by Vi Carter
“Let me out!” Her voice is hoarse but still sweet. “Why are you doing this?” Her lip trembles, her pale face drawn.
Why am I doing this?
I rise slowly. The time for questions isn’t right now. For now, I will allow her time to settle into her new surroundings.
“I’ll have food sent down to you soon.”
My words are like strings that tug her off the ground. “I don’t want food. I want to go home!” Her voice is tinged with hysteria, and instead of leaving like I had intended to, I stay a little longer.
“You aren’t going home.” My words are calm and clear.
A trembling hand covers her mouth. She’s shaking her head. “Why are you doing this?” She turns away from me and spins like she’s searching for someone or something. I have no idea why, but I use the moment to analyze how I feel.
I feel aroused. I’m aroused by her beauty, maybe even by her fear.
As she spins back toward me, she’s frazzled, and I wonder if she will pass out again. The fight in her blue eyes doesn’t die for one second.
My arousal grows as she stumbles away from me, but she doesn’t even blink.
“Why am I here? Why me?”
“Why not you?” I ask her and step closer to the glass.
She takes a step back, blinking rapidly. “What are you going to do with me?”
“That’s up to you, Claire.”
A sob falls from her lips. “How do you know my name?”
I can’t stop the smile. It’s a smile that a cat might give to a mouse when he knows he’s winning. “In time, I will tell you. Just not right now.”
I glance down at my watch. My tailor is due any minute, and I have spent longer down here than I had intended.
So I decide to take my leave and give Claire the space she clearly needs to settle in.
“How do you know my name?” Her shouts follow me as I turn away from the glass and make my way out of the basement and up the stairs. Davy’s bald head greets me as I step into the hallway. He stuffs the phone that he had been staring at into his pocket.
“I want Eamon and Marcus to guard this door at all times.” I give the order as the doorbell rings.
Mario appears out of the kitchen wearing a fucking apron around his waist. Davy’s gaze narrows as Mario greets me and answers the door, allowing my tailor entry.
“Why can’t you get some eye candy to cook our food instead of that?” Davy asks.
Davy hates anyone that is different, and Mario gets under his skin.
I pat Davy on the back. “Because if the eye candy caused trouble, I’d have to kill them.”
“I’d do it for you.” Davy fires back, wearing a grin that I don’t quite buy. He isn’t joking. He would kill a woman if I asked him to.
“Mario is your eye candy for now. Get him to cook a meal for my guest. Eamon can take it down.”
Davy stands a bit straighter at my request. “I’ll have it done.”
Mario closes the front door as my tailor waits in the hallway, and I walk towards him.
“Mr. O’Reagan.” He holds out his hand that I take as I scramble for his name. “You have grown quite large.” He says while shaking my hand.
“He’s a late bloomer,” Davy interjects as he heads for the kitchen.
I release John’s hand. I think it’s John and lead him upstairs. When I glance back down, Mario is standing in the hallway, watching me. I raise a brow, asking him silently what-the-fuck-he’s-standing-around-for.
He bristles before marching into the kitchen where he belongs.
I spend the next thirty minutes being measured by John, who thankfully doesn’t attempt to make small talk.
“How long will it take?” I ask, stepping away from John as he gathers up his notes and measuring tape.
“I should have your tailored suits ready in three weeks.”
I pull at the tight t-shirt. “Make it three days.” I turn to John, his mouth slack. “Or should I go elsewhere?”
He closes his gaping mouth. “Three days, your suits will be here.”
He pulls on his own suit jacket. “I’ll leave the two suits you requested I bring today downstairs before I go.”
“Thank you, John.”
“It’s Francis.” He mumbles as he leaves.
I make a note of his name. “Thank you, Francis,” I call over my shoulder and catch his eye in the mirror.
***
The generic suit fits me surprisingly well. I previously sent a few photos to Francis so he could gauge my size and bring me a few suits while he was measuring me. It would keep me tied over until he made me my new ones. Three days isn’t much time, but it surprises me how quickly people can really do things when you push them.
I remove the tie and open the top button of my shirt. My black hair has grown longer than I would normally keep it, and I push it back; my fingers touch the puckered skin along the left side of my skull. Seventy-two stitches made up the scar that would forever haunt me.
Meeting my gaze in the mirror, I don’t recognize the man who stares back at me. It’s not just my physical appearance that’s altered over the years. It’s the hate I see in my eyes. I turn away from the mirror, putting on my watch before making my way downstairs.
Davy is waiting for me at the bottom of the grand staircase. “Eamon and Marcus are on duty. Mario is making the food.”
“You should have him make you a meal.”
Davy's lips drag up into a snarl. “I won’t eat food from him; besides, I’m a mean chef.”
I slap Davy on the back as I pass him. “You’d burn water.” Taking a set of keys off a hook, I take one final look in the mirror. Nothing has changed in the last fifteen seconds. The same hard look in my gaze is still there.
“Don’t wait up.” I grin at Davy. It’s a grin that tells him I’ve gotten lucky.
“I won’t.”
I leave through the kitchen and enter the garage. Three cars fill the space. I move to the one positioned at the end. I open the door, my nose assaulted by the smell of leather. I bought it a few days before my father tricked me and locked me up in the asylum.
