It’s Mick.
The blindfold is yanked from my face, and suddenly, I’m face to face with him.
Mick smiles thinly as the horror spreads over my face. “Yeah there’ll be yelling, and crying, and drinking and singing sad-ass songs, and the whole thing. You know, Irish funerals and all that. And then?” He shrugs. “Then there’ll be war.”
We’re in an old warehouse of some kind — the graffiti-ed walls crumbling in the dim light from the one overhead bulb. He steps towards me, pulling a pack of Marlboro Lights out of his pocket. Lightning flashes outside, and he holds his hand out, offering me the pack before he grins at the way I snarl in response.
“Right, right. You don’t.” He pulls one out and sticks in between his lips. “Smart girl.”
Thunder crashes and rain starts to pelt the roof above our heads. The lighter in his hands flicks as he holds it to the end of his cigarette, smoke curling around his face before he pulls it away and takes a deep drag.
“There’s a saying, you know. They say, ‘when there’s blood in the streets, it’s time to buy.’” He grins. “Your dad used to fuckin’ hate when I said that, but that’s ‘cause he was a goddamn optimist. He wanted to see the good in this fuckin’ place. But me?”
Mick takes a deep pull on his cigarette and shakes his head.
“Me, I see the opportunity. I see opportunity in the way your daddy and those old dinosaurs over in Dublin never did. So this is me staking my claim. I’m done being cornered into Southie, and I’ve been askin’ the Kings to move in on Vadim’s turf for fuckin’ ages now. And I’m done hearing no.”
“What the fuck did you do, Mick?” I spit.
“I’m taking what’s mine to take,” he hisses back. “That’s what I’m doing. The Kings will keep saying no to change and progress until they’re fuckin’ blue in the face. Hell, they’ve been saying no, no matter how many times I give them proof of the Russians hedging in on our turf.” He shrugs. “Fuck, even if it’s proof I had to make myself. But when their old buddy Jack’s girl gets kidnapped at her own wedding? To my kid?” Mick grins wickedly. “They won’t say no now.”
And that’s when I feel the cold chill creep down my spine. It’s when I realize that he’s just telling me his whole plan, that I realize there’s only one ending here.
Because this isn’t an action movie. This isn’t the comically clichéd bad guy telling the main character all of his wicked plans only to be foiled.
No, this is Southie, and this is quite real. And in the real world, there’s no way Mick tells me his whole plan and doesn’t kill me.
I look up, and our eyes lock.
He grins coldly.
The cigarette flicks away to a corner of the room, and my heart skips a beat.
Mick reaches his hand behind him, and my eyes lock onto the gleaming metal of the gun as he pulls it back out.
“Nothing personal, Aela.”
Chapter 30
Liam
The backdoor to the bar swings shut behind me with a loud clang.
That’s when the rest of the guys in the room look up.
…That’s also pretty much when all hell breaks loose.
Connor’s the fastest, swinging his shotgun around to level at Eddie. And Damian’s reaching for his piece when two of Mick’s guys lunge forward, one of them shoving him down and pointing his own gun at my friend as the other one levels his at Connor. Jonathan’s hunting rifle loads with a sharp clacking sound, but he’s suddenly got a pistol pointed right at his head and he freezes.
In about ten seconds, the whole fucking place is pin-drop silent and still, almost every single one of us with a gun out and pointed around the room.
My eyes dart around the bar, and my heart drops.
Fuck.
We’re outnumbered. Easily, actually. Once I look, of the twenty guys in the room, sixteen of them are in Mick’s inner circle. There’s me, Connor, Damian, and Jonathan, but the rest?
Well, the rest have us outgunned three-to-one.
Not exactly blurry odds.
“Easy, Roarke,” Eddie mutters, eyeing my hand still touching the butt of my gun. “Nice and easy.”
I slowly move my hand away, and he reaches out to pluck it from my belt.
I glance up to see my friends being similarly disarmed.
Damian’s eyes narrow at Eddie. “You son of a—”
He grunts as he steps forward, slumping towards the bar when one of the guys behind him clocks him in the head with the butt of a gun. Connor catches him, holding him upright as he swears.
