Devil: The Doyles, A Boston Irish Mafia Romance

by Sophie Austin

  “Big enough so we can sell it during hard times, then,” I say.

  She bursts out laughing. “Deal.”

  “You two,” Wally says, shaking his head. “Reminds me of me and Amelia when we were young. Well, folks, I have to be on my way now, before Toby decides it’s nap time. He’s not keen on exercise.”

  The dog still glares at Chief Flesch. I’ve never seen a golden retriever glare before. It’s unsettling.

  “Well that’s nice,” the chief says. “You folks have a great day. Stay out of trouble, now.”

  “We sure will,” Ruby says, beaming back. We’re about twenty feet away when she shudders.

  “Fucking monster. I’ll be glad when he gets what’s coming to him.”

  “You sound like me,” I say, my arm still draped over her shoulder.

  “Jail, Doyle. Not anything more permanent.”

  “You sure about that?” I tease. “You sound pretty sinister there.”

  We’re about to pass by Clyde’s and she hesitates.

  “Another shepherd’s pie?” I ask.

  “I need to check on something,” she says quickly. “Will you wait here for me?”

  I don’t want to leave her alone. But I’m going to ask her to stay inside again tonight, and that might be easier if I let her have her way now.

  “Of course.” I move my arm from her shoulders and she darts into the restaurant. She’s back out in under ten minutes.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “No.” She smiles at me. “But you know that already.”

  It settles heavy in my stomach. The anticipation of finishing O’Dooley is coupled with the disappointment of leaving domestic life with Ruby behind.

  But I need to do this for my parents.

  What I want has to wait.

  Even if it means losing her forever.

  We enjoy what we can of the rest of the day together. We eat a light dinner, and it’s close to 10 p.m. when I’m getting ready to leave.

  She’s sitting in that overstuffed chair again, drumming her fingers nervously on the arm.

  “Honey,” I say, stroking her hair. “I’m leaving now.”

  She closes and opens her eyes in a slow blink but says nothing.

  “Lock the door behind me. I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t let anyone else in, and don’t go out. One of my brothers will be here to meet us tomorrow in case anything goes wrong. They’ll take care of you if I can’t.”

  She shivers. Like someone’s walking over her grave.

  She’s started to ask questions and stopped herself a dozen times.

  I get it.

  She gave me her blessing.

  Now she’s giving me her trust.

  And probably, she’s figuring out how to live with it.

  Real, honest, complicated things.

  Trying to do the math and get it all to work.

  The thought gives me a shiver, making me wonder if everything goes smoothly tonight if we have a real chance at something?

  “You’ll be fine,” she says, like a mantra, still not looking at me.

  “I will.”

  I squat down in front of her, so we’re eye level.

  “Ruby,” I take her hands. “I don’t want you to hate me. If anything happens to me…”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you,” she snaps, fixing her gaze on me.

  “I know.” I rub my thumb over the side of her hand. “But I’d feel better if I knew you didn’t hate me.”

  “Jesus, Doyle,” she says, biting back a bitter laugh. “My life would be a hell of a lot easier if I did.”

  She tips her head back, trying not to cry.

  “Things would be a lot easier for me if I hadn’t gotten caught up with a hardheaded, sexy as fuck detective,” I say, bringing my lips close to her ear. “But you pulled me over all those years ago and got things started.”

  She lets out an unladylike snort. It’s great.

  She flings her arms around me.

  “Don’t fuck this up, Doyle.” She’s pressing her face into my neck.

  I hold her tightly before kissing her and reluctantly pulling away.

  “I won’t,” I say. “Lay low, Williams.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I take one last look at her before heading out.

  15

  Ruby

  Watch Ronan Doyle walk out that door and not saying anything was the hardest thing I’ve had to do in a long time.

  Not knowing the specifics.

  But knowing the danger.

  And keep it together, but I had no right to ask him to do anything else.

  I’m about to fall into a very unhelpful pile of sobs when my phone lights up. Momentarily distracted from my treacherous feelings, I read the message.

