It happens in slow-motion. One minute, they're talking, and the next, Wolf's fist is flying toward Rush's nose. Their flesh meets with a sickening crack, and I don't realize I'm moving until I feel a strong arm band around my stomach.
"C'mon, princess. You know stepping in would be bad. Let them work it out, yeah?"
"Jesus Christ, Sully! Don't just stand there, stop them!" I try to pry his fingers from around me, but his grip is too firm.
"You should've fucking told us, Dec! All that bullshit about being a family, and here you are making plans to play house with Red without us?” Wolf's breaths are choppy and his chest rises and falls in fast, heavy breaths.
"Aye. I should've told you both earlier. I'm sorry. But I won’t apologize for going to O’Malley’s to see her every week. Or for wanting her.”
“Fuck, man, I’m not mad about that—not really. I’m—my feelings are fucking hurt, okay? You lied to us after you were adamant about no secrets.” Wolf rakes his hair off his face, leaving his hands in his hair, biceps bulging.
“I’m sorry, Con.”
I watch in fascination as both men stare at one another, and with each exhale, their chests deflate and so do their tempers.
“But how the fuck was I supposed to know fate would bring her to us like this?" Rush rakes his hands through his hair.
I'm calm enough now, and I tap Sully's hands three times. He loosens his hold, and when I don't immediately try to run toward them, he steps back so he's standing next to me.
"I don't know, man. Maybe from all the other shit that you somehow just always know." Wolf throws up his hands and turns to face the side.
The aggression in the air has faded. No sooner than the thought crosses my mind when Sully steps right up to Rush, cocks his fist back, and lets it fly.
A gasp leaves my mouth before I can stop it, and I shove both of my palms across my open mouth.
"Sully, what the fuck?!" My words are high-pitched and echo around the cement walls.
Rush moves his jaw back and forth, trying to work out any injury. He cuts his gaze to me. "It's fine, baby. They were owed those, but we all know that I'll only allow one free shot.”
And then they do something that surprises me even more. The three of them move toward one another, and then they hug. Like straight-up hug each other without any preamble. And when they pull back, smiles spread across their faces.
“What the hell is going on?” My words are whispered as my brow furrows. “I don’t understand.”
“You wanna see me toss some more punches, baby girl?” Wolf digs his teeth into his bottom lip as he tips his head back in that stupid move hot guys do.
“What? No.” I shift on my feet, my cheeks flushing a little.
Rush tosses an arm around me, the other hand pinching the bridge of his nose as blood trickles out of one nostril. "It's fine—we're fine. Sometimes we just need to throw a punch before we can move on."
I glance at him from under my lashes and hesitantly nod. I don't understand though. If I'm enraged enough to start swinging, then I'm not sure I'd be hugging the person I just punched a few minutes later.
Maybe it's a sibling thing, or maybe it's a lifestyle thing. Or maybe it’s unique to them, but I think it might take a little getting used to.
I let Rush guide me into the elevators, the other two following behind us. With my arm wrapped around Rush's middle, I let my head rest against him as we both lean against the far wall.
“Did you really put cameras all over the city? To look for me?” My words are muffled against his shirt, and my eyes are halfway closed. I feel totally drained from the events of the last few days.
Rush adjusts his hold on me, tucking me under his arm more. He places a kiss on the top of my head, murmuring against my hair. “And if I did?”
“I know I should be weirded out by that, and maybe I will be tomorrow, but for now—for now, I think I’m okay with it.”
Exhaustion threatens to take me under its spell, but I hold onto consciousness with both hands. At least until I can collapse on a nearby soft surface.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alaina
The next couple hours pass by in a blur. After some grumbling, Sully finally agrees to rest. I think the reasoning that finally got through to him was the idea that if things go sideways tonight—or any time really—he might be a liability.
I still don't fully understand all the moving pieces, but they've explained a few different things.
Like in addition to Rush’s skills with computers, he’s also their unofficial general. He keeps tabs on the moving pieces when it comes to the Brotherhood, scoping out possible problems—and enemies. And he owns an online security company. Given everything I recently learned, I’m not all that surprised.
And Wolf is an assassin for the Brotherhood. A fact that he wasn’t too keen on sharing, but I’m not stupid. I knew the Brotherhood—and them by extension—would be into some sort of crime. I mean, they all casually carry guns. He also works at the Brotherhood-owned mechanic garage.
And Sully is the muscle in more ways than one. Apparently, he runs the underground fighting ring they have—and he’s said he’s been known to jump in the ring a few times. I don’t love the idea of him willingly putting himself in harm’s way, but he assured me he’s rarely even there anymore. Some other guy mostly runs it now.
They also explained what went down that fateful day at the warehouse. Six different places were met with violence around the same time Sully was stabbed. All of the places belonged to people they know—but they're not all Brotherhood members—like Matteo. I'm still unsure how that connection started.
And thankfully, only a few of the places hit belonged to the people who were present in our little basement meeting weeks ago—meaning the violence wasn’t done in retaliation.
God, has it only been a couple of weeks since then?
