Irish King
Copyright © March 2017 Dahlia Rose
Cover Art by For The Muse Design
All rights are reserved. No part of this e-book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter One
A cold night, but what could he expect? In Chicago from September to fucking early May, it was either cold or chilly. January was what he liked to call brick ass freezing in the city and he was out in the night; the darkness enveloped him and that was how he liked it. He didn’t need to be seen, not for this. He had to make certain the target was right. A few days’ reconnaissance and then he’d make his move.
Sometimes he hated his life; most of the time he just accepted this was how it was going to be forever. He didn’t think about a future because, in all honesty, there wasn’t much of one to be had. He doubted very much he’d see old age and if he did, it would be like how his father lived. There would be guards, secrets, lies, and vengeance keeping him awake all night waiting for the one bullet that would end it all. Or, even better, the one that would have the balls to do it himself with his bare hands. Yeah, that was his life.
A noise brought his attention back to the present and he looked across the street. It was a woman in a long brown trench coat leaving a small restaurant with friends. It seemed like a fun girls’ night out—they were laughing as they put on gloves and they broke apart after hugs, three going one direction and trench coat girl walking in the other. The street is empty. I don’t understand why women think it’s safe to walk alone at night. The thought filtered through his head as he assessed her, long brown hair in soft waves, her smile bright as she walked. He remembered her laughter, infectious, like you wanted to laugh with her even if you didn’t know what she found funny.
His attention turned to the two men who stepped out of the alley as she passed by and kept at least six feet behind her. He saw the danger even if she didn’t—the two men already had the area where they would take her picked out. They would have planned this long before the crime. He knew the type because his life was filled with those types. It wasn’t his business, yet he moved away from his position, forgetting his own agenda for a moment to help the woman. He hated anyone who preyed on the innocent, yet it was part of his life. He despised men who targeted women, but yet again, he’d seen it so much he’d learned to look away. Still he shadowed them until she passed another two darkened alleys before one man stepped into the darkness of the third. His partner grabbed the woman and dragged her back, even as she struggled to get the hand from around her waist and off her mouth.
He moved quickly across the empty street and, without hesitation, followed them into the alley. He wasn’t afraid. They should fear him more than anything and they would be terrified by the time he was done. One had her pressed against the dirty wall and she struggled while the other grabbed her purse, rifling through it. The one that had her against the wall was trying to lift her skirt even with the bulky coat. He said something, whispered in her ear; whatever it was it made her grimace and struggle all the more.
“What did I wander into?” he said conversationally.
The alley ended abruptly because of a wall that loomed up in the darkness. A dim, dirty light bulb did nothing to really illuminate the wall that smelled of piss and old Chinese food.
“Get out of here before you have a smile cut into your neck,” the one with the purse snarled the words as he dropped her property and pulled a blade from his pocket. The other one let her go to help his friend and she scrambled away on the ground.
“I’d like to see you try,” he commented mildly.
The one with the knife rushed him and was deflected like he was nothing. He put the attacker’s head in the wall and that was the end of him as the knife clattered to the ground. He caught the other one by the neck and slammed him against the wall like the man had with the woman in the brown trench moments before. She was standing now looking on in horror.
He put his lips close to the second attacker’s ear and said in a low voice, “Do you know who I am?”
“No-no,” the attacker’s voice rasped out.
“I’m King. This is my city, my streets, and you should know that.” Even with his whisper, his voice held wrath.
“I’m sorry, please don’t kill me,” the attacker whimpered.
“Take your friend, who will probably be drooling into a bib, and get gone,” King said. “If I see you again, you are both dead.”
He dropped the man and he scrambled towards his moaning friend. With strength born of fear he was able to get him up and out of the alley. King watched them leave and then turned back to the woman. His face must have frightened her because she stepped back and almost tripped.
“I won’t hurt you,” he tried to gentle his voice. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “God knows what would have happened if you hadn’t come by.”
“They would’ve raped you, taken your shit, and left you dead,” King said. She paled under her brown skin and he felt remorseful. “I’m sorry. I’m blunt, I guess.”
“I understand. Well anyway, thank you,” she said. She moved past him carefully as if expecting him to grab her.
He followed her onto the sidewalk. “I’ll take you home. How far is it?”
“I can walk by myself,” she said warily.
‘That worked really well a few minutes ago,” he pointed out and grimaced. “Listen, I won’t hurt you. I’ll just see you home and get back to my business.”
She gave a stiff nod. “Okay, I guess.” She moved and winced. “I think I scraped my knee when I fell.”
“Do you need to go to the ER?” he asked, falling in step beside her.
“No, I don’t. I can take care of it myself,” she replied.
“You a nurse?” King assessed her. She had to be about five-five but still he had a almost a foot on her height wise. While the coat made her look bigger, he assessed she was curvy but still thin.
“No.” She laughed. “I was trained but decided to teach instead. My dad is a surgeon. Trust me, I’m probably as good as any licensed nurse.”
