Her nose crinkled. “He took me to the ER, terrified a bunch of innocent doctors, wouldn’t let any men look at me, then when I got a shot to calm things down—” she cleared her throat, “—and a prescription, and we went back to the hotel, wouldn’t speak to me for the rest of the night.”
“He’s annoyed at you for not telling him?”
She sighed, but there was misery in her eyes that gave me my answer without her having to utter a word.
“Eoghan’s very protective,” I told her. “That’s obvious even from a distance.”
“He said I was supposed to tell him stuff like this. Pretty much what you told me.”
“He was pissed you waited that long?”
She nodded, then started twirling her fork amid the lettuce leaves. “It was just mortifying.” Her brow furrowed. “He didn’t seem to get it.”
“Why would he? He’s not a woman, and he’s a lot older than you, Inessa.” Shoving my concerns about my hands aside, I pressed my fingers to her arm and reassured her, “You’re only eighteen. That changes things more than you know, but even so, I’m older than you and I wouldn’t like having to tell Brennan that. It’s…” I sighed. “While we’re married to them, we don’t know them that well. Neither of us have deep foundations for our relationships, do we? That doesn’t mean they’re bad or wrong or weak, it just means we need time.” I shot her a smile. “Time is something we all have in abundance.”
“I guess.” She pulled a face. “When did you get to be so wise, huh?”
I snorted at that. “Me? Wise? Yeah, right.” I hesitated a second, before I decided it was better to give her my take on it than for her to keep on worrying. “He’ll get over his anger with you. He loves you, Inessa. He just wants you to be safe and healthy and happy is all.”
“Doesn’t exactly make me happy when he’s mean to me,” she groused.
“Mad or mean?” I asked, wanting to make sure Eoghan wasn’t mistreating her or anything.
“Mad, I guess.”
“Is it so bad if he’s looking after you when you’re not looking after yourself?”
“That doesn’t make it okay. This isn’t 1980.”
“No, it isn’t, but men don’t change. Not that much.” I hitched a shoulder. “He’ll probably be sorry tonight. You’ll see.”
“I hope you’re right.” Then, she frowned at me. “Is there a reason you’re wearing an evening dress?”
Sisters... always cutting to the heart of everything. From genital rashes to fashion. I’d forgotten about that part of sisterhood.
Twenty-One
Brennan
By the time my prick of a younger brother let me into his apartment, I was already regretting leaving things the way I had with Camille.
Mostly because my dick was aching, but also because she wasn’t my fucking lap dog and I’d just bossed her about like she was a prize poodle.
If that made me grouchier than I usually was, then, sue me.
One of Conor’s crew, a friend of the family, Callum O’Reilly opened the door for me, which told me he was on his way out.
We bumped fists as noxxious, Kid’s favorite band, bellowed through the speakers—Conor had a real boner for 80’s hair bands.
Grimacing because I hated this kind of shit, I yelled over the music, “You doing okay, man? Haven’t seen you in fucking ages.”
“Couldn’t be better.” Callum shot me a grin. “Priestley’s pregnant.”
“Congrats.” I shoved his shoulder. “Who the fuck would have imagined you as a dad?”
“Trust me, Conor’s giving me enough shit about it.” His grin turned from pleased to wry. “I can’t believe it myself to be fair.” He cast a look at the door. “Then, you see shit like this, and you remember the crap we got up to when we were kids. That part I’m not looking forward to.”
“What’s happened?”
Callum’s nose wrinkled. “You’ll find out soon enough. I’d stick around for the fireworks, but Priestley’s got her first ultrasound. Had to pay her bitch of a doctor a fucking fortune to see us this late at night.”
“Give her my best, Cal, won’t ya?”
“Cheers, Bren. I will.” He clapped me on the shoulder and said, “We need to catch up. You’re right, it’s been ages.” He pulled a face. “Moving to Staten Island has really messed with my social life.”
“Lucky you.” I grinned. “Message me when my prick of a brother gives you some time off, and we’ll meet up for drinks.”
