by Cara Dee
This Life
Part I
Cara Dee
This Life
Copyright © 2018 by Cara Dee
All rights reserved
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment and may not be reproduced in any way without documented permission of the author, not including brief quotes with links and/or credit to the source. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction and all references to historical events, persons living or dead, and locations are used in a fictional manner. Any other names, characters, incidents, and places are derived from the author’s imagination. The author acknowledges the trademark status and owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction. Characters portrayed in sexual situations are 18 or older.
Edited by Silently Correcting Your Grammar, LLC.
Formatted by Eliza Rae Services.
Proofread by M. Hughes.
Contents
Copyright
Playlist
Thank You
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
More from Cara Dee
About the Author
Playlist
“What’re the Irish without music?”
The Lonesome Boatman, version by Dropkick Murphys
Crystallize, by Lindsey Stirling
Heart And Soul, by Twin Atlantic
The Opening Act of Spring, by Frank Turner
Drunken Lullabies, by Flogging Molly
Chip, by The Real McKenzies
Resolution, by Matt Corby
When It Comes To Us, by Frances and RITUAL
Feels Like Falling In Love, by The XCERTS
City, by Ciaran McMeeken
Philadelphia, by Parachute
Lions Roar, by Speak Brother
Rock The World, by The Script
An Irish Pub Song, by The Rumjacks
Cooley’s Reel, version by Coming Up Threes
Drunken Sailor, version by Barleyjuice
Die A Happy Man, by Thomas Rhett
The Lonesome Boatman, version by The High Kings
Wonderful Tonight, by Eric Clapton
At Last, version by Etta James
You Are The Reason, by Calum Scott
An Angel, version by Declan
Hear You Me, by Jimmy Eat World
The Parting Glass, version by The High Kings
For the entire This Life I playlist, visit Cara’s Spotify at: open.spotify.com/user/caradeewrites. You can also find a direct link on her website.
www.caradeewrites.com
Thank You
To the amazing fandom where it all started for me. To the readers who told me to publish, and to the readers who asked me to listen to Whistler and his princess.
Prologue
Finnegan O’Shea
01.12.15
11:23 a.m.
I’d learned three things in prison. Patience, focus, and perseverance. That prison turned us into better criminals was no bullshit declaration, and after spending five years in the can, I was ready to walk out a changed man. I wasn’t a kid anymore. The eighteen-year-old who’d been larger than life and conceited as fuck had mellowed out—okay, that was a lie. My thirst for life was still unquenchable, and my loud mouth was a default setting.
My trigger finger wasn’t shaky anymore, though. My arrogance was better placed. When I fired, I knew what I was doing. Figuratively. It wasn’t like they allowed target practice in prison.
“Finnegan!”
I spotted my aunt in the sea of visitors and made my way to her table. It was good to see her, and I gave her a tight hug.
“Are you ready to come home?” She smiled up at me.
“You have no idea.” I sat down and cracked my knuckles, waiting for her to get settled. “You got something for me?”
She huffed. “I’m feeling more like a messenger and less like your family these days.”
“I’m sorry.” I side-eyed the CO standing a few paces away and risked the no-touching rule after the initial hug. “How’s the baby?” I patted her baby bump. “You gotta be due any day now.”
“It’s cute that you try to care.” She grinned wryly, looking a lot like my father in that moment. Other than…well, not like a man. My aunt was a stacked little thing, but the grin and the glint in her eye were Pop. He called her Ginger Snap, sometimes affectionately, sometimes to be a dick. “I do have some news for you.”
“Yeah?” I stared expectantly.
“It seems the rumor’s true,” she replied with a nod. “She had a baby, but it’s not a son.”
I furrowed my brow, my knee bouncing with impatience. “Then why hide the kid here in the US? A daughter’s no threat.”
“Finn.” She gave me a look.
I gave her one in return. She could tear me a new one when I got out and had time for her feminism. Priorities.
She sighed. “The girl is turning sixteen in a few months. She lives with her father in one of the old mining towns around Gettysburg.”
I didn’t know what to do with this info. “Biological father?” I cocked a brow.
“Your dad didn’t tell me. I’ll ask him to keep searching if you want.”
I nodded slowly, thinking. “Yeah, thanks.” Okay, so this changed shit. There was no hidden son to keep an eye on for the future. There was a teenage girl. No threat, but…maybe leverage if I needed new friends one day.
She would be legal in a couple years.
