Kyra: The Irishman’s Wife (For The Love Of The Irish Book 2)

by V Vee

  The door slammed open, and I turned, my guns, and that of every person in the room, including Kyra’s, pointed at the intruders.

  Harper lifted her hands and froze.

  “Don’t shoot!” She yelled. “We found her. Ava and Charlotte are with her now.”

  “Where?” I growled.

  Harper swallowed and I saw fear enter her eyes before she glanced over at Kyra for a moment.

  “She’s at Shay’s Bar, with the Bratva.”

  Kyra rose from her seat and I could feel her rage as if it were my own, because some of it was. How and why the fuck was my sister in a bar, owned by Kyra’s ex, hanging out with the goddamn russkis?

  “Gear up. We’re going to war.”

  Chapter Seven

  Kyra- K-Love

  I was still in shock. Even over an hour later, after everyone had grabbed their weapons, suited up, and a plan of action had been set, I was still shook. How the fuck had Nia wound up at Shay’s Bar? When had he even gotten a bar? And why the fuck did it seem as if all of the problems and mistakes of my past kept showing up to cause problems in my new life with Andrew?

  I’d thought that running into Ryan Bradley, a guy that I’d had a “friends with benefits” type of relationship with, months ago because Nia had taken a babysitting job with his girlfriend, had been bad. Ryan played in the NFL for New England now and I’d been stupidly proud of his big Louisiana ass when he’d been drafted by the skillful team—even if they sucked and didn’t have anything on Baltimore’s team—as if I’d had something to do with his success. And I guess I did to a degree. When Ryan and I had been together I could tell he was starting to fall in love with me and considering me his girlfriend when I was anything but, “in spite of the darkness” he was always saying that he saw in my eyes. At the time I was just starting to come into my own, learning the ropes, the rules, and regulations that came with being the Boss of Baltimore, because while I was the “Boss,” there had been many women who had come before me—namely my grandmother—who had established ground rules, formed allyships, and made connections that I still used to this day. I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to have an actual “relationship” with Ryan. Not only because of that but also due to the fact that Ryan had the talent to go pro, and the heart and personality to be a decent, good guy. I knew he’d make some woman a terrific husband, but I also knew that woman wasn’t me.

  I got confirmation that I’d made the right decision about breaking things off with Ryan when I met his then girlfriend—now wife—Rachel Young. Rachel was a woman who was strong, beautiful, and who had a light inside of her in spite of the darkness which surrounded her. Rachel and I had spoken off and on over the past few months, talking about our kids, our men, and our exes, and I always found her laughter and kindness refreshing. But it still had little affect on the darkness which permeated my soul. Which was why her ex was on my list to be dealt with once I dealt with this bullshit with Shay.

  But Ryan, the man who wanted to be my ex-boyfriend, but who was really only my ex-fuck toy, was severely affected by Rachel and had become all the better for it. I was happy for him. The great things he’d received, and the amazingly, beautiful family he now had could not have happened to a more deserving person.

  The same couldn’t be said of Shay.

  Shay Leburn and I had dated for what felt like an eternity, though it was only a few years. First, because of how happy I was, then, because I had found myself in a toxic relationship and an unfortunate situation that I had a hard time getting out of. I know I am strong now, but when I had been with Shay I was not the “Boss,” I was the “Boss In Training.” The “BIT” as it were. Everyone who knew my grandmother and knew about the role and position I was soon to take over knew I wasn’t ready for it and they’d let me know by calling me “Lil’ Bit.” My incompetency in being the new Boss had not been more prominently put on display than the day I had discovered how unaware I was of my environment and atmosphere the day I’d gone out to eat with a few friends of mine.