Time feels weird here, with them. Or maybe it's just this specific time in my life. It feels almost fluid—one minute, I'm sipping a latte and binge-watching The Vampire Diaries with Mary and Maddie, and the next, I'm dodging a crumbling building that blew up.
We’re sprawled out around the coffee table in the living room of their apartment, trying to go through Mom’s file folder. It’s a hodgepodge of information—family tree lines from Mom’s side of the family, medical records, random pieces of paper torn out of a notebook with notes that don’t make a lot of sense.
Papers cover every available surface—some are laid out on the couch while others are in a pile in the corner of the rug. It looks like a hoarder's dream in here. All four of us are spread out on the floor, each reading something and attempting to make sense of it, trying to place meaning on it other than the obvious keepsakes.
A lot of it is personal stuff—some love letters from my dad to my mom, photographs of my grandparents with their arms around me at a picnic table somewhere, a couple baby photos of me, and then my parents' wedding photo. There isn't a single photo of my dad and me together—not in here at least.
It's depressing the hell out of me, but Rush said he might be able to do some digging and find something. I'm not hopeful, but I appreciate the gesture all the same.
I'm sorting through a small stack of papers when I find it. Our first real clue. Bank statements—lots and lots of bank statements. I thumb through the packet of paper stapled together in the corner, the numbers and lines blurring together in front of my eyes. I blink them rapidly, but they still show me the same absurd numbers.
“Oh my god . . ."
Rush lifts his head from behind his laptop. He started bringing it in here to work, and even though he didn't say it, I'm pretty sure it's because he wants to keep an eye on me. "What is it, birdie?"
Shifting through the papers, my jaw drops and I look at him. "These are all in my name. They're . . ." I pause and swallow. "They're account statements. From several different banks."
Rush stands, but Wolf reaches over first and grabs them. He whistl
es under his breath as he flips through the pages. "Damn. There's gotta be a hundred million in this one, at least."
I sputter and choke on absolutely nothing. I literally choke on air, the thought of that much money is astounding. “I’m sorry, did you just say one hundred million? As in dollars?”
“Aye,” Wolf says without taking his eyes off the handful of papers. “Looks like some are offshore, one in the Swiss Bank, one at some bank in Ireland, and two here.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say. Where did this come from? I didn’t think we had that kind of money.” My mouth sort of hangs open at the idea.
“Baby girl, you go to one of the most elite boarding schools. How did you think your ma paid for it?” Wolf raises a brow.
My mouth snaps shut with an audible click. “I hadn’t really ever thought about it.”
Wolf makes a noncommittal noise as he flips through the stapled stack of papers.
“Wait. Could it be like an inheritance from my mother’s parents? They passed away a while ago.”
“Most were opened before you were born and transferred to your name nineteen years ago. The paperwork for it is right here. One looks like it’s just yours though. The one in Ireland.” Wolf’s voice is low as he scans the information.
“Damn. I—I don’t know what to say to that.” I sigh.
“Nothing to say, princess,” Sully says with a cheeky grin.
I flash him a grin and toss a balled-up piece of paper at him. It goes wide and lands a few feet away from him.
He arches a brow, smirking at me and flashing that dimple I love. “We need to work on your aim, princess.”
“You going to give me another self-defense lesson?” I tease with a smile playing around the corners of my lips.
Sully’s eyes darken to a dark blue as he looks at me. “Aye. I’ll be giving you a self-defense lesson tonight.”
“We’ve got to meet Da at O’Malley’s, so your lesson will have to wait until tomorrow, man,” Wolf murmurs without looking at either of us.
“I don’t think they’re talking about exercise, Wolf.” Rush’s tone is droll, and I let the smile break free with a giggle.
Wolf lifts his head, his brows furrowed. “What?” He looks between Sully and me, and a sly smile crosses his face as he waggles his brows. “Ahh. A self-defense lesson.”
Now it’s Sully’s turn to toss the crumpled-up piece of paper at Wolf. “Green isn’t a good color on you, Wolf.”
He watches it hit him square in the chest and fall to the floor before he moves his gaze to me. Lust shines from his espresso-colored eyes, darkening them. My smile slips as a shiver of arousal zips up my spine at the unspoken promises in his gaze.
Rush slaps a stack of paper against Wolf’s chest, breaking the spell. “Read through these.”
I blink a few times and return to the folder in front of me.
“Later, baby girl.”
I glance at Wolf from underneath my lashes, nodding at his words that sound a lot like a promise.
Silence descends on us as we continue to wade through the information from Aunt Sloane’s safe.
Not all the papers on the floor are from my mom's file folder either. Some are different things Rush has found online that we thought might help connect the dots. Like printed out aerial maps of a few different addresses we found. And one particularly interesting article from an Irish newspaper detailing a conspiracy theory about Gallagher Industries.
I scan the article again, my mind stuck on the timeline of events. It reads like the plot of an action movie, but there’s a ring of truth to it. I pick up the piece of paper and read it again.