“We’re all just gonna stay nice and calm, yeah?” Eddie mutters, keeping his gun on me as he sweeps his eyes over the room.
“The fuck are you doing, Eddie?” Connor growls. He glances around the room, snarling. “The fuck are any of you doing!”
“Orders,” Eddie spits. “We’re following orders, Connor. And you can get on board with that, or you can—”
“Orders to what?!” he bellows, a few of the guys around him taking a cautionary step back. “Orders to sit here with our thumbs up our asses while the Russians—”
“There are no Russians.”
Connor’s eyes snap to mine as the words leave my mouth, and I glance at Eddie. “There aren’t, are there?”
He grins as he shrugs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He does, though. The grin he tries to hide says it all.
I look past him at Connor. “There aren’t any Russians, this is just Mick trying to—”
I swear as Eddie sinks his fist into my gut. Connor roars and lunges forward, but three guys yank him back and slam him up against the bar next to Damian.
“Look!” Eddie belts out, glaring at the room. “The situation with the Russians,” he stresses. “Is being handled! But all of us here are just gonna chill the fuck out and wait for Mick to—”
“Well this is a lovely fuckin’ party now isn’t it?”
Every single one of us whirls at the Irish-lilted voice of Eamon O’Brian from the front of the bar.
“The fuck did he get in here?” Eddie growls, nodding at one of his guys. The man pivots, leveling his gun to Eamon, who only grins lazily at everyone as he steps into the scene. He stumbles slightly, catching himself on the wall with a little laugh, and suddenly, the tension goes right out of the place.
Because Eamon is wasted.
Eddie chuckles. “Had a bit to drink there, Eamon?”
The Dublin emissary chuckles, his eyes glassy as he stumbles again towards the bar, seemingly oblivious of the guns out and pointed around the room. “Aye, aye. Well I woke up ready for a wedding, but fuck if it looks like that’s going to happen today.”
His glances around the place, and when his eyes catch me, he seems to grin a little wider. “Roarke! Evenin’ boy-o!” He spots Connor and Damian and chuckles. “Two Roarke brothers and a Gallagher! Must be my lucky fuckin’ day,” he says with a wink.
“Might be best if you came back later, eh, Eamon?” Connor growls, trying to impress the gravity of the situation on Eamon with his eyes. The Irishman waves him off though, slumping into a stool at the bar.
“Naw, I’ll stay for a quick one.” He nods at Jonathan, who’s still standing behind the bar. “A double whiskey, Jon, if you would.”
Jonathan, currently with three guns leveled at him, raises a brow towards Eddie, who nods. “Fuck it, give him one.”
Eamon starts to sing as Jonathan slides a glass in front of him and pours — some sort of Irish shanty song that has most of the guys in the room chuckling and shaking their heads at him.
Damian, Con, and I exchange confused glances.
“That’s a good man,” Eamon grins at Jonathan and the hefty pour in front of him. “Leave the bottle, eh? Feelin’ a bit thirsty tonight.”
Again, Jonathan glances at Eddie, who rolls his eyes and snorts. “Fuck, let him drink himself to death for all I care.”
He turns back to me, and suddenly, that gun comes right u
p to point in my face.
“As I was saying, we’re all gonna sit fuckin’ tight until—”
“When Iiiiii-rish eeeeeeyes are smiling!”
Eamon’s singing again.
Loudly.
The room dissolves into laughter as he hoists his glass high and crows out the words.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eddie spits. “Forget it. Get him the fuck outta here.”
Eamon scowls, still glassy-eyed, his head lolling side-to-side as one of Mick’s guys goes to grab him. “Oh fuck off, I’m just havin’ a fuckin’ drink is all. Who are you, me mah?”
The guy — Sean Leary — rolls his eyes. “Alright, time to go, pal.”
Eamon scowls as he turns and straight up spits on Sean’s shoes. “I said fuck off.”