The engine hums under the hood of the BMW.
The doors rise behind me as I reverse out of the garage and leave the house. I don’t expect this little outing to take long, but Davy doesn’t need to know that. A family gathering was called to welcome me home. My father expects me to show up with tales of my travels and business in Czech Republic. Where there is obviously no fucking phone reception because they bought into the idea that I could only text. I didn’t believe the bullshit for a second. They just didn’t care enough to find out what really happened to me. I could have been rotting away in a ditch.
Growing up, my father promised me the mafia world. The sad part is I believed him. I am addicted to his lies, the way he creatively folds truths with bullshit until all you see is what he wants you to see. I wanted to be just like him until my world went up in flames. I have no idea what I want anymore. My path has already been carved for me, so I just know what is expected of me. This anger and desire to smash and destroy all who have wronged me is all-consuming. One day I will allow it to consume me, but today isn’t that day.
Slowing down the car as the hedge that lines my parent’s property comes into view, I try to push aside all the hate that has taken up residency in my heart. It’s not a fruitful exercise. The closer I get, the more my anger has my fingers tightening around the steering wheel. If my anger could manifest itself, I’d be fucking suffocating. I come to a complete stop at the entrance. The gatekeeper dips his head at me before the gates start to open. I’m tempted to rev the engine to make them go faster. Once they open enough for me to pass, I drive up the winding driveway until the house rises up in front of me.
A few members of my family have gathered at the front door smoking. I’m not surprised to see Shay, but like me, he’s changed over the years. His demeanor seems more relaxed as he speaks to Jack, who looks the same as he did t
he last time I saw him. Both of them turn to my car as I park away from the door.
I angle the rear-view mirror and meet my eyes one more time. You can do this. I swallow saliva and all the pain of the last few years and get out of the car. I’ve been told my whole life I’m the mirror image of my father, so I give them the show they expect. Shay says something to Jack when he sees me. I don’t expect a hug, but I also don’t expect the hard jaw of Jack as I approach him and Shay.
“The prodigal son arrives home.” Bitterness coats his words.
“Nice to see you too, brother,” I respond in a monotone before turning to Shay, who is watching my every move, of course. I hold out my hand. “Congratulations on becoming a King.”
He blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth before gripping my hand and shaking it. “You too, Richard.”
If uncertainty had a smell, I’d be getting it in gales right now, and that’s how I liked to keep things. Don’t ever let them know where they stand.
“Is Mother inside?” I release Shay’s hand and turn to Jack.
His jaw twitches, and I know he’s waiting for me to congratulate him, too. I won’t. He will never hold his place as King. He is just too stupid to know that.
“Yes.” He grinds out the word.
“I’ll speak to you both later.” I step into the house, and thankfully no one is in the hall as I close the door behind me. Memories spring hard and fast, and I eliminate them one by one until I reach the kitchen.
She’s my Achilles heel. I think she is for all of us mere mortals. I inhale the scent of her food, and when my mother turns from the stove and looks at me, I allow her to see her son.
A squeal of pure delight leaves her mouth, and she rushes across the space, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Richard!” She’s so tiny as I pull her into a hug. “You’re really here.” She’s gripping onto me, and I allow us to have a few more seconds before I start to mentally retreat.
It’s like she notices and steps back. “Look at you; you’re all filled out.”
“Plenty of food in the Czech Republic,” I say with a smile that’s reserved just for her. It’s still filled with pain and hate, but right now, it’s the best I can offer.
“I missed you.” She whispers, and the pain that reflects in her eyes tells me she just might know more than I think.
I stiffen as she pulls me into her for another hug, and she releases me, quickly cutting the hug short. “Go out back. Your father and uncles are out there.”
My mother’s gaze darts away from me, and she quickly returns to the stove. I know from the set of her shoulders that she’s crying. I want to comfort her, but Jack and Shay arrive in the kitchen. Shay glances from me to my mother before heading out back.
“Mam, what’s wrong?” Jack rubs her shoulders, and I watch like a stranger as she reaches back and grips Jack’s hand. She leans into him, and he glances at me, giving me a death glare.
I leave before I snap. Outside, everyone is seated. If you look in from the outside, it almost seems like everyone is happy.
A big, happy, fucking, family.
Darragh cheers when he sees me and raises a glass. He gets up and half dances over towards me. He’s wasted and sloppy, and I meet my father’s gaze. Maybe Darragh should be the one we put down and not Finn, who I’ve spied in the corner, looking the part of the victim.
What a sorry-looking bunch.
Shane’s darkness leaps from his body in waves. I dodge Darragh’s attempt to hug me and make my way to Shane. He makes sense to me.
He greets me without words, using a sharp jerk of his head and raising his bottle of Budweiser before taking a drink.
“Nice to see you too, Shane,” I say as I sink into the chair.
“Are you going to leave me hanging?” Darragh says, making his way back to the table.
“Darragh,” I mumble in greeting.
His laughter is harsh. Time hasn’t been kind to him. “You're just like your father.” He drinks from his bottle as my mother arrives with food. She made a chicken curry, a favorite of mine. It’s her way of telling me she cares. It also tells me there is a good chance she knew where I was and is feeling very guilty.
