by Vi Carter
He doesn’t appear disappointed with my truths. I walk to the box and touch the glass. I know if I focus, I’ll see my reflection. “It’s a real mind fuck.” I half-laugh before looking back at Davy. “You can see through it, but you can also see yourself, just not clearly. It’s a mind fuck,” I say again.
I step back from the glass and re-cross my arms. Davy grows silent beside me.
Marcus finishes cleaning the blood up and removes a pair of large green gloves from his hands before hanging them over the side of the bucket.
“I want the broken chairs cleared and replaced.”
Marcus nods while gathering up the bucket that sloshes as he moves.
“Not you.” Marcus is too loud on his feet.
“You.” I point at Davy.
Davy doesn’t pause but goes to the door and opens it. He moves quietly as he gathers the largest pieces of wood and places them outside the box. Marcus leaves and returns with chairs that Davy takes and puts inside the box. Once all is done, as I said, they leave the basement.
I stay for a while staring at the tub, remembering how she looked lying on the bed. I get up and walk around the box, stopping directly across from the bed. Small dots of blood are still visible on the sheets, blood that bled from her body. My cock hardens at the thought of running my tongue across her damaged flesh.
I pause and turn to the tub. I had sworn the quilt shifted. I stare long and hard, and when nothing happens, I leave her. My father had called another meeting with Shay and Jack. The four mighty kings are to meet and discuss the future of the Irish Mafia.
What a crock of shit. He would be the master handing out our job roles like we were lackeys with no brains.
***
We meet at one of my father’s hotels. Cabra Castle rises up in front of me. The castles original foundation sank deep into the ground as the rest of the castle was re-created to its former glory. I never really looked at the castle when I was a kid. All I saw with this place was restrictions that my father laid down. I could never drink or act like other teenagers. When I was here, I was working. But now, after being locked up for so long, I see the potential for the first time. The potential to have Cabra Castle as my home. My father won’t just hand it to me. I will have to take it from him.
I park up in one of the designated parking bays. I meet my gaze in the rear-view mirror.
Showtime.
I get out and lock the car as I make my way to the side door of the castle. Five steps rise up to a set of smaller double doors that the front doors would dwarf.
Shay stands at the entrance, smoking a cigarette. He’s wearing casual clothing, a green sweater, and slacks. His gaze darts across my full navy suit. “Didn’t know this was formal.” He takes a final drag of his cigarette before flicking it onto the ground.
“Meeting with my father is always formal.” I sound like a prick.
“Me and your da have gotten close.” His grin is one that’s telling me to go fuck myself.
“I’m glad to hear it, Shay. I really am.”
Shay’s gaze narrows slightly before he grins again. “I hope we can, too.”
“I’m sure we will get as close as you and my father have.” I pull down the sleeves of my white shirt unnecessarily and smile a real fuck you smile before climbing the steps to the door.
Shay doesn’t speak again, but he isn’t one to be brushed under a carpet. Shay is one person I’ve always liked. He’s smart and, most of the time, does whatever the fuck he wants. We pass a set of medieval knights that were kitted out with swords. I’m sure they cost my Father a decent penny. He had not just had the castle restored to its former glory on the outside but inside as well. He spared no expense. Every little detail, even down to the hallways, are picture-perfect.
We leave the main hallway and move down a smaller one that leads to a passageway for the staff. I glance at Shay over my shoulder. “You’ve been this way before?”
“Never. Castles aren’t my thing.” Shay's voice always holds an accusation, or maybe it’s laughter. It’s hard to tell with him.
“What is your thing?”
“I’m more of a country boy.”
I snort at that lie. We reach a set of large arched doors, and I push the left one in. We enter the room that my father uses for entertaining corrupt politicians and members of the public sector that will turn a blind eye to our underhanded dealings.
Jack is here sitting at the table while my father stands looking out one of the large arched windows. Both of them are wearing suits. Shay looks shabby in the room with the three of us.
