Tully: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance: Dangerous Doms

by Henry, Jane

  “Because a woman of your stature and rank ought to know how to conduct herself better. Now do so, and I’ll consider allowing you to travel, but only with a firm guard in place.”

  She opens her mouth to speak, the shuts it. “Fine, then.”

  Paisley bows her head and nods, then quietly walks away, her arms folded across her chest. I sigh before I open the door to my father’s study.

  I remember the days when the two of us were peers. I remember teaching her how to swim in the lake nearby. I can still see the pride on her face the first day she managed to keep herself afloat when she finally learned it herself.

  I can still feel her crying on my shoulder the day she was ridiculed at school, when her first boyfriend ever told lies about what she’d done with him and how he got in her knickers. I can still feel his blood on my knuckles and the bruises in my hand when I gave him a proper beating, then promised far more if he ever did such a thing again. She didn’t know about that.

  I remember Christmas mornings, all of us in our pajamas, just children without a care in the world. All six of us — when there were still six of us — laughing and joking, tearing the pretty paper with glee while we opened our gifts between sipping from large, steaming mugs of cocoa.

  That was in the before times. Before Paisley became aware of the weight of the power she held as a daughter of the Clan. Before my mother wore a perpetual crease across her brow. Before I assumed any of the responsibility of Clan Captain. When Tavish was still with us.

  I knock on the door.

  “Leith?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come in, son.”

  I push open the door. The room is dark, the shades partly drawn. My father’s new medication makes him sensitive to light, so he typically keeps his study dark.

  “Paisley came to fetch me, sir.”

  “She’s a good girl.” His voice is gentler than usual. I shut the door behind me. “Don’t be too hard on her, Leith. The Cowen women have heavy responsibility.”

  My conscience pricks me. Perhaps I was a bit too harsh just now.

  My eyes quickly adjust to the dim light. My father smiles at me from beneath thick, stern brows. Even age hasn’t diminished his size or stature, his large shoulders casting shadows on the wall behind him, his large hands gently resting on his desk.

  I remember when I was a child, those huge hands of his intimidated the hell out of me. All he needed to do was rest one hand on one of our shoulders, and he had our full attention. One swing of his ax split a log in two, and as a child I sometimes wondered if he even needed the ax. There was a time when Bram Cowen was a force to be reckoned with, and I wouldn’t come to blows with him even now that he’s sixty years old and the signs of age and illness plague him.

  Recently, though, he resigned his position as Clan Captain, and passed the proverbial baton to me. He said it was time, that he’d put in his dues. I think it had more to do with his failing health than anything.

  My younger brother Tate took over as Chief, and Mac became warlord, the head of the enforcers, though rank is only known among the Clan. We men of the north take our anonymity seriously. No one but our own, as well as other Clans, know who we are or what we do, and we aim to keep it that way.

  “A drink, son?” I shake my head. I never drink this early in the day. What is it that’s on his mind?

  I do take a seat, though. “No, thanks, dad. Everything alright?’

  He sobers, leaning on his elbows, and puts his fingers together. “Got a call just now from McCarthy Clan Chief Keenan McCarthy.”

  I nod. I met Keenan last year when we took the rare venture to the south to help Mary. It was the furthest I’d ever been from my home in the mountains.

  “Oh?”

  “Aye. And he’s got man on his payroll who’s a hacker. Knows the ins and outs of communication and the like.”

  I chuckle. “Of course he does.” The McCarthy Clan is large and prosperous, their strength in numbers and skills nearly unrivaled by any other mob I know of.

  “McCarthy says they got caught in the crosshairs of communication, and infiltrated correspondence that said Mingus Fucking Aitken alluded to being responsible for interference with the deal we made in Inverness last month.”

  I bristle.

  “Did they?”

  Dad nods. “And furthermore, according to McCarthy, Aitken’s men were responsible for the devastation in the Cathedral and the attack on Father MacGowen. McCarthy’s sources say they’re planning a second attack this evening.”

  I curse under my breath, keenly aware that I just chastised Paisley for doing the very same not ten minutes ago.

  “Were they?”

  “Aye.” He shakes his head, his thick northern accent coming out when he’s agitated. “Ah dinae ken, son, the fucking bastards. Reckon they think they’ll get a wee bit of leverage if they take that tact, hmm? Aitken fancies himself the fucking Lord of Inverness and Laird of all.”

  I nod. “Aye, sir. He does. So you reckon we should pay them a visit, then?”

  “No question. Take your brothers and enforcers. Prepare to intervene when they attack the church. There’s no need for bloodshed, though a proper beating may be necessary.”