“How badly did you wanna get out of the city?” I asked my aunt.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “What’re you up to, boy?”
I flashed her a grin.
02.02.15
11:02 p.m.
Lights went out shortly after the COs had completed the final head count for the day.
I kept staring at the ceiling, fingers clasped over my stomach.
The guy in the bunk under mine was new, and his nightmares would start soon.
Nightmares are unfinished business, my grandfather used to tell me.
He used to tell me a lot of things.
As my cellmate began stirring restlessly, I released a breath and shifted my hands to under my head. On a particularly bad night, he talked in his sleep. Drugs, wars, drug wars.
“Come here, lad. I’m going to tell you something.”
I couldn’t have been more than…five or six, maybe. My grandfather picked me up and sat me on his lap after I’d been hiding under his desk in his study. No matter how much I loved my parents, my grandfather had been my world. He spoke, I listened.
“Did you hear the tune I played at the memorial? I want you to learn it. One day, you might have to declare war against someone, and this is how we salute the men who are about to depart from us.”
I whistled the familiar, haunting tune to myself, thinking back on how he and his crews had taken care of a problem oozing down from the Jersey gutters. In a few months, he’d shown everyone
that Philly had and always would belong to us.
War declarations were on my mind a lot lately.
“Learn the song, Finn. The O’Sheas will hear it, and they will come.”
02.10.15
4:57pm
“You might wanna cover that up before the folks get here.”
I let go of the chin-up bar and hit the floor with a grunt, then looked over my shoulder to see my brother in the doorway.
“Ma’s favorite son is out of prison. I don’t think some ink is gonna bother her.” Wiping my forehead, I reached for a bottle of water by the window.
“Favorite son,” Patrick scoffed.
I smirked and chugged from the water.
The Celtic cross and our last name on my back were a statement. I’d had it made in three sessions in as many days as I’d been free.
Once upon a time, finding the next gig that earned me the most money within our syndicate came first, whether I worked in Philly or flew over to Chicago for a few weeks. I’d rediscovered my affiliation since then, and our organization was inevitably going to split into the two original clans that’d been in charge for generations. Our unity worked well at one point, but now the days of the Murrays were numbered. My uncle was a fucking traitor, and it was time the O’Sheas reclaimed the top rank.
“When will they be here?” I asked.
I’d missed our parents, having only seen them once or twice a year while I was away.
Patrick checked his watch. “They should be landing any minute.”
I nodded once. The lucky bastards had spent the past five years back in Ireland in an attempt to let the rumors about us fade. I was thrilled they were returning to Philly now. We had a lot to talk about.
Three to four years—that was how long I believed it would take for me to execute my plan. My uncle had grown pompous and lazy, and he spent his days in his penthouse in Chicago most of the time. To become a part of his inner circle and eventually take everything from him, I’d have to think long term and be who he wanted me to be. More traditional than I already was, a top earner, someone he could trust…
I had to be a family man.
A man with a family was less likely to make rash decisions and betray his boss because it would put everyone he held dear in danger.
This Irish fuck was gonna find himself a wife.
Speaking of… As the doorbell rang, I knew I was about to find out my chances pertaining to a certain lost daughter. I signed off on the delivery and accepted the envelope, then retreated to my room and locked the door.
I had to find my own place soon.
“Let’s see who you are, kid.” I sat down in the chair by the window and flipped through the documents Aunt Viv had sent me.
Emilia Porter. Sixteen years old. A photograph fell out from between the pages, and I picked it up. Gangly little girl. Dark hair, hazel eyes. She couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen here. She did live with her biological father. And they were poor as shit.
I frowned and scanned the text, wondering why. The girl’s mother was well-off.
Poor worked for me, though. It was enough to go on, and I wanted to call my aunt before I hit the shower. Aunt Viv and her husband had just had their fourth child and wanted to move out of the city. I knew exactly where to send them.
02.10.15
6:03pm
My brother’s condo was on the fifteenth floor, and as I peered down on the street below, my parents looked like ants getting out of a yellow toy car.
“You think Dad’s even gonna wanna take the top rank?” Patrick wondered.
He had to. Patrick and I were too young; he was only a year older than me at twenty-four. Under normal circumstances, even if we turned into golden boys with pretty wives and kids on the way over the next couple of years, the older generation wasn’t going to take us seriously until we were well over thirty.
I folded my arms and chewed on my thumbnail, one of the habits I was gonna have to kick in order to be more respectable. “We need him.” Somehow, we had to convince Pop.