Jack’s gaze dances from me to Shay. He settles on a nod as a greeting.
“All the Kings are here,” I say while unbuttoning my suit jacket and sliding into the nearest chair. I want this to end as quickly as it has started.
“Can I smoke in here?” Shay asks, but he’s already got a cigarette in his mouth and the lighter in his hand.
My father turns away from the window and faces us like he is the mother-fucking King of all Kings, and we are truly his pawns.
“Secrets are deadly. They create speculation and fester.”
My father’s words hold all our attention, and Shay doesn’t light his cigarette. Instead, he slides into the chair beside me, like a student late for class, trying not to draw the headmaster’s attention.
“So we need to clear the air,” Father says.
I quickly look at Jack. His gaze is focused on Father.
“Would anyone like to go first?” My father doesn’t look at any of us in particular.
“Since you started, why don’t you?” I speak, and I see a flicker of irritation in his gaze. If we were all spilling secrets, no better man than he.
My father widens his arms like he has nothing to hide before joining them together. “I have no secrets from you. All you have to do is ask me a question, and I will answer it.”
He might answer the question, but it won’t be truthful. I’m tempted to get up. I don’t want to listen to his twisted words that are being spilled for some fucked up reason.
No one speaks, and the noise of Shay lighting his cigarette has me fighting a grin. He blows smoke into the air. I think he’s secretly telling my father to fuck off. That action raises Shay in my estimations again.
“Fine.” My father makes it sound like he gave us a chance, and now the time is over. When his gaze swings to me, I hold still. What the fuck is he doing?
“Richard wasn’t in the Czech Republic. He was in Mullingar Asylum.”
Son of a bitch.
“What?” Jack sounds stunned and spins fully in his chair, so he’s staring at me. His eyes normally remind me of Mother’s, clear, crystal blue but not now; they darken as they dance from me to father.
“Makes sense.” Shay’s voice is low, but I hear the fucking insult that makes my earlier estimation of his worth drop. I glare at him before I face Jack.
“For how long? And why?” His hands are tightly gripped together on the table.
“He killed a man.” My father is all for talking for me today.
“I killed a nurse while there.” I correct him. If we are spilling secrets, then I am all for that too. “Father put me in there to teach me a lesson about emotions.”
My father has the nerve to shrug like putting his son in a madhouse is no big deal.
“You did what?” Jack’s brows draw down with anger that’s directed at my father. “He’s your son.” He’s pointing at me now, and I have a moment of shock. Jack’s anger towards my father surprises me more than anything right now. No matter what our father does, we don’t react like this. Maybe we are growing up, stepping out from the shadow that he has cast over all of us.
“I’m well aware he’s my son. That’s why I placed him there. It was for a few days. Minor. He killed a member of the staff, and he’s lucky his incarceration was only three years. His time locked up would have been a lot more in prison if I hadn’t stepped in.”
Jack drags his hand
across his face. “That’s such bullshit. You told us he was in the Czech Republic.”
I sit back and try to appear like I’m enjoying the show. I hide the truth of this moment. I’m proud of my brother, but as he continues to call our father out on his bullshit and in front of Shay, I start to fear what will happen to him if he doesn’t stop.
“It was a holiday, like Disneyland, really.” I grin as I sit forward, and Jack’s hands fall to the table. He’s looking at me like I’m mad, and I play up to it. “Don’t look so serious, brother. I enjoyed the break. Now let’s hear Shay’s secret.”
I turn to the man in question. His gaze is steady as he looks at me. “I’ve lots of secrets. Just none that would interest you boys.”
“Try me,” I say quickly.
Shay sits forward in his seat. “I jerk off to Wonder Woman. She’s hot in her tight clothes.” Shay gets up and searches for an ashtray. He’s deflecting, but it doesn't matter.
I turn to my father, who watches me, and I want to know why he spilled my secret. Everything he does, he does for a reason.