  “Hope I get the fucking chance.” I get to my feet and head for the door, eager to prepare my men, when my father’s voice stops me.

  “You’d wait for a fucking chance?”

  My hand freezes on the doorknob, my anger resurfacing like a tidal wave. Of all the bloody cheek –

  “Leith.”

  I exhale a ragged breath before I turn to look at him. “Aye?”

  There’s challenge in his eyes, a reminder that I’ll never be his first-born son, that I’ll never rule the way he fucking did.

  “Remember, the Cowen men don’t ever harm the interior of the church. Somewhere outside will suit thee well.”

  Like I need the fucking reminder.

  “Aye.”

  He can’t give me direct orders per our strict hierarchy, but as former Clan Captain, he has sway. As my father, he has even more.

  He’s nearly given me instructions to harm our rivals, to make them hurt, but the heavens themselves will wage war if we harm the church.

  I shut the door behind me, and nearly collide with mum. Her hair’s gone white in recent years, cut short, but her eyes are still vivid bright blue. Despite her small stature and age, she’s smart as a whip and clever to boot. She slender and youthful, dresses in simple leggings and tops, and would fit in easily with the much younger crowd of women in Inverness.

  “Everything alright, son?” Her eyes cut to my fahter’s study door. If anyone’s keenly aware of the tension between us it’s mum.

  “Aye. We’ve a job to do. Dad’s got news from the south that impacts us.”

  I don’t give her details, and she doesn’t ask questions, but she walks with me. I’m mentally preparing to leave and drive into Inverness to kick Aitken arse. I haven’t driven off this mountain in fucking weeks.

  “A word, son?”

  “Aye.” I don’t have much patience, as time is of the essence here.

  “I came across Paisley a short while ago. She was crying, Leith.”

  I roll my eyes but don’t reply. I make a sort of grunting sound as I shoot a text to my brothers.

  Need to run an errand in town. Will fill you in on the way. Retribution in store. Be here in ten minutes.

  Their responses are prompt.

  On my way.

  Be there straight away.

  Yes, sir.

  I look up at mum, who’s patiently waiting, her hands folded in front of her and a soft smile on her lips.

  “Aye. What about Paisley?”

  “Leith, she’s more sensitive than Islan, you know that.” Tis true. Islan’s a veritable fireball.

  I grunt again, not terribly interested in having this conversation.

  “Says you may not let her travel at the weekend. That you told her she had to remember who s
he was and ask your permission?”

  I nod. “Something like.”

  Mum blinks once, then twice. “Leith.”

  I glance at the clock on my phone. “I have to go soon. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  A muscle ticks in her jaw. “Remember that a good leader shows meekness.”

  I blow out an impatient breath, eager to get going on my task. “Of course. Have I done anything that showed you otherwise?”

  She shakes her head and walks away. I have the distinct feeling I’m missing something.

  Ten minutes later, my Clan brothers and I are driving down the steep, narrow path that takes us into the heart of Inverness. We’re far enough away, no one ever comes here by accident, but also far enough away it’s a pain in my arse to get into the heart of the city. I make a silent vow that one of my new jobs as Clan Captain will be to ensure I’ve got a better route to the city, as long as we continue to be well hidden.

  The mountains of the north have so few inhabitants, until recently it’s been easy to keep our existence quiet. Now, however, with more people living in the mountains, reclusivity’s become harder and harder to maintain.

  “Need a guard dog,” I mutter under my breath as I go down the steep incline.

  “Come again?” Mac says, furrowing his brow as he looks at me. He’s the youngest of the brothers but older than the girls. Mac has my mother’s bright blue eyes, his hair as dark black as hers was when she was younger. He leans back, his feet up on the dash, watching me, his large frame at rest but imbued with latent power. He’s got my father’s breadth of shoulders, his arms as big as tree trunks.

  “Need a fucking guard dog,” I say, louder this time. “With more people populating the city, we’re liable to have visitors more often than we’d like.”

  Tate laughs out loud from the back. The middle brother, he’s quieter than the rest, but being the second oldest in the family means he’s taken on a good deal of responsibility. He has the occasional melancholy side since our eldest brother’s passing. Pragmatic and intelligent, he’d do well as Clan Bookkeeper or Secretary if he didn’t have the responsibility of a leadership role. As such, though, he’s the Chief, and second in command.

  “Leith, you’re out of your fucking mind,” Tate says, leaning on the seat to speak to me. “There’ve been, what— two people who’ve come anywhere near us since the fucking summer?”

  “Two people too many,” I mutter, ignoring the way the rest of them laugh.

