I would never.”

  Kian snorts.

  And then we spy movement out the window. It’s a swarm of Kinahan soldiers. They’ve got their weapons ready and their game faces on.

  But my scout was right. There’s only two vehicles. No more than twelve men. Maybe less.

  I can feel the adrenaline start to pump through my system.

  I’ve always loved a good fight.

  The only thing that’s stopping the adrenaline from transforming into pure bloodthirsty euphoria is the knowledge that Saoirse and Kian are here.

  She shouldn’t be here at all. He isn’t ready for a battle like this.

  But we don’t have a choice.

  At least we’re here together. And at least they have me.

  I’ve lost them both once before. I won’t let that happen again.

  I tighten my grip on my guns and check the ammunition. I’m ready as I’ll ever be.

  Let the bastards come.

  Then a man gets out from the first vehicle. I hear Saoirse gasp as her fingers tighten around my hand.

  I glance at her in alarm, but her eyes are fixed on the man in the distance.

  “It’s Tristan,” she whispers. “He came.”

  55

  Saoirse

  “Cillian O’Sullivan!” Tristan screams from the courtyard.

  I feel my heart racing suddenly. Which is ironic really, because the rest of me is frozen in place.
/>   I’m numb and fearful in a way I haven’t been for a few days now.

  I can practically feel the rage radiating off Tristan. He’s far away, but he seems larger than life somehow. Everything about him is threatening.

  Can he see me?

  He can’t, right?

  Why does it feel that he can?

  Then I remember: his eyes have been on me since I was a teenager. He’s been watching me my entire life.

  Why did I think that would just stop because I’d managed to find Cillian again?

  “That’s him?” Cillian asks. “Your… That’s Tristan?”

  He can’t bring himself to use the word “husband,” and I’m glad about that. I don’t want that awful word to strangle me where I stand.

  “Cillian O’Sullivan!”

  I cringe as Tristan screams the second time. I feel like I’m in The Iliad, where Achilles arrives at the castle walls and demands to speak to Prince Hector. In the story, he stands outside, all alone, and screams Hector’s name again and again until the prince is compelled to come outside and engage in a fight to the death.

  Spoiler alert: Achilles wins.

  Then he ties Prince Hector’s dead body to his chariot and rides off into the sunset.

  I’m sure Tristan would appreciate the narrative.

  A third roar: “Cillian fucking O’Sullivan!”

  Cillian rolls his eyes at the theatrics and throws open the window.

  He manages to push me off to the side in the same breath so that I’m not in Tristan’s line of sight. He acts casual about it, but I know he’s just trying to shield me for as long as possible.

  In this case, I appreciate the gesture.

  “Is this the part where you ask me to let down my golden hair?” Cillian calls back, his voice carrying through the entire courtyard.

  I’m still partly able to see Tristan.

  I can’t see his face clearly, but I notice him tensing. He doesn’t like to be laughed at. Can’t stand being mocked.

  “You have something that belongs to me,” Tristan growls.

  A jolt of fury snakes through me like a lightning bolt.

  “Don’t think so,” Cillian replies. “You’ve got the wrong Cillian.”

  I can’t help thinking about The Iliad again. Except this time, I’m thinking of Menelaus and Paris.

  Two men who wanted the same woman. The difference was that Paris really loved Helen.

  Menelaus, on the other hand, just wanted to quell the laughter of men who thought he couldn’t hold onto his own wife.

  “If you send her out to me now, maybe I’ll spare her life when we’ve finished slaughtering your men,” Tristan says. “Otherwise, it’s going to be a slow and painful death for my little whore. You, on the other hand, are a lost cause, I’m afraid.”

  I can see the anger flit across Cillian’s eyes, but on the surface, he looks calm.

  “Don’t worry, though,” Tristan continues. “I’ll keep you alive long enough to watch her die.”

  “I’ve always heard you were a gentleman,” Cillian calls down. “But you’re really outdoing yourself here.”

  “Quit fucking bantering and come fight me like a man.”

  I grab Cillian’s arm. “Please don’t go out there,” I beg.

  “Saoirse…” Cillian sighs in a tone that tells me he’s already made up his mind.

  “No! He’ll kill you.”

  I see a flicker of anger in his eyes. “Do you really think I can’t take him?”

  “Of course not,” I snap. “But he’s got so many men…”

  “I’m not going out there alone, Saoirse. I have my men.”

  “You’ll be exposed.”

  “So are they.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about them,” I snarl.

  He smiles and brushes my cheek with the back of his hand. “If we don’t engage with them, they’ll force us to. Better to take them on our own terms.”

  “Cillian—”

  “There are civilians in here, Saoirse,” he reminds me. “Mary and Matilda and the kitchen staff and the rest. And you. We can’t let them breach the walls. If they do, every one of you is at risk. We’ve got to take the fight out there.”

  I shake my head, but before I can say a word, Tristan interrupts.

  “If you think you can wait us out, you’re wrong,” Tristan yells. “We came prepared. We’ve got enough explosives to turn this ugly castle into a pile of fucking rubble. I’m gonna give you until the count of ten. And then we’re gonna start detonating.”

