by Winters, KB
My instructions weren’t particularly necessary because he was in and out of consciousness while I made sure he didn’t die of sepsis.
“Hurry,” he managed to push out but the tone was more of a grouchy whine than a barked order.
“They won’t find us.”
He smiled. “I found you, and I put a tracker on your car before I knocked. They could have too.”
“Son of a bitch!” Why was I helping this guy again? Oh, right. Because it was what any decent human being would do, something these guys knew nothing about.
“You’re good to go,” I told him angrily, standing abruptly and slamming the door on whatever words he thought he needed to say to me just then.
He smiled at me when I sat behind the wheel again. “The name’s Conor,” he said with a friendly smile like we’d just been introduced at a party thrown by mutual friends.
I shook my head and navigated us out of the concrete maze of the parking garage, uncertain where to take Conor so I could carry on with my escape plan.
“Good for you,” I told him because I refused to buy in to his charm. The last time I’d been suckered by a charming man I’d ended up kidnapped for a second time.
Luckily Conor was in and out of consciousness thanks to the pain of being shot and the added pain of stitches. I made another stop while he was out, on the side of the road where I examined my car. Someone had stuck an additional tracker under the wheel wells and I tossed Conor’s and the other one among the dirt, cactuses and scorpions native to the surrounding desert.
I got back on the road, driving to who knew where at this point, and I took another look at Conor. In sleep he looked peaceful and not nearly as threatening. Or maddening. But he was still a problem.
I knew I couldn’t just leave him anywhere. He might be a killer or a mobster, but he didn’t deserve to be found by the police or the Milanos, but I sure as hell wasn’t taking him back to the Connelly’s fucking fortress.
There was just one person left to call so I took a deep breath, picked up the prepaid phone and listened to the dull ringing tone. “Dad, I need your help.”
Chapter Thirty - One
Rourke
The smell of the buttery mashed potatoes and whatever juicy meat Ma had cooked up for dinner hit me first as I entered the dining room, noisy with the whole family chatting, teasing, giving each other shit. But food was not on my mind, distracted and worried as I was because Conor had been out of touch for almost two fucking days.
“Smells good, Ma,” I said distractedly.
Shae smacked me in the stomach, and I glared at him. Hard. “She’s not in here dipshit. You’re acting like an idiot, and it won’t be long before Patrick notices,” he whispered.
Ivy hung on Shae’s arm, ready to lay into him for being so rude, but I stopped her.
“He’s right. I need to do better.”
Conor hadn’t answered a call or text since he’d left us that day in the garden, and guilt weighed heavily on me. If something happened to him then it was on me.
“Stop worrying,” Shae said. “Conor is a tough son of a bitch who knows what he’s doing.”
I nodded but that answer didn’t sit well with me. Yes, Conor was a tough motherfucker, but he wouldn’t make the family worry if he could help it.
“Where’s Ma?” I asked to change the subject.
Patrick frowned and glanced around the table, starting on his left where Eamon and Layla sat whispering and smiling together, unaware of anything else going on around them. Both Ma and Conor’s seats were empty. Along with the seat where Margo would have been sitting. If she hadn’t run away from us.
“Where’s Fiona?”
“She’s right here, dear brother. Quit ya bitchin’.” Ma breezed in, looking beautiful as always in red slacks and a red blouse with black outline. Fancy for a weeknight dinner with family, but I wouldn’t be the one to tell her that.
“You have a visitor,” she said. She stared her brother down, crossing her arms and giving him the evil eye, every bit as stubborn as Patrick. He, in turn, arched a brow at her before his eyes widened at the sight of Donovan Byrne. Ever the gentleman, Byrne gifted Ma with a too wide smile and a kiss on the cheek before turning a glare at Patrick. “Where is my daughter?”
Patrick snorted and rolled his eyes just in case there was any doubt how he felt about Byrne.
“Go get the girl,” he said dismissively to no one in particular even though all eyes turned to me.
There was nothing else to be done now but tell the truth. “She’s not here.” Admitting it felt like a fucking failure and a rejection all rolled into one, but still I stood and faced my uncle.
“What the fuck do you mean she’s not here? Where else would she be?” He had that look on his face, the one that meant he was about to erupt in anger and no one would be spared his wrath.
I sighed and told him the whole fucking story. How I woke up and she was gone, leaving out the from my bed part of the story since her father was listening in. I told him how we still hadn’t found the hole in security or the person who helped her.
“I sent Conor to find her and that was almost two days ago. Haven’t heard from him since.”
I didn’t bother to offer up an explanation or an apology since there wasn’t anything my uncle could say to me that I hadn’t already said to myself.
“And the reason none of you thought to tell me about this?” His scathing gaze went around the room, landing on Eamon, then Shae and finally back to me.
“I wanted to have a solution before bringing the problem to you.”
Patrick nodded and there was a gleam in his eye that looked a lot like pride. “You did good, son. But don’t wait so long next time. Go find Conor and take Eamon with you.”
“No need for all that, Patrick. The boy is with me.” The room fell silent at Byrne’s words and Patrick was on his feet, spitting fire as rage turned his green eyes black. My feet were on the move, brushing through Ma and Byrne to get to Conor with Eamon and Shae at my back. I needed to see my cousin for myself. Had to make sure he really was okay.