  Michele, Ava, Olivia, and Harper, and I had gone to eat at a nice, fancy, French restaurant when Harper had gently asked if the white man kissing all over the blonde woman sitting across the room was my Shay. I knew Harper, had known her since I was a kid, and I’d known that the question was rhetorical. All of my girls were familiar with Shay. Knew what he looked like. What he sounded like. And the way he sounded when he talked and laughed. His thick, North Carolina twang was distinctive in the bowels of Baltimore, Maryland. Shay and I were not just together, however, we were supposed to be getting married. Which was what I’d just finished telling them all that evening. The 2.5 carat diamond ring sat prominently displayed on the ring finger of my left hand. The minute I’d turned around, in a restaurant filled with the upper echelons of Baltimore society, people I was aligned or worked with in some capacity, I just knew.

  Shay was indeed cheating on me with another woman, though in all reality and truth, I had discovered he’d been cheating on that woman with me. I was angry, livid, and beside myself upset, but I hadn’t caused a scene, though I know my girls had expected me to. I wasn’t a woman who simply allowed an insult such as that to go without confrontation. Instead, I’d gotten up, nodded for my girls to do the same, and with them surrounding me—to protect and shield me from the harsh, judgmental, and gleeful eyes of those who took an absurd amount of fucking pleasure in my humiliation, and left the restaurant. All without standing up from my chair to confront Shay and the other woman. Without going over to slap him, or pour his drink in his lap, toss it in his face, or to get in a fight with a woman who didn’t know about me, and was the other wronged party. More so than I was.

  Rather, I’d gone home to consider my options. It had taken me a while, and I’d played the part of the blissfully ignorant fiancée to perfection, but I had been planning and plotting the entire time.

  I could simply kill him, enact a little revenge on behalf of me and the woman I’d discovered was his wife, thanks to my friend Natalie’s private investigation. I could have also gotten him fired from his job as a foreman with the local construction company. I could kill him, or I could blow up his car right in front of him. There was also the option of killing him, or buying his house from under him, forcing him and his pretty little blonde, white wife, to move.

  Every option I’d had available to me at the time had run through my mind, and I’d had to dispose of them all because they just didn’t mete out the amount of justice that I’d felt Shay deserved.

  And then, as if every wronged woman, past, present, and future had collectively whispered in my ear, the means by which I would make that mother fucking asshole pay, had come to me in a blast of cold, acid air, and a bright, shining light. I’d known instantly, after weeks of plotting and planning, what I needed to do, and in the words of Maxine Shaw©, a character from one of my favorite 90’s shows: Living Single©: “My soul was settled, and I knew what must be done.”

  And so, when Shay came over to see me that night, I was ready. There was a lovely meal prepared, candles lit, roses on the table, rose petals leading to the bedroom, and I was wearing a beautiful lavender colored silk peignoir nightgown. Shay had been drooling from the second I opened the door. I’d invited him in and had taken him straight to the dining room. Where I’d fed him steak, mashed potatoes, and asparagus with a balsamic vinaigrette reduction. That was followed by a large slice of sweet potato pie—my grandma’s recipe—all served with champagne.

  I know, I know. Whenever I talked about what had happened bitches were always surprised and thought that if all of that food hadn’t been poisoned that my revenge sucked monkey balls. I hadn’t wanted Shay dead, I’d wanted the punkass to suffer. So while I hadn’t poisoned the food I’d served to the man who had lied to me, and played me for a fool, I’d certainly added some “extras” to make his last meal with me… interesting. But it wasn’t simply his meal, his glass of champagne also had a special ingredient added to it to make it so that h
e never forgot me or what I’d done to him.

  His food had been laced with cocaine and ketamine, while his drink had been mixed with three crushed Viagra pills. When he’d rushed me back to my bedroom at the end of the meal—all while trying to fuck me along the way—I’d known that my plan of revenge was going to work. We’d gotten to my bedroom and disrobed. When we were both naked, I’d pushed Shay down onto the brand-new bedsheets, atop the new mattress, and comforter I’d purchased the week before, just for that moment. Shay was so high, so in such a trancelike state, and so horny out of his mind, that he hadn’t even noticed the tarp on my floor.