“Sounds great.” He waved at me, and left me to lock up behind him.
Being forewarned, in my family, wasn’t necessarily forearmed, so I girded my goddamn loins as I headed down the corridor, toward Conor’s living room.
The second I breached the doorway, I hollered, “Turn this fucking shit down.”
Conor accommodated me quickly, meaning I could hear myself think, but when I entered the room, I found Shay, our nephew, standing there awkwardly, sporting two shiners, and my thoughts jammed to a halt.
“What the fuck?” I demanded, watching as Shay straightened his shoulders while Conor slumped back on one of his sofas. Striding over to him, I grabbed his chin, tipped his head up and snapped, “Who do I need to kill?”
Conor hummed. “Let’s not frighten the kid just yet, hmm?”
“Little man’s seen more shit than most his age,” I disregarded, seeing Shay’s fear and nerves unlocking before my eyes. “He has to know he’s an O’Donnelly now. That means we’ll fight his battles for him.”
“But I don’t want you to!” Shay snapped, his hands balling into fists.
After a day, barely even that, it was almost second nature to snap at him to unfurl his fingers like I was doing with Camille whenever I saw her do that, but Shay wasn’t self-harming.
Thank Christ.
“Dude wants to protect himself,” Conor told me, lifting his legs and crossing them at the ankle as he rested them on this weird cat ornament he’d bought a while ago. It was five feet tall, two feet wide, studded in diamantes, and was enough to give any bastard nightmares if they stubbed their toe on it in the middle of the night.
“Yeah, I do. Conor said if I wanted that then you’d be the one to teach me.”
I shook my head. “Declan’s a nasty fighter.”
“You’re nastier.” Conor smirked. “Plus, he’s a dad now. He can’t be teaching his kid that kind of shit, can he?”
“Why not? I’d teach mine,” I retorted, folding my arms across my chest.
“Yeah, but you’re not cultured like our Dec.” Conor shot Shay a look. “Brennan thinks ballet is boring.”
“So do you, dickwad,” I retorted, scowling at him for stirring shit with me. The whole family knew Shay had been taught to appreciate the arts.
“Ballet isn’t for everyone,” Shay dismissed, but his gaze was fixed on mine even if I kept on casting glances at my brother to glower at him. “But I need to know how to protect myself.”
“From what?”
“People.”
I frowned. “People? In general? Or bullies?”
His mouth tightened, and at that moment, he looked so much like my younger brother it was uncanny. Seriously, no paternity test was required where Seamus O’Neill O’Donnelly was concerned. He had the same scowl as his father, and the same brooding stare that was more apt for that prick who threw himself off the hill—that Heathcliff fucker—than a mobster.
“Bullies,” he confirmed.
“Who the fuck would be insane enough to bully you?” I rumbled, shooting Conor a stare.
“Idiots?” he confirmed. “They’re everywhere. Not as bad as ants but almost.”
“What?”
“Did you know that the total weight of ants on this planet is more than the weight of humans?”
“No, I didn’t know that, and I could have lived a long time without knowing it either.” At Conor’s shrug, I reached up to pinch the bridge of my nose. “Let’s start at the beginning. Do your parents know you’r
e with Conor?”
Shay nodded. “I told Mom I was coming here.”
“Good.”
“That’s not the beginning,” Conor pointed out. “The beginning is that some assholes thought they could mess with our little dude.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’m not having it, so I called in the heavy hitter.”
I scowled at that. “I’m not a prized bull.”
“Now you know how it feels to be objectified,” Conor said dryly. “But you are. You’re the fixer.” He wafted his hands, somehow managing to look both pissed off and supremely at ease as he slouched against the sofa, directing the troops from his seat. “So fix this.”
“I haven’t fought in years. That’s not how I work now.”
Conor and I shared a look, but we didn’t verbalize what I was talking about. Other people grabbed the fuckers who were unfortunate—read, stupid—enough to come to my attention. I didn’t do any of the heavy lifting now. I just made the bastards regret they were born.