Sean’s face goes livid. “Oh now we’re doing this,” he snarls and grabs Eamon by the arm. “Time to go you drunk Irish—”
Eamon’s drink goes splashing into Sean’s face, who sputters, roaring and clawing at the whiskey in his eyes. And then, before anyone knows what the fuck is happening, Eamon’s suddenly up, whirling, and smashing the bottle of liquor right into the side of Sean’s head.
And suddenly, a very fast, very nimble, and very stone cold sober Eamon O’Brian is yanking the shotgun out of Sean’s hands, leveling it at his gut, and just unloading. He whirls as Sean goes flying backwards and pumps off three more shots before the place goes fucking apeshit.
Again, Connor’s the fastest to react, grabbing the .45 out of one of the guy’s hands and squeezing off two shots into his chest.
Damian, Jonathan, and I are right behind him. I crack my forearm into Eddie’s face with a satisfying crunch, dropping him to the floor and snagging the gun out his hands. I squeeze off a shot at the guy charging Damian, dropping him like a bag of flour as my friend nods at me.
Jonathan’s up and over the bar with a baseball bat, cracking it over one guy’s head before whirling and jamming the butt of it right into another guy’s nose. I launch over the simpering Eddie and go crashing into a guy who’s got Connor in a headlock, toppling him off my brother and sending him crashing into a table.
Eamon promptly fills him full of lead.
It feels like forever, but the whole thing is over in probably less than thirty seconds.
And somehow, it’s me, Connor, Damian, Jonathan, and Eamon who are the ones still standing. Around us, the floor is littered with Mick’s guys — all either dead or groaning with the good sense to stay down.
I let the breath I’ve been holding out in a whoosh, grimacing at the fresh blood soaking my bandage from earlier. Damian spits blood, wiping his mouth and helping Connor to his feet, and Jonathan’s got a towel up to a slice over one of his eyes.
Eamon’s face is grim.
“Right then.” He tosses his empty shotgun to the ground and plucks a pistol from one of the bodies on the floor. He turns to us. “We all whole, boys?”
The four of us nod.
“Good. You, you, and you—” he points to Damian, Connor, and I. “You’re with me. Jon?” He picks up a fresh shotgun off the ground and tosses it to him. “Think you can stay and keep an eye on these traitorous pieces of shite?” He emphasizes the word by walking over to Eddie and sinking the toe of his boot into the big guy’s ribs.
Eddie howls.
Jonathan frowns and glances around the room at the seven guys aside from Eddie who are still breathing. “Just me watching the eight of them?”
“Aye, good point.”
Eamon doesn’t even blink as he raises his gun and squeezes off two shots, dropping two of the wounded guys.
“Jesus,” Damian mutters.
“Can you watch six?”
Jonathan nods grimly.
“Good. Feel free to beat this one—” he kicks at Eddie again “—within an inch of his fucking miserable life. But keep him alive. I know the Kings will want a word. And now…” Eamon turns and hands me a gun. “I believe we have a damsel of yours to go rescue, yeah?”
I check the chamber of the gun and nod grimly. “Let’s go.”
“Wait.” Damian shakes his head as we load up and head out the backdoor of the bar. “Wait, damsel of yours? Are you with Aela again?”
“Jesus.” Eamon rolls his eyes as I unlock my car. “Of course he is. Keep up, laddy.”
Thunder rumbles overhead, and a streak of lightning illuminates the sky as it starts to rain.
“Told you there wasn’t a scenario here where Mick doesn’t try to kill you,” Connor mutters, grinning wryly at me as he slides into the passenger seat.
I ignore him, gunning the car to life. “Fuck, do we have any idea where Mick—”
“The old Bigelow machine parts factory,” Connor doesn’t even blink. “It’s where Mick does all his hits.” His mouth snaps shut as he darts his eyes to me. “I’m sure she’s fi—”
I slam the car into drive, roaring us out of the parking lot and heading deep into Southie as another lightning bolt shatters the night sky.
Cause I’m out for blood. For Jack. For Sheila.
For the girl I love.
And if he’s hurt a hair on her head, there’s going to be hell and damnation to pay.
Chapter 31
Aela
“Looks like your luck’s run out.”