  My hands ball into fists as anger replaces the fear.

  I’ve given him so much power over the years. But maybe I need to look at him objectively, through the eyes of a stronger woman. A woman who’s trying her damndest to be brave.

  I step closer to the window and notice Tristan’s eyes narrow as he catches sight of me, stalling his countdown for the time being.

  He’s just a man.

  An ordinary man.

  And he bleeds, same as they all do.

  My fingers grip the gun in my hand a little tighter, and in that moment, a part of me truly believes I’ll be able to pull the trigger if I were standing right in front of him now.

  “Is that my whore of a wife I see?” Tristan bellows.

  Before Cillian can answer, I push myself all the way into the window frame and stare down at the courtyard.

  Cillian tenses immediately, his hand reaching out in an attempt to either shield me or pull me back.

  Then he stops himself abruptly, and drops his hand.

  When this is all over…

  If we win…

  If Cillian and I can salvage some sort of future together after the battle is done…

  I have to remember to tell him how much that gesture means to me.

  That he let me stand on my own when it mattered the most.

  But for now, I’ve got something to say to the asshole standing outside my window. “I’m not your wife, Tristan!” I tell him, loud enough so that my voice echoes too. “I never was.”

  His lips bull back to reveal his bared teeth. “I think you’ll find the Republic of Ireland disagrees.”

  I laugh, mostly because I know that it’ll piss him off to see me cackle in his face.

  “A real man doesn’t need a piece of paper to claim ownership of his wife, Tristan,” I tell him. “You never got that, did you? You can control me, force yourself on me, beat me… That doesn’t make me your wife. It makes me your prisoner.”

  “Call yourself whatever you want,” Tristan rumbles, still loud enough for me to hear. “At the end of the day, you’re still mine.”

  “I belong only to the man I give myself to,” I tell him. “And I never gave myself to you.”

  I’ve known him long enough to be able to tell when he’s starting to lose it. His face seems to cave in on itself. His eyes get smaller, beadier. Even his coloring changes.

  He looks darker somehow. Like an oncoming storm roiling on the horizon.

  “You’re going to regret this, you fucking slut!” he roars. “Maybe I’ll kill the boy first and make you watch.”

  Cillian’s hand wraps around my wrist and gently, he pulls me closer to him. I’m pretty certain that Tristan can see us together now, but I can’t be sure. Nor do I give a fuck.

  Then Cillian steps up to the window again. “You have no one but yourself to blame, Tristan,” he says. “You couldn’t make her happy. So she found someone who could.”

  “Come down here, you little fucker,” Tristan thunders, “and say that to my face!”

  Cillian glances at me. “That’s my cue.”

  “No!” I plead, grabbing his hand.

  He’s already got one foot on the short staircase that leads down to the main door. “Saoirse, stop. You know I have to do this.”

  I shake my head, trying to keep the tears from falling. I need to be strong for him.

  “TEN!” Tristan’s voice booms into the castle through the cracked-open window.
/>
  I’m faltering, but in this moment, I’d give anything to keep him in here with me. Behind these walls. All mine and intact. Safe and whole and loving me.

  “I know… I just…”

  He takes a step toward me and rests his forehead against mine.

  His men are amassing by the main doors, ready to accompany him out there. It’s little comfort to me. They’re evenly matched at the moment, but how long will it stay that way?

  “NINE!”

  I have no faith that Tristan will fight fair, either. He’s a dirty, rotten bastard to the core, and he’s brought a crew of dirty, rotten bastards with him.

  “Hey,” Cillian says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Saoirse.”

  “What?”

  “EIGHT!”

  “I’m coming back,” he says. “This isn’t like the last time.”

  “You can’t make me that promise.”

  “SEVEN!”

  “I can and I will and I am. I didn’t come back from the dead to die at the hands of that putz out there,” he says with complete confidence. “And I didn’t find you after thirteen fucking years just to lose you all over again.”

  “SIX!”

  I breathe in those words, trying to believe them. Trying to put all my faith in them.

  “Okay?” he asks softly.

  “Okay.”

  “FIVE!”

  He presses his lips to mine.

  The world fades out for a moment. There’s only Cillian and me.

  “FOUR! THREE! TWO!”

  And then he releases me all at once.

  I grab onto the thin wooden railing to stop from tumbling over. He gives the signal to his men to open the castle doors.

  “ONE!”

  Cillian turns to his brother and clasps his hand.

  “Kian, I know you want to join me out there,” he says gently. “But if they breach the walls, I want you here defending everyone who can’t defend themselves.”

  Kian sighs. “Look at you, manipulating me under the guise of heroism.”

  “Good man,” Cillian says with a wild grin, before leaning in slightly to whisper something in Kian’s ear.

  I’m too close not to hear it, though.

  Protect Saoirse.

  “Maybe I’ll protect Kian,” I interject defensively.

  Cillian looks back over his shoulder. He gives me another lopsided grin that might have made me swoon if the circumstances were different.