“Like you don’t train anyway.”
“Declan won’t like this,” I argued.
“Stop worrying about that. Kid’s already going to have to explain the shiners.”
“Isn’t that school of yours like sixty grand a term?” I asked. “Why the hell didn’t they call your ma in for fighting?”
“Because the—” Shay clenched his jaw, his hands turning white from the pressure he put on his knuckles.
“You can swear here, Shay. We’re the cool uncles. Your mom and dad have to turn you into a semi-decent human being. We’re not obliged to do the same.”
Making a mental note that, when I did have kids, not to leave them alone with Conor—ever—I rolled my eyes at him. “Neither are we obliged to turn him into a psycho.” I squeezed Shay’s shoulder. “Tell me what happened. With swear words or not.”
“The bastards attacked me during Phys Ed. It looked like it was just a part of training.”
My brow puckered. “They should still have told your parents.”
“Maybe they have.” Shay shrugged. “Mom never said anything when I texted her about Uncle Conor. Anyway, she’s used to me coming back home a little bruised up.”
Conor straightened up at that. “You were bullied in your old school?”
“No. From training. I fight hard on the field.” He winced. “I don’t know why. I guess I just get angry sometimes.”
“Because you’re an O’Donnelly,” I drawled. “That’s all we bastards know how to do—fight hard or fuck off home.” With a final squeeze to his shoulder, I pulled back. “I ain’t doing shit without Declan’s approval. Conor, you can be the cool uncle, or you can be the castrated one when he finds out you’re teaching Shay to fight.”
Conor grimaced, sending Shay an apologetic glance before mournfully telling him, “I do like my dick where it is.”
My nephew heaved a sigh. “Dad might want to stop me.”
“Why would he want that? We all grew up the same way—using our fists.” I scraped a hand over my jaw. “What started the fight? And don’t BS me, there’s always a trigger.”
He ducked his head. “They were talking smack about the family.”
Conor and I shared a look. “People always talk smack about the family,” I informed him softly. “You’ll just have to get used to that.”
“Until you’re old enough to beat the fuck out of anyone who dares without the threat of being grounded,” Conor chimed in.
“I wasn’t having them saying that my mom was an Irish mob slut,” he retorted heatedly. “Those pricks are barracudas. When they scent blood, that’s it, they’re in for the kill. I had to nip it in the bud.”
“I thought you were all excited about the place?” I questioned, taking a seat on Conor’s coffee table. “Thought you were all about making connections so you can be President one day. You can’t do that if you beat up every fucker who talks shit about us. They’re all up each other’s asses for a reason.”
“He has a point, Shay,” Conor confirmed. “We gotta think of the White House.”
My lips twitched at Conor—we all humored Shay, knowing the kid didn’t have a snowball in hell’s chance of becoming President with his ties to the Irish Mob, but Conor? Nope. He wasn’t about to let our nephew think he couldn’t have everything his heart desired.
Conor rubbed his chin as Shay shot us both a defeated look. “We could drain their trust funds.”
Shay’s eyes widened. “You can do that?”
“Con,” I muttered, a warning note in my voice.
“It’d only be for a little while,” was his defensive reply. “I wouldn’t spend any of it. It’s not technically stealing if you give it back.”
The mental note to never let my kids anywhere near cool uncle Con became a permanent fixture in my memory banks...
And that was how I spent the afternoon of my wedding day, plotting how to ‘redistribute’ the trust funds of the bastards who’d been talking smack about our family.
It was about seven when I finally got Shay to come back home with me. It was evident he wasn’t looking forward to telling Aela that he’d gotten into a fight, but I figured Declan would come to his defense. I’d already shot him off a couple of messages, explaining the status quo, and while he wasn’t happy about encouraging his kid to engage in illegal online activity, he hadn’t said no.