She fills a plate and, with a smile, reaches out to me. I want to take the food. She’s looking at me with pride in her eyes.
“I ate before I came.” I decline, and her face falls. “But thank you.” I can’t keep looking at her, so I focus on Shay, who watches me. The moment our gazes clash, he turns away and lights up a cigarette. Darragh takes one off him. My mother continues to dish out the curry but with little to no enthusiasm. She’s rattled. I can see it.
I use the moment to look at my sad uncle. “Nice to see you, Finn.” I move my chair, so I’m facing him.
He’s holding an empty glass in his hand.
“Would you like another?” I don’t attempt to move.
“No, I think I need to be the sober one. Darragh’s drinking enough for everyone.”
“Are you the designated driver?” I ask.
His jaw tightens, and he pushes his wheelchair closer to me. “You think that’s fucking funny?”
His question has me laughing. I haven’t laughed in a long time, but here is Finn, the pussy of the family, getting rowdy. “It took you getting shot to grow a pair of balls,” I state when my laughter dies down. I keep my voice low, but Shane hears me.
“Leave him.” Shane growls.
He can fucking eat that command. But I remember my place and sit back in my seat. Jack gets up, throwing his weight around.
I have an overwhelming need to take him down a peg or two. “A drink would be nice, Jack.”
His glare swings to me, and I know he’d love to take a punch. I’m waiting for him to fire something back, but he just nods. “What’s your poison?”
“A brandy.”
He half snorts and goes back into the house. My eyes fall on a woman I don’t recognize. She’s watching me with a hooded gaze. She must be the killer.
“Maeve, is it?” I ask.
She sits up straighter like she’s surprised at being called out. “Yes, and you are Richard, I assume.”
I get up like the gentleman I am and approach Maeve, who sinks deeper into her chair. I reach out my hand, and she takes it. “I don’t bite,” I say and raise her hand to my lips just as Jack walks out. I turn her hand palm up and press a soft kiss there before releasing her hand, which she drags back quickly to her side.
“Your brandy.” Jack looks like he wants to drown me with the drink. A part of me wants him to. I take my brandy from my brother. And turn to my uncles, mother, and Maeve. I raise the glass and stare at my father.
“To family, to loyalty, to belonging.” I raise the glass higher. “An Chlann,” I say our family motto. Darragh stands and salutes me while the rest repeat An Chlann like they wouldn’t stab each other in the back at any second.
I look at the people who don’t care about me. These aren’t family or friends.
These people are the enemy
CHAPTER SIX
CLAIRE
I’m possessed.
Or that’s how it feels. It’s like each move I make, an echo of my action, is lagging behind me. I keep spinning, expecting to see something behind me, but each time I catch my reflection in the unbreakable glass. He said the glass was unbreakable.
Another sob tears from me. Trying to pull back my panic and fear is like trying to hold onto water. All it does is cover me in a wet layer of darkness that keeps growing.
He knows your name. The voice in my head whispers, and I swipe at my ear like I can make the noise stop.
I lose track of time as I search for a way out. I smash another chair against the glass to no avail, and my hope dwindles too fast.
“This isn’t real.”
Brown boots appear on the stairs; the legs come into view before a face I’ve never seen before has my heart jumping.
A man with sandy-colored hair walks towards me, hold
ing a tray of food.
My Captor said he would get me food.
The man pauses at the doorway.
“Move back.” His command has the air halting briefly in my chest.
He is going to enter.
“Move back now!” His bark has me moving back. My movement is a quick shuffle, and he raises a brow. “Five seconds or there will be no food.”
I have no choice but to move back. My foot hits something, and I glance down. It’s a piece of the broken chair. The man isn’t watching me as he swipes a card at the door panel. The click is deafening, and the air changes as the door opens.
The signs are there in his gaze. Not to try anything, but I ignore the warning and scoop up the broken piece of chair. Violence isn’t an option for me. I’ve grown up seeing too much of it. I’ve always sworn I’d never hurt another human being.
But these men aren’t human.
He places the tray on the table and side-eyes me.
“Thank you,” I whisper and move closer to inspect the content of the tray. To him, I am no threat. I see it clearly in his green eyes that don’t smile at me, but they don’t hate me either.
His gaze drags across my bare arms, and I don’t want them to reach my hands, not before I get a chance to use my weapon. I keep the piece of wood pinned at my side.
“May I have a chair, please?”
Sweat makes a pathway down my spine. My shoulder blades drag closer, trying to ward off the sweat and fear.
“No.” He steps away from the table and moves to leave. He turns away from me, and something else takes over.
It’s not even that I’ve thrown caution to the wind. It’s like all the fear turns feral, and it’s not about escape; it’s about elimination, so this ends.
Raising the broken leg of the chair high, the wood sails down into his shoulder. I’m expecting a sickening crunch, but the sharp piece of wood sinks into his flesh and stops. The force rattles up against my arms, and I’m nearly flung sideways as he spins, dragging me with him as he screams. My stomach churns as he tries to reach for the foreign object in his shoulder.
