Gael
The Callaghan Mafia Book 3
Savannah Rylan
Copyright © 2020 by Savannah Rylan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
1. Gael
2. Colleen
3. Gael
4. Colleen
5. Gael
6. Colleen
7. Gael
8. Colleen
9. Gael
10. Colleen
11. Gael
12. Colleen
13. Gael:
14. Colleen
15. Gael
16. Colleen
17. Gael
18. Colleen - Ten Days Later
19. Gael
20. Colleen
Sneak Peak at Flynn
About the Author
More Books by Savannah Rylan
1
Gael
I’m moving on with my life. And that begins by admitting my love for Martin.
Mother’s voice echoed off the corners of my mind as I swirled my drink around in my glass. I could still hear the roar of Declan’s disapproval. The way he slammed out of his chair. The way his eyes bulged and the way his beautiful fiancée attempted to calm him down to no avail.
I’m moving in with him within a few days’ time.
My stomach felt sick with betrayal. With grief. With… anger.
My God, I hadn’t been this angry since—well, ever.
You had something to do with my father’s death, didn’t you?
I loved your father, even if you never came to love me.
How could I!? You manipulated him every chance you got. You’ve always been jealous at the fact that I was the first woman in his life. The first woman he wanted to take care of, even before you. You always hated that, Fiona. I’ve always been able to read you like a book.
Abby’s words still rattled around in my head. Her words still shook me to my core. So much of this was so unlike my mother. So unlike her countenance. I knew how much she loved Richard. I knew how much she cared for him. There was no way in hell she’d move on that quickly. Or pull Abigail away from her father like that. Our mother didn’t have it in her. My mother didn’t have it in her to be that person.
Then again, she’d been acting off for a while now.
Is this what you really want, Mom?
I’d never heard Declan’s voice waver like that before. I’d never heard it break. But when he questioned her. When he looked that woman dead in her eyes and cocked the verbal gun, all of us were on pins and needles. Begging her to backtrack. Begging her to shut up. Begging her to admit what the hell kind of charade she was pulling so we could find the answers we needed.
Starting with who the hell killed our stepfather.
Yes, this is what I really want. I’ve already made the decision. I’m merely giving you the courtesy of filling you in on what’s happening.
I downed the rest of the amber liquid and grimaced. I wanted to drown out that response. For the past three days, it kept playing around in my head. On repeat. Angering me. Poking me. Fueling the rage I felt to squeeze Martin’s throat until his eyes bulged. How dare he manipulate our mother during her time of grieving. I mean, it was the only answer that made sense! The only answer that really explained what the hell was going on with our mother right now.
And what pissed me off is that none of my other brothers believed me.
Not even Flynn.
“Fuck you all,” I grumbled.
After Declan spewed some bullshit about God having mercy on Mom, she walked out with him. With Uncle Martin. No. Not “uncle.” He was no longer family as far as I was concerned. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew the kind of game he was playing. And he knew who he was playing with. The grin he tossed us as he walked out of that dinner with our mother at his side practically boasted of that fact.
Before accusing us of threatening our own mother’s life.
You’ll be sorry you ever felt the need to take mercy on your mother. Mark my words.
“Your words are shit anyway,” I murmured.
All three of us wanted to go after Martin and kill him. Slaughter him. Feed him to the fucking dogs. Ciara had to hold tight to Declan’s suit coat. Abby had a grip on Brody’s hand. And me? Well, I didn’t have the luxury of a woman grounding me. I had to do that myself.
By white-knuckling the edge of the table in front of me.
“Sir?”
I jammed my tongue into my cheek. “Yes?”
“We’ve arrived.”
The scenery in front of my eyes slowly unfolded. It faded away in zigzags and pops as my driver parked on the curb of the road. I let my eyes fall out the window. I gazed upon the nasty outer facade of Peak City Pub. A rundown, good-for-nothing, shoddy, ramshackle of a place. It wasn’t fit to serve water, much less anything else. But I wasn’t interested in the pub. Or in purchasing it.
I wanted what was above it.
The driver opened my door and I handed him my crystal glass. I slipped off the seat, standing on the edge of the sidewalk. A soft breeze kicked up and I smelled the scents of my yesteryear. Of my childhood. Of running around with my brothers and skinning my knees during freeze tag.
Sometimes, I wanted nothing more than to be an innocent child again.
“Time, sir?”
I buttoned my suit coat. “Stick around. This shouldn’t take long. I’ve come prepared.”
“Hotel?”
I shook my head. “My place. Be ready. At the first sign of trouble, get lost. I’ll make it back.”
“Are you sure, sir?”
I slowly panned my gaze to meet his. “I always do, Robert.”
He nodded. “Very well. I’ll wait.”