In Manhattan, the O’Donnellys were both revered and feared. It was a strange mixture, really. A delicate balance. Socialites wanted to wed us for our cash and our power, but their fathers were more aware of who and what we were. What we did.
That didn’t mean they weren’t in business with us, because that would be bullshit.
They were.
We were all up to our necks in it; we just weren’t hypocrites is all and married among our own.
“It’ll be all right, kid,” I told Shay after we pulled up outside his building.
“Will it?” He shot me a look as he reached for the door handle. “If they talk smack about Mom again, I won’t—”
I reached over to clap him on the back. “Every son should defend his ma. That’s right. The natural order of things.”
He frowned. “Is it? One second they were dissing her, the next they were calling me a momma’s boy.”
“Nothing wrong with that either,” I said gruffly. “To them, being a momma’s boy means that a kid actually gets attention from their mother. They ain’t being shoved off to a nanny, and only get a kiss and a gift at Christmas before their cun—” I cleared my throat. “Before their egg donors tail off to Aspen for the winter.” I winked at him. “The next time they call you that, hit ‘em where it hurts.”
“Where’s that?”
My dash lit up with a call, and though it was Da and you never ignored one of his calls without knowing you were about to get a kick to the head, this was too important.
“Just tell them that their egg donors don’t give enough of a fuck about them to know more about them than their names. Tell them that if anyone’s gonna need decades of therapy, it ain’t you.” Then, realizing what I’d said, I winced. “Sorry, Shay. I didn’t mean—”
Kid already was in therapy, thanks to seeing a woman being murdered. We’d only just learned who that was—the sister of the ex-VP of the Satan’s Sinners’ MC West Orange Chapter.
“I know what you meant. But that’s different. I’m not fucked up because of what the family does or how my mom treated me. She’s the best mom. Everything she did, she did it with me in mind. She loves me. That’s a good thing, not a bad thing like they try to make out.” He tipped his chin up. “Thanks, Uncle Bren. I really appreciate the way you dropped everything for me tonight.”
“It’s what family does, kid. And you wanna remember that the next time they talk smack. They’re lonely little bastards. They don’t mean dick to their people.”
His smile was tight. “So I should pity them?”
I winked at him. “Nah.” I answered the call because I knew Da would give me shit
otherwise, but before he could gripe at me, I greeted, “Da, Shay’s in the car with me.”
“My boy Shay!” Da declared, like he hadn’t seen him last Sunday. “How’s my little man?”
We’d all started calling him ‘little’ and so far, he hadn’t given us crap over it.
“I’m great thanks, Granddad.”
I nudged him in the side. “He’ll be proud of you. You should tell him. Just don’t let your ma know he was happy, yeah?” That’d only cause shit down the line.
“Tell me what?”
“I got into a fight today, Granddad.”
Da was silent a second, then his smugness shone through as he said, “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Come on, Seamus. Give me the details.”
I shot Shay an encouraging grin, but saw he didn’t need to be encouraged. He knew his grandfather wasn’t about to give him any crap, was, in fact, going to applaud him for his actions.
“They were calling Mom names, saying things about us, how we were mobsters.”
“And did you tell them they were right and that they should be careful because your grandda has an itchy trigger finger?” was my father’s insane retort.
Shay choked a little. “No, I just punched them.”
“Well, tell them that next time. Any little bastard who comes at my grandson comes at us all.”
I elbowed him again. “See? Told ya.”
“What’s the damage?”
“Two shiners,” I informed him. “They’d make you proud.”
“Will they still be there on Sunday, Bren?”
“Should be.”
“Mom will go crazy,” he groaned.
“Probably, that’s what good mothers do. But when you go to bed tonight, Aela, like the good Irish girl she is, will turn to Declan and say, ‘The boy did good.’”
I wasn’t sure how true that was, but it had Shay straightening his shoulders for the first time, which was interesting because I didn’t think Shay actually liked Da.
Aidan Sr. wasn’t exactly woke, and Shay most definitely was.
I guessed that was just positive proof as to how acceptance mattered.
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 22