  I’d pulled open my nightstand and pulled out a pair of gloves, an extremely large, sharp knife, and a pair of hedge clippers. Then, after putting the gloves on and stroking his cock…

  I’d cut the mother fucker off. Then I carved the word “cheater” into the skin above his groin. His screams had been one of the most beautiful songs I’d ever heard in my whole goddamn life, a beautiful medley which had combined and created a lovely mashup with the song “I Got Rhythm” © by Ethel Waters. I then used the hot wax from the candles to cauterize the wounds, not only because I didn’t want to kill the bastard, but also because I knew it would bring him added pain and cause an infection. I’d called my girls, and with all of us working together, my bedroom was cleaned, stripped, redecorated, and rebuilt from the floorboards up, and Shay’s body was removed and dropped off, in his own car, to the home he shared with his wife.

  She’d divorced him two days later.

  I’d been so sure that after that night I would never have to see him again. Especially since he’d filed a restraining order—one that had been denied by a judge on my payroll—against me.

  But now? The bastard had my sister-in-law, one of my girls. That shit absolutely could not stand. Shay had to be dealt with, by me. And this time I wouldn’t show the bastard any type of mercy. I would render my judgement not only harshly but… permanently.

  It was time my ex-boyfriend went from simply living without a dick, to not living at all.

  The first thing I noticed about Shay’s Bar when we arrived, besides the décor of maple wood, dark furniture, and dark fur-covered seating, was how many fucking trucks were in the parking lot. People thought rednecks were restricted to, and only found in the Deep South, but many of us in Baltimore knew they were everywhere, especially wherever a military base could be found. And from the sound of the music, the hum of the various conversations, both of which came to an end the moment my crew and Andrew’s stepped inside, and the suspicious looks that we received shortly thereafter, I knew we’d found the pinnacle of the patriarchal stronghold.

  It wasn’t pushing homophobic, transphobic, and misogynistic bills through Congress. It wasn’t attempting to get thinly veiled racist legislation passed in the Senate, nor was it in the White House spewing rhetoric, disingenuity, stupidity, hate-filled, and riot inducing speeches, while trying its best to avoid doing jail time for all of the illegal things it had done.

  No.

  The pinnacle of the patriarchal stronghold was right there, in a bar, in the middle of fucking Baltimore, filled with like-minded people, who were all hovering around one particular patron who sat at the bar.

  A beautiful, ebony-skinned beauty whom Andrew and I both knew extremely well, and had been searching for, for hours.

  Nia.

  I wasn’t sure if their presence around my sister-in-law was menacing or not, but I wanted to march right over there and snatch her little narrow behind up from her chair and ask her what the fuck she was doing in that bar. But two things happened almost simultaneously, and so quickly, that I was completely frozen in place from the shock for a moment.

  The men in the bar, as one, pulled out their guns and pointed it at us, while Andrew, his Enforcers, my crew, and I all returned the favor.

  And Andrew—my big, strong, overprotective Irish man—yelled for Nia; right at the same time that she screamed his name and went barreling towards us, with Shay hot on her heels.

  “The fuck you think you’re going?” I asked him with steel edging in my tone. A few of the men, hearing the threatening note in my voice directed toward their favorite bar owner, turned their guns from various members of Andrew’s Enforcers, and turned them in my direction.

  Yeah, that’s right motherfuckers. I’m the most dangerous one in this bitch right here. Even while I’m fucking pregnant.

  “K-Kyra?” Shay stammered out. “You actually c-came? To m-my bar?” He took a small step backwards and it made me smile. “I didn’t think you would. Didn’t believe her when she said you would.”

  “You have my sister in your bar, you dumb, no-dick-having, fuck,” I stated angrily and watched as every man glanced down at Shay’s groin before wincing and crouching over slightly in order to place their hands over their crotches. I smirked and nodded when Andrew looked at me questioningly.

  “Oh yeah, I cut that bitch off and left a nice little note behind.” I returned my gaze to Shay’s colorless face. “Still got my farewell message above the place where your cock used to be?”