He closed the car door behind me, and I started for the alleyway. I walked down its damp, echoing corridor. All the way past the side exit of the pub. A small look to my left revealed a metal door. One that unlocked with a very particular key I kept on my keyring at all times. I slipped them out of the silken pocket of my cream-colored pants. While the rest of my brothers fancied the darker suits, I was more of a lighter-toned man. Creams and light grays. A bit of pastel pink here and there. It lent a soft attribute to a stone-cold face that never moved.
At least, that was what my brothers said my face did.
Or didn’t do.
I slipped the key into the lock and turned. And when the lock gave against my will, I slid the heavy door open. It groaned, signaling my arrival. And three bodyguards stepped out of the shadows. I startled whistling as they stood there with their hands in front of their pelvises. Holding sleek black glocks that were supposed to make me shake in my shoes.
“3-6-91-43-2, gentlemen.”
I slipped my keys back into my pocket as the men nodded.
“How many tonight?” the middle one asked.
“One.”
“How many purchases.”
“One.”
“How much?”
I grinned. “I believe my account has a surplus of around twenty million.”
They all looked at one another before the middle one sighed.
“Welcome back, Mr. Callaghan.”
I nodded. “As a shipping and security man, I can appreciate that the theatrics are the same every time. Though, you should speak with your boss about your weapons. They’re a bit… plain. For men in your position.”
Then, I walked in between them
and headed up the rickety stairs.
The closer I drew to Selling Point, the more relaxed I felt. Usually, I came to stare. I came to check out the goods. To keep my ear to the ground and see if anyone had anything to say that I might need to know about. This was where I made my connections. This was where I garnered the information I needed about Chicago. The city’s slimiest creatures came here. Creatures of the underworld, expensive as they were rare.
But tonight, I wasn’t here on business.
I was here to buy.
“The usual, Mr. Callaghan?”
I nodded at the waitress. “No more than four, please. But I expect you will keep them coming.”
“Of course, sir. Your regular seat?”
I grinned. “No. Sit me up front, where I can have a good look at the girls.”
I saw the shock roll behind the woman’s eyes. But they knew better than to question me. Or any clientele, for that matter. The smell of cologne and cigar smoke wafted around me. Smoking. Such a nasty habit. Declan had a penchant for needing a cigar every once in a while. Brody would smoke like a freight train if he didn’t have to patrol so much. And while I indulged Declan sometimes, smoking wasn’t something I did.
It was something I endured to make someone feel more comfortable in my presence.
After all, making someone comfortable got me everything I wanted.
I took my seat and was promptly handed a drink. The stage laid out in front of me didn’t have a catwalk. Which was odd. I strictly remembered this place having a catwalk for the women to walk up and down so we could get a very good look at them. I crossed my leg over my knee and waited. Maybe there was something different in store for me tonight.
But so long as I purchased the woman that caught my eye, I didn’t care for the theatrics.
Someone will be mine tonight.
“Next up, Caucasian. Five-foot four, blue eyes, tan skin.”
The woman came out with her head held high, but you could tell she’d been crying. I quirked an eyebrow as she sauntered her hips that were much too wide for my pleasure. I sat back and downed my drink. Trying to drown out the angry voices swelling in my head. I watched the auction as it went on. Parading blondes, redheads, and jet-black hair in front of my face. Women with long legs. Short legs. Thick stomachs and thicker waists. I watched men pay into the tens of millions to sweep them away for the night. To do whatever their nefarious minds came up with, just short of hospitalizing the poor girls.
Normally, I curled my nose up at this kind of venture. But tonight? I needed a warm body in my claws.
And I didn’t have the temperament to patrol the bars for a willing victim.
The girls came and went. I continued on through my drinks until I was sipping my last one. My head felt swimmy. My legs felt weak. I relaxed back into the massive leather chair as the women’s body parts swirled into one woman. Colleen Maguire. Her beautiful auburn hair, sparkling in Chicago’s moonlight. Her big brown eyes, always round. Always curious behind those glasses of hers. Forever with a book tucked under her arm. And her fingernails, chipped with pink nail polish.
Voices around me muddled together as I forced myself to focus on the stage. As I forced myself to focus on the world beyond Colleen’s beautiful eyes. The world beyond her gorgeous smile. The world that existed when she hadn’t even been in my life for years.
Until I finally focused on the stage that held her trembling body.
“Going once, going twice—”
“Five million,” I spat.
Everyone around me gasped and murmured as her eyes shot in my direction. I slowly stood from my seat, holding her gaze as she turned to me. She recognized me. I knew she did. What the hell she was doing on that stage, I didn’t know.
But she sure as hell wasn’t leaving with anyone but me.
“Six million,” someone yelled.
“Seven.”
“Eight.”
“Nine.”
“Ten million,” I said hotly.