“What happened to you in there?” Jack still hasn’t let it go.
“Before or after I killed the nurse?” I ask. My voice has grown deadly serious.
“I don’t know.” Jack confesses. He’s thrown by this. Is that my father’s purpose for this meeting? The King himself sits down, and Shay returns to the table.
“Now that we have cleared the air let’s begin.” My father speaks for the next thirty minutes about our positions as Kings, what he expects us to do.
Jack is to oversee the drug trade that we built our wealth on. Shay is to oversee arms as most of them came through the North, and I am to work on my father’s other ventures that include the hotels and brothels.
“Jack, you’ll work with Darragh. He’s very wise with the streets and how they operate.” That is a nice way of saying he can mix with the riff-raff and rub shoulders with politicians and the corrupt people my father paid off.
“What about Finn? He could help us out.” Jack’s question has me really watching my father. This should be interesting.
“I’m going to have Finn help Richard.”
I’m ready to laugh. Of course, he is placing Finn in my killer hands. Jack doesn’t look convinced, and I want to tell him I’ll take good care of the cripple, but saying that would be one big fucking lie.
“I’ll work with Connor and Shay.” Another surprise leaves my father’s mouth.
“And Shane will help Richard and Finn.” The cripple and the dark one. Great, we would make some team.
Shay taps his box of cigarettes on the table. “I’m not sure my da will be up to working.” The tapping of the box is something I file away to see if he does the action again before speaking of his da. It might be a tic that could come in useful. I’m sure my father is doing the same. Jack is too busy staring at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m fucked up from my stay in the asylum.
“When he’s ready.” My father says. Connor, who's Shay’s father, was shot in the leg by some moron seeking revenge. They found the man and dealt with him. I don’t think for one second my father is okay with Connor resting up. I’m surprised I haven’t been asked to clip him, too, since my father is such a noble and caring brother.
“So everyone knows what they are doing?”
“Crystal clear,” I say.
My father nods at me. “Good.”
“Does Mother know about Richard?” Jack points at me again, and he’s looking more lost as the time slips away.
“Not quite.”
My heart hammers. I don’t want her to know. I want my mother to believe that I have been in the Czech Republic. That way, I don’t have to hate her for not coming for me, for not at least trying to get me out of there.
“She believes he was in the asylum instead of prison.”
I laugh, and I can’t stop it. “Half-truths,” I bark.
“You should have told me.” Jack’s voice lowers as he quickly looks at Shay like he’s only noticing him now.
“What would you have done, Jack?” My father’s question has me really paying attention.
“Visit him.”
My father’s laughter is quick and sharp. “Do you really think a man who has lost his freedom wants to see a brother, a friend, a mother, even his priest come and chat nonsense, then get up and leave him behind in his cage?” My father is a man of few words, and the room expands with his words. They grow and wrap around us all, and for a moment, it’s like he’s speaking from experience.
The lull in the room is uncomfortable and allows too many questions to expand.
“It’s better than my brother thinking he was forgotten.”
I’ve underestimated Jack. I’ve thought about this so many times since I got home. He is different.
“I can step outside if you want to have a family pow-wow.” Shay stands up, and I want to reach across and drag his smart ass back into the seat.
“You are fine to go, Shay. We will be in touch.” My father, ever the diplomat, stays calm. His earlier show of emotion is buried, and I wonder if I imagined it.
The moment Shay leaves the room, I want to ask my father what the fuck he did that for. Why spill something like that about not just me, but us as a family. I don’t get a moment to ask because his phone rings, and with a wave of his hand and the turn of his back, he dismisses us.
“Talk to me, Richard.” Jack follows me out the doors, and I want to open the top button of my shirt but resist doing it.
“The scars on your stomach, did that happen in the asylum?”
I turn to him. I want to confide in someone. Looking back up at the castle, I wonder if our father is watching us, thinking how weak we are.
“I’m fine, Jack. It was a break from father. I rather enjoyed it.” I grin and turn, making my way to my car.