  “Jaysus, Leith,” Clyde, our head enforcer mutters in his thick northern brogue. He’s a massive, burly lad of twenty-two, still wet behind the ears with a scant beard, but he and Mac are a veritable force to be reckoned with. “You act as if the two people who’ve com’ll feckin’ threaten us.”

  “Alright, enough,” I mutter. I don’t care if these men are my brothers, my father never allowed backtalk and I won’t either. “I want a fucking guard dog, and we’ll have one by this time time next week.”

  They’re all quiet for a minute. I’m new to the role of Clan Captain, and they’re new to the expectations of obedience and deference. Though I was second in command until recently, the Captain commands far more than the Chief does, and they know within Clan law they have no choice but to do what they’re told.

  “Alright, then,” Clyde says. “A dog it is. You know I’ve no real objection. I fucking love a good dog.”

  “Aye, same,” Tate mutters. “Now can you tell us, Cap’n, why we’re heading to the Cathedral?”

  “Aye.” I draw in a breath, mentally preparing for what lies ahead. “Keenan McCarthy contacted dad today.”

  “Why dad? Doesn’t he know you’re Captain now?”

  “Likely not.”

  “I’ll be sure he does,” Tate says firmly from the back. He’s the loyalest of our group, and I feel a surge of gratefulness. “He ought not be going straight to dad anymore but you.”

  “’Twill take a wee bit of time before the Clans recognize new leadership. But just the same, I’d appreciate that, Tate.”

  “Aye,” he mutters, then everyone goes quiet, waiting for me to fill them in.

  “McCarthy’s hacker discovered that fucking Aitken was responsible for fuckin’ up our deal in Inverness last month.”

  The men mutter curses and grunts. Doesn’t matter which Aitken it was. They’re all our sworn enemies. Though our Clan is reclusive and quiet, preferring anonymity, we conduct a good deal of business from Inverness to Edinburgh, between townsfolk, politicians, and our Clan allies. Occasionally we even work an arms trade with the McCarthys in Ireland.

  “But worse, they’re responsible for the vandalism in the Cathedral and the attack on Father MacGowen. Planning a second attack tonight.”

  “No fucking way,” Mac says, shaking his head. Every fucking Clan from here to the coast knows the Cathedral is sacred ground, but the Aitkens especially are aware that MacGowen is our Clan chaplain.

  “Why?”

  I shake my head. “Who knows, but not only is it a power move, I suspect foul play as well. You know some of the chalices and the like are worth a good sum.”

  “Right.”

  Even though I’m in the driver’s seat, I can feel the men behind me sitting up straighter. Mac cracks his knuckles and Tate’s muttering to himself, Clyde’s large bulk taut like a bowstring.

  “We’ll fuck ‘em up good,” Clyde mutters.

  “Aye, we will. But we’ll do so anonymously.”

  “What?” Mac says, outraged. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “I am not.” They fall into silence, some of them silently fuming.

  Tate speaks up quietly. “Not showing our faces is a sign of weakness, Leith.”

  I shake my head. “They deserve to be punished for what they did, but I want them guessing who it is. I want them looking over their shoulders when they go to bed at night. I want them afraid for their women and children. I want them questioning every fucking dirty move they make.”

  We drive into the city in silence. Darkness has settled with the finality of evening, only moonlight illuminating the road before us.

  “I’ll not back down or show cowardice, you know that,” I tell my men. “But sometimes stealth is the better choice.”

  Book one in the Mountain Men series will be out January of 2021. Pre-order HERE.

  About the Author

  USA Today bestselling author Jane Henry pens stern but loving alpha heroes, feisty heroines, and emotion-driven happily-ever-afters. She writes what she loves to read: kink with a tender touch. Jane is a hopeless romantic who lives on the East Coast with a houseful of children and her very own Prince Charming.

  Would you like to read Island Captive: A Dark Romance totally free? Sign up HERE for my newsletter, and grab your freebie!

  Also, don’t forget to sign up for Jane’s newsletter to get your totally free bonus novella, Christmas with the McCarthys! Grab your novella HERE.

  What to read next? Here are some other titles by Jane you may enjoy.

  DARK ROMANCE

  Dangerous Doms

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  The Bratva’s Baby

  The Bratva’s Bride

  The Bratva’s Captive

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  Island Captive: A Dark Romance

  CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  Vegas Daddies

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  NYC Doms boxset

  The Billionaire Daddies

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  Mafia Daddy: A Cinderella Adult Fairy Tale

  Dungeon Daddy: A Rapunzel Adult Fairy Tale

  The Billionaire Daddies boxset

  The Boston Doms

  My Dom (Boston Doms Book 1)

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  And more! Check out my Amazon author page.

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