“He showed up that way,” Byrne insisted as Conor staggered into the room.
A few minutes later Conor sat in his spot at the dinner table, refusing Ma’s fussing insistence that he lie down and take dinner in one of the suites, smiling around the table like he was just a little late for dinner.
“Damn, this all smells great Aunt Fi.” He had to know how eager Patrick was for information, but to his credit, Conor didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
“Get on with it, dammit!” Patrick snarled, angry at whoever had done this to Conor I was sure, not angry at my cousin.
“The boy was shot!” Ma glared at him as she piled a lot of everything on Conor’s plate. “Let him recharge his batteries for cryin’ out loud, Paddy!”
“Thanks, Aunt Fi.” Conor smiled and chewed, groaning a little with his eyes closed as he took a bite of chicken and potatoes. “Rourke told you he sent me to find his girl?”
Patrick said, “He did.”
Conor waited to finish chewing before he said, “Found her in a motel off the highway, and I was just getting started on convincing her to come back with me when some of Milano’s men showed up. Shots were fired. One went through my side. And Margo got away.”
I lost my breath at his last words and Conor, always one to draw out a fucking story, filled his fork again and took another big bite.
“And?” The fucker smiled, doing this to me on purpose.
Conor swallowed. “She was free and clear, and then she came back for me and stitched me up. I’m sure she thought long and hard about leaving me where she fixed me up, but I passed out and when I woke up I was at Byrne’s place. Been there for the past day or so.”
He gave Byrne, who sat too close to my mother for my liking, a grateful nod and the man returned it.
Patrick snorted. “If you know where your ungrateful child is, why did you bust in on my family dinner?”
/> A damn good question that made me wonder what the hell kind of game he was playing. Had Margo been in on it the entire time?
Byrne’s shoulders fell and I braced myself for whatever he was about to say next, knowing instinctively it wouldn’t be good.
“She dropped off your boy and made sure my man came to look him over. Hearing what happened, I had my men increase security sweeps and while that was happening, she grabbed one of my cars and took off. Again.”
If the situation weren’t so damn dangerous I would have laughed because of course she did. I almost felt bad for Margo, unable to trust anyone and so desperate for a life she could never have.
“Any idea where she might have headed?”
Byrne shook his head but Patrick’s next question wasn’t so kind.
“What in the hell kind of man doesn’t have GPS or trackers on his cars?”
He shook his head in disgust as if he hadn’t been just as duped by the same woman.
“As you might have already guessed, Margo is too smart for her own good. Removed the tracker and left it sitting on the floor in the space where the car should have been.”
That made me grin because it was so completely Margo. I didn’t know her well, but I knew her well enough to know she was good at thinking on her feet.
“Is there anywhere other than her house or the Emergency Services building she might go?” I asked.
Byrne shook his head, looking so sad and so lost, I almost felt bad for him. Almost. It was his job to keep his daughter safe, and I knew I was judging him harshly considering she’d escaped from me as well. “Not that I can figure out.”
I nodded at him, dismissive because the man had no idea about the incredible woman his daughter was. He didn’t even know her, the woman who’d lost so much.
“I know where she is. Well, where she will be before she leaves town.” It was so obvious I could have kicked myself for not realizing it sooner.
“Where?” Byrne asked, a desperate plea in his eyes.
Conor smiled around another mouthful of food. “She might have already gone there and left,” he added with a smirk.
That worried me more than it should have. Hell, she worried me because I cared for her a helluva lot more than I should.
Chapter Thirty - Two
Margo
Driving the familiar path to the cemetery was almost soothing. The slow winding path through St. Michael’s Cemetery was dotted with trees, vibrant pops of color shining from various headstones. Mom’s spot was in the middle of the cemetery. To the right were the vast rows of tombstones and to the left were the mausoleums of all sizes.
I stepped from the car and turned my face to the sun, letting the heat soak into my chilly skin. In jeans and sneakers it was easy to walk through the damp grass and freshly watered flowers until I got to the waist-high headstone, white stone with shimmery black writing. Rosalynn Marie Byrne.
“You died too young, Mom. I still need you. I still miss you.” It was the same thing I said to her whenever I visited, which wasn’t often enough. Seeing her in the ground when she should be here with me, dragging me to stupid lunches and things like midday manis and pedis, made me sad and mad at the same time.
“I miss you so much it hurts.” I let the tears fall and sat cross-legged in front of her as I told her all about being kidnapped.
“There I was locked in a dark warehouse all alone when they tossed someone else in with me. I thought I was dead, Mom. And then I thought he was dead, but he wasn’t. He just turned out to be a jerk. And just like Dad.”
And worse, my feelings for that jerk were similar to my feelings for my father.
I loved him as much as I hated him. “And the worst part about that, Mom, is that it makes me hate myself most of all. Plus it makes me feel guilty for judging you so harshly all those years.”
It wasn’t fair, and I judged with all the ignorant judgment of a teenager. “I’m sorry for how I judged you, Mom. I should have admired you for loving him when he made it impossible. But I didn’t know how. I couldn’t.”
