KILLIAN: The O'Donnell Mafia

by Zoey Parker

  Even from a distance, I could see the white stains of bird poop dotting his windshield. Looking at the familiar site, it was almost easy to imagine Niall was inside the house. Maybe lounging on the couch or at the dining room table helping Dad set up schedules. It was easy to imagine him walking out the front door, his jeans tucked into his boots, one thumb lazily hanging from his front pocket.

  I shook the image away, trying to clear my head before stepping out of the car. I needed to be focused. For Niall. For the baby. For Heather.

  I walked up the driveway and across the grass to reach the front porch. Though I’d lived in this house my entire life, grown up playing on the lawn and smoking late-night cigarettes on the porch, I felt like an intruder. My heart racing with possibilities, doubts, and fears, I reached out a hand and hit the doorbell. Before the chime could even finish, the large wooden door opened.

  ###

  Heather

  I knocked on the door, but no one answered. Luckily, Killian had given me his spare key a few days before, so I dug it out of the bottom of my purse and used it. The room was dark and chilly, curtains drawn against the morning light. I assumed Killian was sleeping and went to the bedroom.

  It was clear he’d been there, his side of the bed was mussed, the fitted sheet so disarrayed the mattress was showing. But still, no sign of him. I walked through the small space, checking for any sign of where he could be or a note, though I knew that was a long shot. I hadn’t returned any of his calls or texts for over a day. He had no reason to suspect I’d show up at his apartment looking for him.

  To ensure the cab fare wasn’t a total waste, I brushed my hair in his bathroom and found my clothes, from two days before, folded on the chair in the corner of his bedroom. I put them on, grateful to finally take off Killian’s boxers and oversized T-shirt. Then I padded into the kitchen and dug through his cupboards.

  Normally, I’d feel intrusive, but I didn’t feel that way with Killian. Since the moment we’d met, he’d made me feel comfortable. I found a bag of blueberry bagels on the top shelf of the pantry, but I could see through the plastic that fuzzy mold had begun to grow along the sides of the bag. I grimaced and threw it in the trash.

  In the end, I settled for two fried eggs and a glass of milk. I washed my dishes and returned them to the cabinets, and checked my phone. It was just after nine o’clock. I sat on his squeaky sofa, deciding I should wait for him to return. As I sat there, unwanted thoughts began to creep in. Perhaps he’d gone out the night before and met a woman? Perhaps he wasn’t home because he’d stayed the night with her?

  I shook my head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts from my mind, but they kept coming. What if he went to the compound looking for me and met Caleb instead? What if he was lying dead somewhere and I didn’t even know it? I squeezed my eyes tight, still trying to clear my head, but the longer I sat on the couch, the more terrible possibilities presented themselves.

  Finally, after fifteen minutes of waiting, I pulled out my phone and suddenly remembered Killian had texted me. I opened the messages and apologies flooded the screen. I scrolled through them, feeling guilty that I’d left him hanging for so long, when suddenly my finger froze on the screen. The two most recent messages he’d sent, the ones I’d received on my way to his apartment, were in the center of the screen.

  He was going to the compound. He was going to turn Caleb in. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears, but I tried to keep my breathing level and calm. Having another seizure right now was in no one’s best interest, least of all mine.

  I closed out of the texts and called the most recent number. The same woman at the cab company who had answered my previous two calls answered again, though she didn’t seem to recognize my voice, and told me a cab was in the area. I shoved my phone and keys into my purse and darted out the door, heading to the curb to wait for my ride.

  It was the same young kid who had just dropped me off. Despite having seen me less than twenty minutes ago, he didn’t try to make conversation, and I was grateful. He dropped me off just outside the gates, and I used my key to unlock the side entrance.

  The compound was abuzz with the usual morning activity, with women walking the streets in groups for exercise, their laughter bouncing off the nearly identical houses. I walked quickly, being sure to not draw attention to myself, towards the big house. If Killian was here, that was where he’d be.

  As soon as I rounded the last turn in the back of the complex, the big house came into view, and Killian’s car was parked prominently in the driveway. I released a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding in. If his car was still there, that meant he was fine.

  I said a silent prayer that Liam would believe him; that he would trust Killian’s story and everything would be fixed. Caleb would be dealt with, the specifics of which I didn’t want to think about, and Killian and I would be free to be together and live on the compound. Killian would be in line to take over his father, and our lives would be set.

  Our lives. The thought set butterflies aflutter in my stomach. We could be together. Actually together. And I wouldn’t have to be afraid of Caleb or my dad. I could have this baby, and we could be a family.

  The thought filled me nearly to bursting, and I turned around, headed in the same direction I’d just come, but towards my house. I’d parked the car in the driveway, so I’d have to grab it quickly if I didn’t want a run-in with my dad or Caleb. After what happened the last time I saw them, I honestly didn’t know what they were capable of. I’d take the car back to Killian’s apartment and wait for him there.