I’m still struggling at my binds, still straining at them as Mick lifts the gun in his hands. Even if the situation is hopeless, I’m still fighting.
I learned that years ago, from a man I loved.
And then hated, because he broke my heart.
And then fell into again, despite everything I knew.
…The man I just might be in love with all over again.
Never stop fighting.
The thunder cracks through the darkness, lightning sizzling through the night sky as Mick raises the gleaming silver gun in his hand. A drop of rain drips from a crack in the ceiling, striking the floor between us.
Mick sighs. “Headstrong and reckless as ever. You know, that’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”
He lifts the gun.
“I want you to know this is nothing personal. It’s just business, Aela, that’s it. But for what it’s worth?”
He shrugs.
“You never should have come back here.”
He pulls the hammer back, and time goes still.
And all I can think of is Liam.
The tears burn hot down my cheeks, and slowly, I close my eyes.
It’s true what they say about your life flashing before your eyes, by the way. And in that second, I see it all.
I see my parents, smiling as they hoist me in the air above a picnic blanket in Boston Commons. I see my mom, smiling past the tube in her nose in the hospital bed as she gives me a squeeze and calls me her little rose.
I see my father’s tears for the first time ever, two months later at her funeral.
I see the playground, and the little boy trying not to cry as he pinches his nose. I see his curious smile as I pass him a tissue, before my dad calls me away.
I watch that little boy grow up in fast-forward, and curious smiles turn to lingering looks. Lingering looks turn to words and flashes of his blue eyes that make me tingle all over.
I’m in the planetarium at the Science Museum, and Liam Roarke is holding my hand. The constellations fill the ceiling, and as Andromeda glows to life above us, he’s leaning over and kissing me.
I’m watching in slow-motion flashback as my whole world changes with one single kiss.
We grow older, and closer, and bolder. I’m watching as kisses turn to touching, to further exploration. He unbuttons my blouse that warm summer night, his eyes flashing in time with the pounding of my heart with every button. I’m watching our lips crash together as he slides inside for the first time, watching our faces as we come together like that.
The scene blurs, through stolen kisses, and manic, panting quickies in the backseat of his car or in my room. It fast-forwards, and then
I’m watching my heart shatter the night of Sheila’s funeral. I’m watching as he turns away and leaves me broken.
I flash through school, and Switzerland, and relationships that were only ever shadows and cheap imitations of what I’d lost. I see a glimpse of California, and the card tables of Vegas — of getting mixed up with Nico and his whole crew.
And I realize the entire past six years is a blur that only came into focus the day I stepped back into Southie and back into him.
“You know, I’m actually curious about something.”
Mick’s words drag me back to the present. He lowers the gun, smiling wickedly at me.
“She ever tell you?” Mick grins at the confused look on my face. “Sheila, I mean. You know, me and her…”
My stomach drops, my blood chilling to ice in my veins.
“What,” I croak out, my pulse shallow.
“No, huh?” He shakes his head. “Such a pretty girl she was, that sister of yours. So impressionable.” He smiles sickeningly, and as the horrible realization dawns on me, I feel bile rising up.
“You know, I’m not sure she knew it at first, but after I gave her a little taste of the H?” Mick chuckles. “Shit, that girl loved me after that.”
I choke on the wrenching sob in my throat, the last little bit of my heart shattering like brittle glass in my chest.
I think of the ways my vibrant, vivacious sister slowly dimmed somewhere in high school. The ways she slowly shut down, and stopped smiling. The way her skin turned sallow, the way that light went out in her eyes when what we later learned was a heroin addiction slowly took her under.
And suddenly, it all makes sense. Horrible, heart-wrenching, enraging sense.
“You son of a bitch,” I choke out, the tears streaming down my cheeks as I bear my teeth at him. “I’ll kill you,” I somehow hiss out. “I swear to God I’ll—”
Mick laughs. “You know, your daddy said the same thing.” He shrugs. “Yeah, he didn’t know either, by the way. Swore up and down just like you, promising to kill me and all that shit.” His eyes lock onto mine. “Oh, that was before I shot him, of course.”
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