Not until I went and fell for a man just like him.
Tears fell down my cheeks in endless streams as I told her all about Rourke and what was happening with the Connelly’s and Dad.
“It’s exhausting Mom, I’m so tired. I think I love him, but I can’t live the life you did. I don’t want that life. I want a normal life. Kids. Maybe even a dog.”
Admitting that was kind of freeing but also terrifying because of the whole love thing.
I let the tears fall for a long time before I said what I’d came to say. “Goodbye Mom.”
“Well ain’t that just fucking sweet?”
The voice was a deep snarl, and I looked up instinctively and moved to get up and away because somehow, I knew the man was a threat.
I was about halfway to standing, blinking to bring the man’s face into focus when I saw his hand high in the air. Before I could register what was about to happen, something hard and cold slammed down on my forehead and everything went black.
Pitch fucking black.
***
I didn’t know how much time had passed but when I came to I wasn’t in a fucking warehouse so I figured that was a step up. From hell. Only now I was in a different version of hell, a nineteen seventies porn set kind of hell, complete with gold tiger statues, a black leather sofa beside a large floor to ceiling window and an orange shag area rug smack in the center. About a half dozen men standing guard at every possible exit. It was the height of tacky, which meant I could guess who was behind this.
“Good. You’re awake.”
I knew that wannabe cultured voice and I clenched my jaws to keep from telling Daniel Milano what I thought of him. “Not you again.” God, this guy was the last motherfucker on the planet I wanted to see, especially now.
“You people really are a pain in my ass.” At least they hadn’t tied me up this time, which I was grateful for.
Daniel smiled and it felt like filth slid down my back. “Good to see you again, Margo. You are a hard woman to track down.”
“Now I feel bad I didn’t just let your old man die. Then again, maybe in the days since I left, his ticker gave out. A girl could only hope.”
I knew what I said about not opening my big mouth but something about the guy brought it out of me.
“My father better be fine little girl or else…”
“Or else what?” I taunted him with the question. “The fact is, Daddy Lorenzo isn’t doing well. He’s old and unhealthy and with his heart, this criminal lifestyle is untenable when coupled with the fact that he doesn’t have anyone capable of taking over for him. It’s no wonder he’s on death’s door.”
It was like someone else had taken over control of my mouth, spouting crazy shit that could get me killed.
Daniel’s face flamed red enough to catch fire as a fist slammed against the side of my face. “Don’t talk about my father!”
It was a good hit, the kind that could split a lip if it landed just right. Luckily for me, this one just stung my cheek like a son of a bitch. But I refused to show him. Instead, I spit on the floor and smiled.
“Does that mean you don’t want to know about the dizzy spells? About how he has to ration his pills because he isn’t getting the full dosage? Maybe this will cheer you up? His blood pressure is mostly stable.”
When he didn’t respond to that, I slowed my words and talked to him like an idiot. “That means he probably won’t stroke out while he’s with Patrick Connelly. Probably. Maybe.”
“You’re a dead bitch,” he growled in my direction before he got right in my face, close enough I could smell the food he’d eaten recently. “Dead.”
I should have been terrified and on some level, deep down, I was. There was the kind of crazy in his eyes that I couldn’t fight against, the kind that was so angry and irrational it blazed everything in its path. But I knew one thing about guys like him, when they were emotional, unhinged and uncertain, they di
dn’t know what to do.
“It will be so worth it, knowing that my death will be what kills your old man, so go ahead, Danny, give it your best shot.”
“Bitch!” he growled, and then that fucker punched me in the face, again. And then again, and then in my stomach, hard enough the chair reared back on two legs. Fuck. It hurt. My eye began to swell right away, and I wanted to just lay there and cry, but I steeled myself and smiled instead.
“Beating up on a woman isn’t going to save your daddy, Danny boy. Stop acting like a spoiled fucking brat and end this shit.”
He paced back and forth in front of me, scraping his hands through his dark hair. Daniel’s suit was rumpled, his sleeves were hiked up to show off his forearms and his pants had seen better days, but the true sign of how far he was out of his depth was the increasing panic I felt coming from him.
“Shut the fuck up!” he said, his voice giving him away. “I need to think.” It climbed an octave, like a shriek.
He needed to think? What a fucking joke. The guy probably couldn’t think his way out of a paper bag, which meant if we left the thinking up to him, I’d die.
“It’s simple,” I said as I felt blood trickling down my cheek. “Offer a trade. Me for Lorenzo. This way you get your daddy back and you don’t have to wear your big boy pants any longer.”
For just a second I thought he might go for it. He looked interested in the idea, but then he looked at the men standing around the room, watching and listening.
I knew exactly what he was thinking because I was thinking the same damn thing. His stupid fucking pride was going to get us both killed. “No. Dad wants everything so that’s what we’ll get.”
“Fuck my life!” I yelled, holding each syllable until I was breathless as frustration took over. “What you’ll get, you moron, is nothing. But if you’re lucky, one of my dad’s men or maybe one of Patrick’s boys will give you the bullet to the head you so fucking deserve.”
It was harsh, but too late, I realized it was probably not at all what I should have said.