  My house was only a block from the big house, so I was rounding the corner in less than two minutes, and the car was exactly where I’d left it two days ago. Digging in my purse for the key, I walked towards it, keeping my head down, as though Caleb and my dad wouldn’t recognize it was me if they couldn’t see my face.

  With the key firmly in my hand, nerves sending shockwaves of anxiety up and down my spine, I walked to the car and unlocked it. I slid into the familiar seat and closed the door, relief flooding my system. However, just as I shoved the key in the ignition, the passenger door opened and another body slid into the car.

  Caleb.

  The pistol in his hand was pointed directly at my stomach, and a cruel smile was painted across his face.

  “You weren’t thinking of leaving without saying goodbye, were you?” he said, his voice bitter.

  I placed a protective hand over my stomach. “What are you going to do?”

  “Relax,” he said, leaning back in the seat, but never lowering the gun. “I won’t hurt a pregnant woman unless I have to.”

  “Caleb,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm despite my fear. “What are you going to do?”

  He groaned, his eyes rolling. “You were always such a spoilsport. I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Now, drive. And please, don’t do anything foolish.”

  He wagged the gun to remind me he had it, as if I ever could have forgotten, and I backed out of the driveway, awaiting his next instructions.

  Chapter Eleven

  Killian

  My dad answered the door, and I smiled and offered up a small wave, hoping to break the tension. The gesture seemed useless though when two enforcers appeared behind him like twin shadows. Was my dad really so afraid of me that he couldn’t meet with me without extra security? Perhaps convincing him of my innocence would be harder than I imagined.

  Without changing his expression, he stepped back from the door and ushered me inside. The house looked exactly as it had the last time I’d seen it. One of Niall’s denim jackets hung from a hook behind the door, and his running shoes were in the exact same place he’d last kicked them off.

  Dad had always hated mess, and he’d asked Niall too many times to count not to leave his shoes by the door, but there they were, a kind of monument to his absence. I wondered how long they’d stay there before someone moved them, whether on accident or on purpose.

  “We can
go to the dining room,” Dad said, walking ahead of me, leading me through the house as though I needed a guide. As though I didn’t have every square inch of the place burned into my memory.

  “How have you been?” I asked, hoping to shift the tone of our meeting from an interrogation to a reunion, but that didn’t seem like a possibility.

  My question received no response other than a slight tightening of Dad’s shoulders. As he passed by the large mahogany table, he pulled one of the chairs out, gesturing for me to take a seat, and then lowered himself into the chair directly opposite it, the enforcers standing on either side of him as if we were in an Al Pacino movie.

  “So,” he said, his hands folded in front of him, his thumbs twirling around one another, “you wanted to talk.”

  “Uhh, yeah.” I hated how nervous I sounded. Dad had always been the negotiator, at ease in even the tensest situations. I, on the other hand, had not inherited that trait.

  Nervousness oozed out of me, so much so I was afraid I’d spill some of it on the table. My leg bounced wildly, making the table shake, and as soon as I gained control of the right one, the left one started up. I took a deep breath, trying to remind myself that I was talking to my father. The man who raised me. Who raised Niall. Who, though it was hard to see at the moment, somewhere deep down still loved me. Even with everything that had happened between us in the weeks since Niall’s death, I truly believed that.

  “That was not a question,” he said, his voice cool and even. “It was an invitation for you to begin.”

  “Right.” I nodded, and looked down at my hands, taking a deep, steadying breath as I pressed my palms to the smooth surface of the table.

  How many times had I sat around this table with Niall and my dad? How many meals and conversations and family discussions and business meetings had we shared here? Too many to count. I hated that this meeting, this conversation about Niall and his death and his murderer, was taking place in the house and at the table where I had so many good memories.

  This moment, despite the outcome, would always be a stain on the many good memories we’d shared here, and I hated the thought of that. Still, I tried to push these thoughts away, save them for another time when my entire future wasn’t hanging in the balance.

  “I know you think I hurt Niall.” I chanced a glance at my father, hoping to read his reaction for any sign of how this conversation would go. However, aside from a subtle tightening of his lips, he gave away nothing except for a solitary nod.

  I pressed on. “I can even understand how you may have come to that conclusion. I was the last person to be seen with Niall. I was the person who set up the meeting that night. I told Kevin Rourke to meet us there. I had my hand in every part of the planning that night. I see how guilty that makes me look, and I don’t blame you for thinking I played a part in how he died.”

  “Murdered,” Dad said, his voice quiet.

  “What?” I asked. I’d hit a stride in my speech, and I hadn’t anticipated being interrupted. It had thrown me.

  “He didn’t die,” Dad said, his lip curling around the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. “He was murdered. I think you played a part in how he was murdered.”