  Det. Williams. Help. Chief has me in the station. Byrd.

  Oh shit. Goddamnit.

  She must’ve gotten my number off that lost item form. At the time I’d felt stupid for using my real number, but now I’m glad I did. Jeanna Byrd’s name had not been on the roster I’d seen in the brewery, and I’d been so relieved, but also nervous for just this reason. Someone must’ve tipped the monster off.

  Jesus, this runs deep.

  When I’d stopped by Clyde’s, I’d almost asked if he could get a message to her, but then I realized she’d be in even more danger if I did.

  Instead, I very vaguely indicated that something was happening, and for Clyde to keep his ear to the ground.

  I didn’t think he was on the payroll and hope I was right to trust those instincts.

  “It’s a trap,” I say to myself. It has to be. I never introduced myself as a cop and that message came assigned to me as detective. Someone’s found me out.

  But I can’t let Jeanna Byrd get hurt on my account. The chief knew the right bait to use, and I’m going to take it. Ronan won’t be happy, but I have no choice.

  I tuck my gun in my jacket and put my phone in my back pocket. I’ve deleted the images I took, but not before sending copies to a backup email. Taking a deep breath, I leave the bed-and-breakfast and jog quietly over to the police station.

  I contemplate sneaking in, but Jeanna could get hurt if I do so I go through the unlocked front door instead.

  “I’m here,” I call out. “I know it’s a setup so let’s skip the dramatics.” I wander past the front desk. Jeanna is on the floor, blindfolded and handcuffed. Her face whips toward me when she hears me walk in.

  Thank god. A quick assessment shows that she’s bound but not injured.

  I figured it wasn’t her who’d texted me.

  “Are you okay, Officer Byrd?” I ask, my gun drawn.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she replies. “Someone hit me. I woke up here.”

  Footsteps warn me of the Captains’ approach, second before I hear the click of the gun.

  Despite myself, I spin to face the sound. Chief Flesch smiles at me, gun pointed right at my head. He gestures for me to drop my gun and follow him. I hesitate, and he points his gun at Jeanna.

  “What’s happening?” she asks.

  “Nothing,” I reply, putting my gun on the ground and holding my hands up. “Everything’s going to be fine. I’m going to send someone to get you, okay?”

  “Okay,” she replies, still nervous. “Can you remove the blindfold?”

  “Not yet,” I reply, slowly walking toward the chief.

  “We have to get out of here, chief,” a voice yells from the back. “Someone blew the whistle.”

  No.

  “You goddamn idiot,” the chief says, sighing.

  It happens in a second. He turns to whoever was speaking and shoots him. I turn back to grab my gun and hear another shot ring out. Jeanna slumps over.

  I think I’m screaming when something comes down on the back of my head, hard, and the darkness claims me.

  When my eyes open, I’m in a too-bright basement. No idea how long I was out. My head is pounding, and my wrist feels like it could be broken. I’m
tied to a chair, my arms behind my back. The strain in my shoulders makes me think it’s been at least an hour.

  “Well hello, Miss Williams,” an unfamiliar voice says. I blink to clear my vision. It’s hard to focus.

  “I’m sorry,” the man says, pulling up a stool and sitting in front of me. “Detective Williams.”

  “Where am I?” I ask. The basement is finished. It’s a nice space. Clean, and set up like an office.

  “I’m sure you have many questions,” the man replies. He’s in his early sixties, I’d say. Looks strong, though. Thick white hair, ruddy skin, and bright blue eyes.

  “O’Dooley,” I say. “You’re Michael O’Dooley.”

  He smiles, his eyes twinkling. It’s disgusting.

  “Correct, Detective. You’re good at your job. Too good, but we’ll get to that.” He leans forward. “As for where, you’re in the basement of the church. We do a lot of business down here. Quieter than the brewery. Fewer prying eyes.”

  Those charitable donations make even more sense now.

  “Speaking of prying eyes,” he says, scolding me like a naughty child. “You saw some things you weren’t supposed to. I’m going to need to know who else has seen your pictures.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “What pictures?”