  Shay narrowed his eyes and attempted to bum rush me. He was stopped, of course, by the clicking sound of multiple guns having their safety turned off and pointed directly at his forehead. He growled angrily and pursed his lips.

  “I had to get a dick transplant, you bitch,” he snarled.

  I laughed. “They do that?” I asked, amusement in my tone. “I hope you got one bigger than the one you had before, because… that one was… sad.”

  Everyone laughed and Shay’s face turned beet red, but I had no time to feel sorry for him. Not when he was responsible for my sister in law being in danger. Not when he was still breathing, and I still bore some of the emotional scars from our time together.

  Not when my husband was standing next to me looking as if he was only waiting for Shay to make one wrong move before he killed him.

  “Nia, how did you wind up here?” Andrew asked before I had a chance to.

  “I-I um…” Nia stammered, glancing around at all of us, shame permeating her every facial expression.

  “And before you try to lie to me, remember who the fuck I am, little girl,” Andrew warned her.

  While I completely agreed with Andrew’s need to know why Nia had essentially lied to her husband, to her brother, and to me about her whereabouts, at a time when things between those of us in the underworld were at a tense standstill, I did not agree with the words he used. I narrowed my eyes at him, at the exact same time that Nia put her hands on her hips and every last member of my crew turned to stare at my husband as if he’d just made the biggest misstep. When every man in the room, those with us and those who’d previously had their guns trained on us, began to back away, that was the moment when Andrew realized that he’d made a mistake.

  “Nia, I—”

  “I know that to you I will always be a little girl, Drew,” Nia began, shaking her head when Andrew opened his mouth to speak. “And I know that you will always feel the need to play ‘father’ to the little sister you asked mom and dad for whom died when she was too little to really appreciate them. Hell, I know that when you look at me now you don’t see a wife and a mother, you see the little girl who used to put on your shoes and your clothes and pretend to be you, stomping around the house and shooting the bad guys, but look at me, Drew.” She spread her arms out wide.

  “I haven’t been a little girl for a long time. I have gone through and experienced more than you could ever imagine. Seen more hell and encountered more bad guys than you’ve ever dreamed of. I am not a baby anymore, and you don’t get to talk to me like I am.”

  With that, Nia spun on her heel and walked out of the bar. The rest of my girls looked at me and after Nia, and when I jerked my head in her direction, they all turned and followed her out. I watched them all leave before I returned my attention to the rest of the room. I was now the only woman left in a room full of men who were still brandishing thei
r weapons. While I had Andrew and his Enforcers to back me up, Shay and his customers outnumbered us three to one.

  Just the kind of odds I liked.

  I gestured to Shay with the tip of my gun and beckoned for him to come closer. When he simply shook his head and pulled out a sheet of paper, handing it over to a man I didn’t know, I wanted to laugh at his cowardice even more. I’d always known that there was something about him that I didn’t exactly respect. I hadn’t been sure what it was when we’d been together, but now I knew with a certainty.

  Shay was a pussy ass bitch.

  He was the type of guy who couldn’t be with a woman unless his mother liked her. The kind whose mother could influence him into denying his child because she didn’t like the woman who’d given birth to it. A man who would be married to one woman and having an affair with another, instead of simply getting a divorce or talking to his wife when he felt unfulfilled or unhappy in his marriage.

  He was the exact type of man I enjoyed killing.

  I nodded at the tall, rotund man who handed me the letter, gesturing with my head that he could step away from me. I know that every man in that room—including Shay—thought they were too strong, too manly, had too much testosterone and too much male strength to ever be afraid of a woman, but I was a crack shot. I’d had the Master Sergeant of the United States Army tell me once before, after watching me shoot, that if I’d been a man, I would have been able to be considered a sniper and been in the Infantry. I’d rolled my eyes then, just as I rolled them now. There was nothing that any man had that I didn’t have that made him more capable of taking a life. And the only difference between them and me wouldn’t stop my bullet. Hell, it wouldn’t even stop a knife… or a pair of hedge clippers.