“I guess a skinned knee is nothing, then.” He looked down at her. “What’s your name?”
“Why?”
He grinned. “Since I saved your life back there, I think it’s called courtesy.”
“What’s yours?” she shot back.
“Ian,” King answered easily. There was no need for her to know who he was beyond his first name.
“I’m Kiya.” She stopped and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ian, and again, thank you for helping me back there.”
He enveloped her hand in his big grasp. “You’re welcome. You’re probably going to need to get your coat dry cleaned.”
She laughed. “Oh, this is being thrown out and I’m taking the longest, hottest shower possible to get that alley off me. I couldn’t even get to my mace or my alarm in my purse.”
“Sneak attack, that’s how those guys do business,” Ian commented.
“Are you a cop?” Kiya asked.
He almost laughed in amazement; he was so far from the law that most of the time they were trying to arrest him.
“No, just a good Samaritan,” he replied.
Ian didn’t elaborate even with her curious stare. When women knew who he was, that was it. They were gone unless they liked the
danger and those that did were the scarred ones. He wasn’t ever going to see her again and for some reason he still didn’t want her to know the truth. They walked in silence until they were outside her door. He looked up at the large apartment building as she went up two steps.
‘This is me,” Kiya said. “Again, than—”
Ian held up his hand. “No, don’t thank me again, I’m glad I was just passing by. Stay safe, Kiya.”
“You too, Ian.”
He watched until she entered the building and then walked away slowly. A chance meeting with a beautiful woman on a cold winter night. He smiled as he walked down the block. It was back to business and time to put Kiya out of his mind. He had work to do and after tonight they would never be in the same space again. Ian didn’t know how wrong he really was.
* * * *
Pain. It bloomed and ran down the arm he held to his side. He was too far away from home to call in the doctor and if he didn’t get help soon, he’d pass out from loss of blood. That was what he got for not paying attention to his job and thinking about her. Kiya was in his mind when things went bad, the treaty fell and shots were fired. One of his people was dead and a bullet went through his arm. His father would call an all-out war now and his efforts to keep that at bay was for nothing. Everyone wanted a piece of the pie and the bigger the slice, the better.
Blood dripped down his hand and his fingers felt numb. Pain was better than losing use of his arm and he gritted his teeth as it radiated through his arm and shoulder. No hospitals, too far away from home before blood loss took hold. Kiya. He thought of what she said and hoped to God she was in a reciprocating mood. He drove his black Mustang seamlessly with his left hand and parked his car around the block from the apartment building he’d taken her to earlier. He went up the stairs slowly, holding his hand upward and making sure the blood stayed in his sleeve and didn’t drip on the steps. Ian ran his hand down the list of names and found K Gunn. He pressed the button insistently in repetition until he heard her sleepy voice.
“Who is this? Why are you ringing my bell at three in the morning? Go away or I’m calling the cops,” she said.
“Kiya, it’s Ian from earlier... I need your help, please.”
“Ian? What help, I’m not sure...” Kiya said.
“Kiya, I don’t want to be a bastard but I did help you tonight,” Ian snapped. “Also if you don’t help me, I’ll probably be dead on your doorstep in the morning and that’s something your neighbors don’t need to see... or you.”
“Take the elevator instead of the stairs. It’s faster to third floor,” Kiya said.
He heard the buzzer and he pushed the door, thankful it unlocked. She was scared but still willing to help him. He owed her big, damn thankful that the cops didn’t roll up. The son of a kingpin shot on the front steps of an apartment building. Oh, the news would love that.
He took the stairs, elevators had cameras. When he knocked on the door, he made sure not to lean against the frame just in case he got blood on it. Kiya opened the door and she was the sweetest thing he’d set his eyes on for the second time that night. She practically dragged him through the door and looked out into the hallway to make sure no one saw him.
“You’re fine, all your neighbors are probably sleeping,” he gritted his teeth against the pain.
“You’d think so, but Mrs. Bellamy gets up early and wanders around her apartment. She is a big old snoop,” Kiya closed the door firmly and turned to him. “What’s going on?”
“Been shot,” he said weakly. “I may pass out.”
“Well, fuck,” she breathed. Hearing her curse made him smile. You wouldn’t expect that word to come out of her mouth. “Try to stay standing. I’m going to get an old blanket to put on my chair so you don’t get blood all over it.”
“I’ll try,” he murmured.
Feeling the edges of his consciousness blur, Ian forced it away and took a deep breath. His father would have been told by now. Knowing his father, Ian needed to get word to him that he was alive or the man would burn the whole damn docks in retaliation. Kiya came back quickly and spread a thick coverlet over her sofa before helping him over to the chair.
“Sit, I’ll help you out of your coat,” she said. When they got his coat off, she sucked in a breath. He looked down at the sleeve of his shirt. It was red and soaked with his blood. “You’ve been shot and you certainly should be in a hospital.”