  “Oh, come on now,” he replies, tutting at me. “Let’s not lie to each other. I’m afraid your phone was crushed when our overeager chief helped me bring you here. I’m afraid you’re going to be feeling that for a while. He had some trouble getting you down the stairs.” He smirks like we’re sharing secrets.

  “Shameful if you ask me. You’re not a big girl. Disgustingly out of shape, that one. I hate lazy people, detective, but they are easier to manipulate.” He shrugs.

  “Where is he?” I ask.

  “Guarding the door, not that there’s much to guard from.” He looks back at the door, and then at me.

  “Oh, detective,” he says, furrowing his brow. “You’re holding out hope for Ronan Doyle.”

  He sucks on his teeth.

  Fuck. I need to be better at fixing my face.

  “Detective Williams,” he says, tenting his fingers together and resting his chin on them. “You’re a smart woman. And I don’t blame you for falling for that Doyle charm. You’re not the first woman who Ronan seduced into doing his bidding and you won’t be the last.”

  “I’m not doing his bidding,” I snap.

  “Not intentionally, no,” he says, agreeing. “You and I are a lot alike, Ruby. May I call you Ruby?”

  He must interpret my flinch as a yes. I’m nothing like him.

  “We’re both driven,” he continues. “We chose our career over our family. I heard about how you turned your father in for taking kickbacks from dirty politicians. Brutal, but the right thing to do. Got you a promotion that might not have come otherwise.”

  “That’s not why…”

  He holds up a hand. “So you say, Ruby, but the outcome was the same.”

  My head pounds. I hate this man.

  “I also chose my work over family. I didn’t waste tears on my junkie great niece, Emily. She would’ve overdosed at some point anyway, so why not get something out of her first. Give her life a little meaning, no?”

  “You could’ve used some of your money to send her to rehab!” I hiss. I taste blood. I don’t know where it’s coming from.

  “I suppose,” he says, genially, “but the success rates of rehab aren’t very encouraging, are they?” He straightens up. “Take your, ah, friend, Ronan Doyle. He has a plant in my brewery. Someone who got close to my third shift workers. Now, this plant was a junkie, too. Was in and out of trouble. Ronan did him some favors, I’m sure, and when this fellow got clean, expected favors in return.” He pauses to see if I’m following along.

  “Now,” Michael says, shifting his stool closer. “Even if Ronan wanted to help you, which I’m not so sure of—I’ll get back to that in a minute—he can’t, because he’s probably dead by now.”

  “How could you know that?” I snarl.

  “Oh, Ruby,” he says, drawing a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and dabbing the corner of my mouth with it. “I hope you just bit your tongue and that’s not internal bleeding. I really have to give the chief a piece of my mind for how poorly he’s handled this. But yes, how do I know. Because I knew Ronan was in town, figured he had a rat, and when I found out who, I offered him drugs in exchange for his help. He’s bringing Ronan to the back end of my operations where some of my associates will be waiting for him.”

  “You don’t know that,” I say, though for who I’m not sure.

  “He already fed Ronan bad information,” O’Dooley says. I want to smack the pitying look off his face. “Told him I would be at the brewery last night. I’d sent my idiot cousin to meet him and finish him off, but that didn’t work out.”

  He shrugged. “We all make mistakes, and I can find another holy man for the church.”

  He won’t be bothering you. Ronan’s earlier comment rings in my ears. What else was he hiding from me?

  Is he even still alive?

  “Now,” Michael says. “I need you to tell me who you sent those photos to. In return, I can help you find a new position, even higher up in the ranks.” He laughs. “I can read you like a book, Ruby. Why would you do that? I’ll tell you why. Your power, as it is, is limited. Your reputation is already going to be tarnished after your involvement with Ronan Doyle…”

  “What involvement?” I sound bitter, even to my own ears.