As her eyes held mine, so many memories crashed against my memory. Her father and his nosy fucking stare. My father and his insistence on us never seeing one another. As teenagers, we snuck around. Late at night, to one another’s houses. Back then, I didn’t understand the feud between our families. Or any families, for that matter. I didn't understand why the fuck there couldn't be peace. I wanted that girl. More than ever. And tonight, I wanted her even more.
“Eleven,” the man said.
“Twenty million!” I bellowed.
I whipped around and found the man standing with me. His eyes were wide at my price, and I shot daggers against his fucking face. Sit down, I silently commanded. Sit down or die, man.
And he did as my brain screamed at him to do.
“She’s a virgin. Are you sure you don’t want to bid any higher?” the auctioneer taunted.
“No, he doesn’t,” I said.
“I didn’t ask you, Mr. Callaghan.”
Snickers rose from the crowd around me and I had half a mind to put a bullet between all of their eyes. But I kept my focus on Colleen. On the fearful expression crawling across her face. I’d drain every bank account I owned around the world if it meant having her in my clutches tonight. Doing what I wished with her. Especially since it looked as if she had grown very well into her womanhood.
I can’t wait to get you behind a closed door.
The Maguire Family. Shoving their daughter up on that stage for a bit of money. Just fucking like them, those assholes. After kidnapping my stepsister, supposedly burning down my warehouse, and generally being dickheads, I was ready for this. Ready, now more than ever, to have Colleen tonight. Whether I took my anger out on her or not, I wasn’t sure. Whether this was for revenge or something much more personal, I wasn’t sure. I grinned as the auctioneer ushered her toward me. I licked my lips as she descended the stairs, her hips swaying softly with every step in her heels. But one thing I knew for certain. One thing stood out from everything else.
She still had those same wide, brown, doe eyes that made my heart clench ever since I was fourteen years old.
2
Colleen
I didn’t even want to look down at my dress. The chill of the night had settled into my bones, and I even felt a draft between my legs. It made me sick, thinking about how much of my body was exposed. How much of myself was bared for the throngs of darkened faces that waited to get their grimy paws on me.
Please be over soon. Please be over soon. Please be over soon.
I hated my father. I hated him for how he treated me. I hated him for getting all of us into this position. And I hated him for using me as nothing but glorified bait. Most girls could easily say they admired something about their father. But me? I admired nothing about him. From the first moment I could remember, I hated him. Hated the way he looked. The way he smelled. The way he dressed. He was sleazy. He had no allies. He kept no friends, no confidantes, and he never had an issue with stabbing people in the back.
He had alienated our family with his wishy-washy ways.
And he always kept me on the closest leash possible.
As the auctioneer began his tangent, I closed my eyes. I didn’t care what that made me look like. I didn’t care if someone didn’t like it. I felt humiliated, but what was worse was that I was scared.
Fear coursed through my veins, and I couldn't control it.
My father had gotten our family into some serious trouble with another family. The sob story was always the same. He borrowed money he couldn't pay back. Threats were thrown. Dangerous alliances were forged. And in the end, he needed the money in order to keep his life.
So, he tossed me up onto the stage.
Enrolling me into the auction lineup was as low as my father had ever sunk. Listening to that auctioneer rattle off prices for my body—for my presence—made bile creep up the back of my throat. Fifty percent of the purchase price went to this rickety establishment, and the other half went to my father. Straight into hi
s pocket.
Where he’d do nothing but cause more problems for the family.
My father was terrible with money. Always had been. He coveted what others around us had, so he dug us into debt with people around us in order to have it. In order to put on a show for the crowd. I couldn't remember a time where I’d been handed anything other than a credit card. No cash. No coins. Nothing. Just a credit card to rack up before we were handed another one. It was a disgusting way to live. A pathetic way to crawl across the earth.
“Five million.”
The harsh voice ripped my eyes open and I scanned the crowd. I shivered from the cold as it settled against my exposed skin. Which was practically all of me. Still, I kept my back straight. I tried to keep my head held high as possible. But I swore I recognized that voice.
Curse them for taking my glasses.
“Six million,” someone yelled.
That familiar voice piped up again. “Seven.”
“Eight.”
“Nine.”
“Ten million,” he said hotly.
Where in the world had I heard that voice before? It called to my memories. It called to my gut. It called to my heart…
“Eleven,” a stranger said.
“Twenty million!”
Gael? No, it can’t be.
“She’s a virgin. Are you sure you don’t want to bid any higher?” the auctioneer taunted.
“No, he doesn’t.”
Oh, my God. That’s definitely Gael.
“I didn’t ask you, Mr. Callaghan.”
My eyes widened as I scanned the audience. I couldn't see shit. But what I did see confirmed what I thought. There, in a cream-colored haze staring right back at me, were those eyes. Faded, but still there. A gorgeous hue of blue I’d never seen, except on his face. A mixture of navy and royal. The deepest, most resilient blue that stuck out from the creamy haze he was cloaked in.
Gael: The Callaghan Mafia Book 3 Page 1