  I let the words sink in; opened myself fully to the reality that my father believed I murdered my own brother. For weeks, I’d deluded myself into thinking it wasn’t as bad as everyone said. I’d convinced myself that Dad may blame me for his death, but surely, he couldn’t truly believe I set out to murder my own brother. Now, though, the truth had been laid bare before me. And as much as they hurt, I needed to hear it. I needed to know what I was up against.

  “Yes,” I said, hoping he couldn’t detect the shakiness of my voice. “You’re right. Niall was murdered. Calling it anything less is a dishonor to his memory. Your son, my brother, was murdered in cold-blood that night in the alley.”

  Dad’s fists clenched on the table, and his teeth ground together behind his lips. He was always so calm and collected, but I could see the rage boiling just below the surface of him.

  “But not by me.”

  ###

  Heather

  Caleb instructed me to drive to the back corner of the compound. The area was mostly deserted, nothing more than a few vacant homes and a storage warehouse.

  “What’s your plan, Caleb?” I asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

  “God!” he shouted, shaking the gun in frustration. “Would you stop asking me that? I’m not going to tell, okay? And sorry, but this time there isn’t a journal lying around for you to snoop through.”

  I flinched away from his thinly veiled anger. He was trying to smile, look happy and excited, but I knew Caleb. Despite the monster he’d become, he was my brother. I’d grown up with his moods and his tempers. I could read him, and it was clear he was close to cracking. The one thing I didn’t know, was what he’d do when that happened.

  “You know about that?” I asked, following Caleb’s direction and pulling into the lot behind the warehouse.

  “I knew someone had been in my room, and I suspected they’d gone through my things, but I wasn’t sure who. Then, of course, you made your little announcement to Dad and gave yourself away.”

  “Does Dad know?” I asked.

  “He knows what you think, but he doesn’t believe you,” Caleb said. “It is a pretty far-fetched story. Especially when Killian looks so guilty. I’m not surprised no one has figured it out. Honestly, I’m surprised you did. With Niall dying and the pregnancy, I’d pegged you as being way too self-involved to ever suspect me.”

  I shifted the car into park and leaned back in my seat, trying to get as far away from the gun as possible, though I knew that ultimately wouldn’t really help. “You knew about me being pregnant?”

  He smiled. “Let’s just say, I had to act pretty surprised when Dad told me about the message from the doctor’s office.”

  “How?” I asked, a hatred I’d never known growing inside of me, aching to break free and claw Caleb to shreds.

  Part of it was anger at myself, as well. For the trust I’d placed in him, the naivety with which I’d lived, assuming he wanted nothing but the best for me. Caleb was the one to blame for everything that had happened, but I couldn’t help but feel that I shared a tiny bit of it myself.

  “You weren’t exactly subtle.” He laughed, and the icy tones of it sent goosebumps up and down my arms. “Do you remember the night I came in to tell you about Niall? I’d wanted to be the one to break the news to you, to see the look on your face. I know that sounds cruel, but I was curious to see how much you actually cared for him. I wondered whether you’d break down in tears or confess everything to me once you heard the news, but props to you, little sister, you kept a poker face. However, I did see you hide something under the covers when I walked in the room. At the time, I suspected they were love letters from Niall or a dirty magazine, but still, I had to know for sure. So, I snuck into your room while you were showering the next morning, and I found the pregnancy tests in your drawer. They weren’t even hidden under a piece of paper or anything. I opened the drawer, and they were just laying there, on display for anyone to see.”

  “I wouldn’t say that being in a closed drawer in my bedroom counts as being ‘on display,’ ” I said.

  “Now, now, Heather. Who is the pot and who is the kettle here? You looked through my things, as well. I don’t think you have the moral high ground in this situation that you think you do.”

  I laughed. “Well, considering I haven’t killed anyone, let’s agree to disagree on that.”

  “I don’t know. The argument could be made that you killed Niall by hooking up with him despite knowing how Dad and I felt about the O’Donnells.”

  “You work for the O’Donnells,” I shouted. “How can you hate a family you have been sworn to protect? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Perhaps Dad will fill you in on the details,” Caleb said, stepping out of the car. He leaned down to look th
rough the door at me. “Please follow me.”

  “Is Dad in there? Does he know you’re doing this?”

  “All will be revealed soon enough,” he said, using the gun to gesture for me to hurry up.

  I sighed, trying to pretend I wasn’t frightened. “Would you stop acting like you’re the villain in some movie? There are no cameras around. This is real-life. Just be a normal person for a second, and tell me what is going on.”

  Rather than respond, Caleb walked around the back of the car, pushed the gun into my spine, and forced me towards the back door of the warehouse. The door opened on squeaky hinges, and it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the gloom. Most of the windows had been blacked out with years of dirt and grime, and there weren’t any lights on.

  Caleb shoved me again, apologizing with a sneer when I stumbled and directed me to a door just to the right. I could see light peeking around the edges of the frame, and a shadow moved across the floor on the other side. Then, just as we approached the door, it was thrown open, a man silhouetted in the doorway.