by Vi Carter
I need to get there before he does, so I can try to figure out what has changed since he arrived at my home with Carlos’s severed head. I also wanted to warn Finn without warning him.
I change into a clean black suit.
I pause in front of the mirror. Since when did I care who died? I finish buttoning up the white shirt.
She’s in my thoughts again, but I need to silence that part of my mind and focus on the meeting. My father had called a meeting for a reason. The reason we would soon find out.
***
I have no idea if I’ve arrived before Shay. I’m not sure what he drives. I park close to the front door of Cabra Castle. I stay in the car, not wanting to look too eager or worried, by standing on the steps.
Shay pulls up in a green Range Rover. He hops out with a cigarette in his mouth and tugs a black leather jacket closer to his neck before walking across the asphalt. I get out and look up at him.
“Shay.”
He nods, but I feel the hate roll off him like heat.
He flicks the cigarette on the ground and grabs the door.
“A word?” I ask.
He pauses but doesn’t turn around.
“Please.”
His smirk is instant as he turns to me. “The magic word.”
Behind his smirk, I see the shark's circle. He is out for blood.
“I never got to explain everything about my father and the fighting rings.”
Shay takes a step closer. This topic is one that he can’t seem to control from showing on his face. It’s burning him alive, and he doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s blind to the pain I see on his face. “I know what happened.” Shay starts, and I let him proceed. “You told your father I was coming for him, so you both built a story about what really happened because Uncle Liam is only doing right by us.”
Not much makes me laugh these days, but his words take the prize. I laugh, and he grows angrier by the second. I know explaining myself would be wise before I lose him.
“Uncle Liam isn’t fit to rule.” I start.
Shay shakes his head like he’s trying to push my words away. “Don’t patronize me, Richard. I won’t touch your father, so you don’t have to try to convince me otherwise.”
I’m curious why he is backing down. “Why? You were hell-bent on killing him.”
“You wouldn’t understand.” Shay fires back. I glance to my left and see Jack’s Range Rover parked across from us. Our time is almost up.
“Try me.”
Shay spots Jack, too. “I have someone now. I can’t risk her getting hurt.” He pulls open the door and leaves me on the steps of the castle.
“Any ideas why he called another meeting?” Jack asks as he steps up beside me.
“No, but I’m sure it will be riveting”, I answer, forgetting about my usual composure.
Jack pauses. “Are you okay?”
“Let’s not get all soppy, brother.” I open the door and enter the castle.
“You're clearly not okay. But if you want to act like a complete gobshit, then be my guest.” Jack moves past me, and I take my time walking to the meeting room, wanting to be anywhere else but here.
I step into the room. Shay is seated where he sat the last time, he’s already smoking. My father isn’t standing but sitting at the head of the table. Jack to his right, a seat half pulled out to his left. I walk to the end of the table and sit as far away from him as I can.
“I have some bad news.” My father starts. He doesn’t continue, but he has everyone’s attention. My eyes are drawn to Shay, who has his head bent as he continues to smoke. I’m waiting for him to snap and pull out a machine gun and kill us all. They think I’m unstable. I disagree. Shay is as unstable as a three-legged table.
“Our shipment up north was stopped.”
My father is looking at me. These things happen in our line of business. We always give a percentage of wiggle room for losing money due to shipments being frozen.
“By Lucian Sheahan.” My father finishes.
“I thought he was on our side,” I say, directing this to Shay, who puts out his smoke.
“One of his men was killed recently, and he isn’t very happy with us.” My father answers.
All I can think is, here we go. The table is going to fall over.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Jack speaks up and then half shrugs. “Anyone associated with the RA.”
I grin at my brother, and he smirks back.
I know he’s talking about Carlos, but I still speak up. “My four kills were personal.”
“Four?” my father says and shakes his head.
“Three were planned. One was for bad management.”
“I haven’t killed anyone.” Shay looks up at my father. “I have no dealings with Lucian Sheahan. So if you called me in here to be your fall guy, I can’t help you.”
He’s pissing on my father’s leg.
“No, Shay. I called you in here because you are a King.”
Shay’s out of his seat, and I have no idea what’s happening until he’s bent over my father. “I’m not a fucking King.” He’s barely containing the rage. Jack’s standing and has a gun pointed at Shay’s head.
“Jack,” I warn, getting out of my chair slowly.
He doesn’t react.
“Jack,” I speak louder, and he cocks the gun like I didn’t just warn him. “Put the gun down.”
He glances at me before looking back at Shay. “Get away from my father, or I’ll drop you where you stand.”