“So, my dad was the oldest and the heir to Gallagher Industries—which by the way, I still don’t really understand what they do—and he bailed, so his younger brother, Brady, took his place. The author of this article notes that this was the first time any first-born Gallagher has ever stepped down, publicly at least. And that upset the balance of the board. Whatever that means. But then he goes on to detail that four additional men attempted to step up and claim they were Gallagher heirs too, but”—I scan the rest of the paragraph—“those claims were either disproved or discredited.”
I glance up and notice three pairs of eyes are locked on me.
“Gallagher Industries is listed as a technology company, and after a little strategic digging, I found that they also develop weapons. They’re a privately-owned company that’s been around for at least a hundred years, and they have several military contracts. I don’t know the specific contracts yet, but I could probably find out with a little more time,” Rush offers.
I nod, flicking my gaze back down to the stack of paper in front of me. “Okay. So, this journalist goes on to write two more articles about Gallagher Industries. This one explains the events that happened eight years after Brady took over.”
“What’s it say?” Wolf asks.
“Ten years after Dad stepped down, which would put it right about the time he met Mom, Brady stepped in. Four years later, Oscar Gallagher—their dad and my grandfather—died.” A small thread of grief winds its way around my heart. I never had a chance to know my father’s parents.
“Then two years later, Dad, uh, went missing and Brady died.” I look at the stack of paper fanned out next to me, sliding a few around until I spot the one I’m looking for. Plucking it from the floor, I reread the dates. “The time between when Dad left for his job and the time Brady died is two weeks. They called it a mugging, but this journalist thinks it’s part of a bigger conspiracy—that either members of the board staged a coup or that an outsider wanted a position on the board and found a loophole.”
“What sort of loophole?” Sully asks.
“The loophole that says if no Gallagher sits on the board and there are no heirs, an extended family member is appointed.”
“But there is a Gallagher heir—you.” Wolf’s gaze is intense as he stares at me.
I nod, the motion slow. “Something that my mom went through great lengths to conceal for eight years.”
Rush stands up. “What’s the journalist’s name?”
I scan the article for the byline. “Christopher Lein.”
He walks to the edge of the rug to a pile of paper ripped from a notebook. “Your mom wrote that name down on here.”
“And I just looked him up online. It looks like he died . . .” Sully trails off and looks from his phone to us. “Eight years ago. Mugging in Lismore.”
“Lismore, County Waterford? As in the same small town Seamus Flannery lived?” Rush asks. “There’s only like fifteen hundred people that live there.”
I sit back against the couch with a thud. “So, the guy who publicly pointed a finger at the company that deals in weapons and technology for various government agencies died around the same time my father and Brady died? In the same small town as the guy who apparently helped my mom hide me?” My mouth parts as my mind races. I blow out a long breath. “I’m not sure if I’ve watched the Bourne movies too many times, but this feels like an actual conspiracy or one hell of a coincidence.”
“Nah, I don’t believe in coincidences like this, Red.”
My heart starts to pound. I know what I’m about to suggest sounds a little crazy, but part of me also thinks that it’s the next logical step. I stand up and face them. “Okay. Let’s do it, then. Let’s go to Ireland and get to the bottom of this.”
No one speaks for a moment, and then Rush nods and says, “Aye. I’ll call in a few favors to get the trip off the books. It’s best if we leave the country undetected.”
I tap my lip with my index finger, nervousness jumping around inside my veins. “When can we leave? I’m eager to figure all this out.”
Rush is already typing on his phone. “Tomorrow. Tonight we have to meet Da.” He eyes Sully with a frown. “But I’m not too sure you shouldn’t stay here and rest. And before you get mad, someone should stay with our little bird.”
I bristle and glare at Rush. “F
irst of all, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And maybe I wanted to tag along.”
“Do you?” Rush arches a brow.
I huff and shift my weight. “Well, not really, no. But it’s the point. And I—”
The doorbell rings, interrupting me. All three of them whip out guns from places I didn’t even realize had guns—under the coffee table, the side table, and next to the couch. Sully moves to stand in front of me, and Wolf and Rush turn toward the door.
I clear my throat as the doorbell rings again. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I invited the King sisters over.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wolf
I release the breath I was holding and relax my grip on the gun I nabbed from underneath the side table. Red moves around us to look at the screen next to the door that shows the feed from the hallway. Even from here, I can see the faces four of the King sisters are pulling—tongues sticking out and other weird shit. All except Maeve. She’s all-business, staring right at the camera hidden in the corner of the doorway with a serious expression.
Red opens the door, and a wave of noise greets us. I always forget how fucking quiet it is with the entire apartment soundproofed. It was a precaution Rush insisted on when we bought this place years ago, since we frequently discuss Brotherhood business here.
All five Kings stride inside like they own the place, none of them flinching at our aggressive formation or the guns in our hands. I’m not sure if it’s a testament to their upbringing or their familiarity with us—probably both.
“Damn, Fitzgeralds, pretty fancy place you got here,” Roisin says with a whistle.
Rush tenses before he glances at Red. “A word, birdie?”
She follows my brother into the hallway and into his bedroom, closing the door behind them. Sully and I share a look, but neither one of us follows them.
Sully: An Irish Mafia Romance (The Brotherhood Book 3) Page 16