“I’m not him, Richard. You can talk to me.”
My gut tightens, and I want to so badly. “Great chat.” I wave two fingers in the air and climb into my car. I reverse around Jack as he hasn’t moved. Our gazes clash, and I’m tempted to stop and roll down the window, but that is an invitation to talk, and talking isn’t what I want to do now. The only way I can control the anger that is growing hard and fast is with the blade and the spilling of blood.
I push my foot to the floor and tear out of the gates of Cabra Castle to find my release.
CHAPTER TEN
CLAIRE
My back and head complain intensely as I sit up in the tub. It’s like a bad dream roaring to life as I glance around my cage. Gripping the side of the tub, I climb out. My heart jumps for too many reasons, but the number one is him. He’s standing like some avenging God outside the box. The navy suit fits his large frame flawlessly.
It’s another reminder of how insignificant I am compared to him. My palms grow clammy, and I don’t blink. He moves forward, and my heart leaps.
“I can’t imagine you slept well.”
It’s only now I notice the tray in his hands that holds my breakfast: a bowl, a mug, and a plate with toast laid out on it.
“Go to the back of the box.” His command has my stomach quivering. I don’t hesitate but turn quickly, wanting nothing more than to look over my shoulder. At the sound of the click that I associate with the door opening, my shoulders draw together as I walk faster. I reach the end and spin. He has placed the tray on the table and is leaving.
My body settles when the door closes, that is until his dark gaze pins me to the spot. If Lucifer was to take human form and wear an Armani suit, I’m sure this man would fit the profile perfectly. He’s harshly beautiful.
“Claire, I want all your food eaten.”
His voice drags across my flesh. I don’t move from the back of the box. The distance makes me slightly braver. “What do you want with me?” My voice is weak, but it still carries to him.
His gaze zeros in, and I don’t need his words; it’s in his eyes. It’s true that the eyes are th
e windows to the soul, and from meeting his gaze, I know he doesn’t have one.
Blood roars in my ears, and my core tightens. I straighten at the sensation, not expecting to feel this way at all. Confusion at my body’s reaction to him overwhelms me.
“I’ll be back later.” The devil turns on his expensive heels and leaves me reeling for air. What is wrong with me? I can’t find him attractive. I do. I shouldn’t, but I do.
My feet feel as though they are cemented to the ground, and it takes me some time to move. I pass where Eamon’s lifeless body lay. None of this feels real. It’s like a bad dream, one I’m yet to wake up from. I pause and step closer to the wall of glass, looking down at the concrete ground. The area is free of any blood. It’s like Eamon never existed.
The chairs I smashed have been replaced. I drag one out and sit down, staring at my breakfast. My stomach rumbles loudly, but I don’t eat. I examine the tray. The silverware holds my attention. I swallow saliva as I pick up the knife. Running my finger along the blade, I pull away and hiss, not expecting the tip to be so sharp. A metallic taste fills my mouth as I suck my damaged finger between my lips. The bleeding stops after a moment, and I get up with the knife and walk back to my bed. Lifting up a pillow, I place the knife there for safekeeping.
I walk back quickly to the table. My heart pitter-patters in my chest. The sensation grows and accelerates as I think of him discovering the knife. What would he do?
I’m ready to race back and remove the knife from under my pillow, but I manage to stop myself. Having a weapon gives me a better chance at getting out of here. I had to take it.
I eat the dry toast quickly, not bothering with the selection of jams or the butter. I wash the food down with hot coffee. I barely taste the cereal as I eat in record time. My stomach appreciates the food, and I’m still alive, so he hadn’t poisoned the breakfast.
Once I have everything eaten, I mess up the tray a bit more. Opening two of the small pots of jam, I scoop out some of the contents. I do the same with the butter. I’m hoping he won’t check the tray, just hand it to his housekeeper. A man who dresses like he does is bound to have a housekeeper or two.