“No hospitals,” Ian said. “It’s a through and through, so I need to stop the bleeding and get this bandaged.”
Kiya looked up at him. “Who the hell are you?”
“Someone you don’t need...”
Ian swallowed thickly and the darkness returned with a vengeance. He couldn’t finish the sentence, the world drifted away and he went unconscious from lack of blood. He didn’t know how long he was out but when he sat up, startled, Kiya was sitting in the armchair watching him.
“How long was I out?” he asked. His voice was a low rasp.
“An hour or two. The sun will be up soon,” Kiya answered. “I patched up your bullet wound. I can stich in a pinch and there are pressure bandages on there so be careful how you move. Don’t start the bleeding again.”
Ian looked down at his shoulder. ‘Thank you.”
Kiya picked a glass of juice from the table and handed it to him. “Drink this, it will get your sugar levels up. You lost a lot of blood and you don’t need to pass out again. Your shirt and coat are ruined. I found an old zip-up hoodie that may fit you. It’s probably going to be tight around the shoulders; it belonged to my ex and he wasn’t as big as you are.”
He smiled. “Thanks again. Are you sure you’re not a doctor or nurse?”
Kiya didn’t return his smile. “I couldn’t be for reasons like these, seeing people hurt and bleeding because of some kind of trouble they got themselves into. Which brings me to my next question—Who are you and what kind of trouble did you bring to my door?”
“There will be no trouble for you helping me, Kiya,” Ian promised. “No one knows I came here.”
“Good to know. I almost called my brother; he’s a cop and this seemed like a situation he should know about,” Kiya said.
Hearing her brother was a cop put Ian instantly on alert. “He doesn’t show up unexpectedly, does he?”
“No, he doesn’t,” Kiya said. “Answer the question. Who are you, Ian?”
“My name is Ian Mordha, my father is Collin Mordha,” Ian said. He hated seeing the realization and fear that entered her eyes.
“As in your father is the head of the Irish mob in Chicago and you’re the one they call King the Enforcer,” she said slowly.
“Some would say he’s a legitimate business man who runs an import-export conglomerate,” Ian pointed out mirthlessly.
“Would you say that?” Kiya’s question was brazen.
Ian met her gaze. “No.”
“This is surreal. King saved me from muggers and then shows up at my door shot,” Kiya shook her head. “So when you were whispering to the fuckhead who tried to assault me, you were telling him who you were. That’s why he looked like he saw a demon?”
“Basically, yes,” Ian grinned. “You are too sweet to have such a dirty mouth.”
She pursed her lips primly. “You don’t know anything about me to say what I can and cannot have. Drink your juice. I need you to leave, Ian, and don’t ever come back. I think this calls us even.”
“Understood.” The smile left his lips and he downed the juice in two or three big gulps.
Ian stood and took the piece of clothing she offered him. He struggled to get his wounded arm into the sleeve when Kiya tried to help.
“I got it,” he bit out the words and she stepped back quickly. “Do you have my ruined clothes? I’ll be taking those too.”
“All right.” She went into the kitchen and came back with a tied garbage bag. “Don’t worry, everything is in there. There was no cell phone and your wallet wasn’t there.”
“I broke my phone... yeah, you don’t want to know.” Ian’s tone was crisp. “Thank you for the help and have a great life, Kiya.”
“Be safe,” she said gently.
He gave her a serious look. “Why should I be? I’m Ian King Mordha, I’ll be dead or in jail before too long, right?”
“Ian, I...”
“Later, Kiya.” Ian left her apartment and took the exit to the stairs again.
He didn’t know why he was hurt by her words, pissed that his name alone struck so much terror into her that she wanted him gone. What could he expect? His life wasn’t one that was built for commitment, love, passion or family. The men who worked for his father, for him, always put themselves and their families in harm’s way. They were always targets of retaliation from other gangs, or worse the legal system used them as pawns. He vowed he would never do that to a woman, let alone children. But he recalled the way she pursed her lips and Ian wanted to kiss those lips until they were soft, swollen and parted in arousal. He pushed the thought away because it would never happen; their worlds could never mesh or meet. He went around the corner where he’d parked his car and pulled the keys from his pocket. Inside he could still smell his blood and see the stains against the seat. He pulled away from the curb and used his secondary phone to call in.
His tone was clipped. “Yeah, this is King. Tell my father I’m okay, banged up but okay. I was laying low and I’m heading to my place for some sleep. I’ll come see him later and we’ll discuss the next steps to be taken. The Russians won’t play ball.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Ian hung up and gunned the engine on the still empty streets. Soon the rush to work and school would begin and the roads would be packed. He intended to be at his place by then and nowhere in the public eye. He knew the cops were already over the warehouse and had found the bodies from the meeting gone wrong. As usual when they came knocking like he knew they would, he’d have been home all night with people to vouch for him. Kiya was on his mind as he drove towards his condo in Beacon Hill.
Chapter Two
Irish King Page 1