  “He used you, Ruby,” Michael touches my knee. “I’m sorry to say it, but it’s true. He wanted to disrupt my hold over the police here, not because he cares about corruption, but because he wanted them out of the way so he could come after me.”

  My throat goes dry.

  Sooner would be better.

  I’m a goddamned idiot.

  And now Jeanna is dead, and I’m here with this monster. All because I trusted Ronan fucking Doyle.

  “Tsk, Ruby, don’t blame yourself. He counted on your doing the right thing. He used your sense of justice against you. He knew you’d let your friends in the corruption task force know. Did he know I have a friend in their ranks, too? Probably not directly, but he must’ve had some suspicion.”

  My vision is blurring. It’s too fucking much. I’ve been colossally stupid, and even if I get out alive I don’t know how I’ll live with the consequences.

  My career and my reputation may evaporate just that fast.

  Never mind my sense of self-preservation.

  Jesus, what an idiot I have been.

  “Detective Williams, he used that sense of justice, knowing how painful it must’ve been to see your father behind bars, how embarrassing, against you. Now I’m sure he’s said some terrible things about me.” He smiles ruefully. “I’ll admit, some of them are true.” He fixes me with his gaze. “But his perspective is skewed. Designed to get what he wants for him and that deranged father of his.”

  He killed my mother.

  I have no doubt that’s true, and it’s like a bucket of ice water over me. Ronan’s perspective is skewed, but so is this man’s. I don’t have to trust either of them. I can take care of myself. Better to go it alone than to be used.

  “I don’t want to kill you, Ruby,” he says, his voice soft and cajoling. He’s full of shit. This man treats people like tools. But I’ll play along if it gets me out of here.

  “I just can’t believe it,” I say. “I thought he was different.”

  “Tsk, I know. It’s why I’ve stayed single, mostly. Feelings get in the way, Ruby. But you’ve learned an important lesson.”

  Pain shoots like lightning down my arm. I’ve been in this position too long. I have to get out of here.

  “So what would helping you look like?” I ask.

  His face lights up.

  A disgusting man.

  “Let me untie you so we can talk,” he says, brightly. He cuts
the ropes from my arms and a fiery track of pain winds down from my shoulders to my wrists as they sag after being released. He cuts the ropes from my legs. I hold my wrist to my chest. It’s definitely broken.

  “I’ll talk to the chief about that for sure,” Michael says, tutting again at my injuries. “It’s not so bad.”

  There’s a commotion above our heads. Shouting. A gun discharges. Michael doesn’t flinch.

  “Looks like we may need to start working together now, detective.” He continues to smile as he presses the knife he’d just used to untie me to my throat.

  The door at the top of the stairs is kicked open, and Ronan’s hulking form comes into view. Relief, followed by anger, floods me. I can’t distinguish between the pain from my injuries and the pain from his betrayal.

  But then again, I’m not surprised. A broken heart was always a possibility here.

  16

  Ruby

  “Let her go, Michael. This is between us.” Ronan stalks toward us. He’s terrifying. It’s telling about what a sociopath Michael is that he doesn’t seem moved at all.

  “Ruby’s a good girl,” he says, “just like your mom was.”

  Ronan stops in his tracks.

  His fists are clenched.

  Michael’s baiting him into making a mistake.

  “Wouldn’t want her to get hurt like your dear mother, Ronan? Would you?” He digs the blade into my neck. I flinch. A line of blood trickles from where he’s cut me.

  “Stand up, Ruby,” Michael says. “I know you’re hurt, but I need you to stand.”

  My feet are like jelly, but I order them to support me. He helps steady me with the hand not holding a knife to my throat.

  “I swear to god,” Ronan says, his voice deadly calm. “If you hurt her…”

  “Watch the blasphemy. Don’t take the lord’s name in vain in a church.” He chuckles to himself. “Over there,” he says, pointing to the corner.

  Ronan moves away from the stairs, careful, deliberate.

  Michael uses me as a shield, and we move toward them, and he’s dragging me up the stairs before long. When we get to the top, he shoves the knife in my shoulder and gives me one tremendous shove.