I’d originally believed Patrick was gonna be the toughest to win over because, unlike me, he didn’t stick to our faith or our traditions. Maybe I wasn’t excited to get hitched, although it paled in comparison to Patrick’s anticipated blunt “Fuck no.” Or so I’d thought. He’d shrugged at the marriage bit and only protested a little about us basically inventing personas that our uncle would approve of.
Luckily, Patrick’s hatred toward the old shit-in-charge outweighed everything.
“We’ll talk more about this after dinner.” I turned away from the window and pushed up the sleeves of my button-down. “Ma’s gonna be stoked.”
He snorted. “No doubt. She’s been asking for grandkids since our First Communion.”
Almost, anyway.
“Perhaps she’ll find our wives at some kid’s ceremony,” I joked. Hopefully, I’d already found mine.
“Finally,” Patrick groaned. “Maybe your humor’s making a comeback. You’ve been stiff as a goddamn stick since you got out. All closed off.” He side-eyed me. “I won’t be surprised if Mom and Dad don’t recognize you.”
That made me scowl. I was funny as fuck.
Chapter 1
Two Years Later
Emilia Porter
“You guys will never believe what I found out,” Franny said in a hushed voice as she sat down at our picnic table.
Looked like our school’s biggest gossip had arrived. When we graduated in a couple months, I had no doubt she was going to take things to the next level and out-gossip her mother, who took care of the rest of the rumors that flew around our little town.
“I’m sure you’ll enlighten us.” Sarah unwrapped her lunch and grimaced, picking out the pickle.
I leaned back against the table and closed my eyes, wanting to soak up as much of the sun as possible. Spring was almost here, and my skin needed a revival.
Franny, unaffected by our lack of interest, did enlighten us. “I was outside Nurse Walsh’s when her office phone rang, and guess what? She referred to someone as Shan. It can only be one person!”
My forehead creased, and I cracked my eyes open to frown at her over my shoulder. “Even if it is?”
Ever since the school nurse moved here with her husband last year, there’d been a minor buzz about who she might or might not be related to. To be honest, I wasn’t sure where the rumors had started. Knowing Franny and her mother, it wouldn’t surprise me if they’d cooked them up.
Franny tossed me a look of impatience. “She specifically said ‘you may be my big brother, Shan, but you don’t boss me around.’ Like, jokingly. She was laughing. And then she finished with, ‘Okay, I’ll see you soon. Don’t be late.’ Get it? They’re probably coming here!”
Again, so? On the off chance that our school nurse was related to a man who was involved with the SoM, it didn’t mean anything to us. Mobsters visited family too, I guessed.
That said, I wouldn’t exactly say I wanted them here. The Sons of Munster dealt in heinous crimes and ruled the underworlds of both Philadelphia and Chicago.
“I wish you’d take this seriously,” Franny said. “What if it’s got to do with her list?”
“What list?” I asked as Sarah groaned. “What?” I must’ve missed something. I adored Franny; we’d grown up together, but she was a pain in the butt I tuned out more often than not.
Sarah shifted in my direction and put down her soggy sandwich. “Fran and I hung out when you worked last weekend, and she told me she’s seen a list of names in Mrs. Walsh’s office. You and I are on it. And four other girls.”
All right, this required more of my attention. I swung my legs over the bench so I faced the table instead. “Just how often do you hang out in Nurse Walsh’s office, Franny?” I quirked a brow and stifled my amusement.
Sarah snickered.
Franny did not. “That’s what you focus on? I’m working on a paper—but that’s beside the point!”
“No,
that is the point,” I laughed. “A lot of us are working on papers. I’m interviewing her tomorrow for my paper on women working in healthcare. Maybe that’s why I’m on some list.”
When my stomach tightened in hunger, I opened my Coke and took a sip. The sugar would have to do until my shift at the diner. I got a free meal there.
“I don’t think so.” Franny seemed worried. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
Jeesh.
I could admit even I got a twinge of a bad feeling on my way home from work that evening. I passed an empty auto shop that didn’t appear very empty anymore. The garage was closed, lights off everywhere, but there was a brand-new sign above the storefront that read O’Shea’s Auto Repair.
My steps faltered.
This doesn’t mean anything.
It was a large chain. They had shops all over Pennsylvania, Jersey, and Virginia.
Pretty much everyone had learned about the O’Shea family some years ago when a bunch of murders had taken place in Philadelphia. We were only a couple hours west of there, so it’d been on the news here for months after the national stations had moved on.