Shay is stiff but finally straightens up, holding his hands in the air. He smirks at Jack and makes a gun motion with his thumb and forefinger. “Calm down, pretty boy.” Shay takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one up.
“Jack, put away the weapon.” My father commands, and Jack finally lowers the gun.
Shay blows smoke into the air before looking down at my father, who is the only one seated.
“Why don’t you take my crown.” Shay pretends to lift a crown from his head. “And shove it up your ass.”
He smirks at us all. “You are all a bunch of cunts.” He turns and leaves the room.
I don’t need to see my father’s face to know what’s going to happen next.
I follow Shay.
“Where are you going?” Jack shouts after me, but I don’t stop.
I catch up with Shay on the stairs. “You said you had someone you were protecting.” I start.
He doesn’t answer me.
“I’m sorry you can’t smoke in here.” The receptionist speaks to Shay, whom he ignores along with me.
“You just signed her death warrant.”
He stops. I knew that would get his attention.
“I’ll keep her safe.”
I’m shaking my head. “Where? Up north? You think you're safer up there than here?” I fire.
Shay throws his cigarette in a large glass bowl that’s for decoration purposes before slamming the front door open.
“You have more chances of surviving down here than up north.”
“They are my people up there.” He’s ready to get into his jeep.
“Lucian Sheahan is the one who gets the money for the cage fights, not my father. You killed his man, Carlos.”
Shay finally stops. “So, what? I stay here and wait for your father to kill me?”
“No.” Shay wasn’t making this easy, but I could see his frustration clearly. “You help me.”
He’s laughing and pulls the Range Rover door open. I reach around him and slam it shut. “I really need you to hear me out, Shay.” I grit my teeth.
He’s a loose cannon, and I can only hope he will hear my honesty.
“We can’t become my father. I don’t want to have no one to trust anymore where there is no loyalty, where there is no trust. I want a family. An Chlann.”
Shay turns around. “You really buy into that lie?”
I step away from him. “No. But we could have it all. We can rule side
by side. No more scheming. No more hurting each other. We are family. No matter what, we are Kings.”
Shay’s fighting with his demons, and I don’t think I’m getting through to him.
“I want to rule with you and my brother. I want us to be loyal to each other. Trust each other. We can’t become my father and his brothers. They destroy each other.”
“You really believe we won’t become them?”
I consider Shay’s question. “I know I want to try to be better.”
Shay appears calmer, but I don’t get an answer as he climbs into his vehicle, and I’m left watching him drive away, hoping some of my words sink in. I meant each of them. I am tired of my father’s games, and if we don’t break free soon, none of us will survive this.
CHAPTER TWENTY
CLAIRE
Richard. His name keeps spinning around in my head. “Richard,” I say his name under my breath, trying it out over and over again like saying his name might eventually start to feel normal. Saying his name makes him more human. Monsters don’t have names.
Richard.
He knew my brother. They were friends. None of this made sense to me. The man who had spoken looked exactly like Richard; only he’s older. At first, seeing another person out in the garden had my instincts wanting me to run to him and tell him that I have been kidnapped, but like the wheels of a watch spinning, the scene before me had me pausing as I took in the details of our new arrival. His dark eyes, dark hair, and the overall air around him made me think of my captor. Even the tailored suit that coated his frame-like armor reminded me of Richard. As I looked longer, I knew he wasn’t one of Richards’s men but his father. The most disturbing part I had become aware of was that Richard was afraid of his father. Someone who was crueler than Richard? That made me afraid of the man, too. The word fear had developed an entirely different meaning to me since I’d arrived here.
I lick my lips—that kiss.
I’m pacing the box. It feels smaller, and the air feels thinner. I want out of it. The small taste of freedom and fresh air had left my skin itchy being back in this box.
I bit my bottom lip as the kiss continues to resurface in my mind, demanding I give it the full attention it clearly thinks it deserves.
He had kissed me. I kissed him back. I shouldn’t have, but with his lips gliding gently over mine, time had ceased to exist. Our history no longer came into play. All that mattered was the moment. The feel of his lips on mine, I had been lost in the kiss. That never happened to me before. I bit the inside of my cheek at the memory.
His name, the kiss, the fact he knew my brother continues to circle in my head until pain starts to grow like my thoughts are nurturing the ache.
I’ve been locked in here for hours with no idea what has happened on the outside. I’m wondering if Connor is okay. I’m wondering if Richard is okay. That’s the part I’m trying to bury, the part that has any real feelings for him.
I walk across the table and chairs that I had drawn on the floor but stop at the image of him— the image of Richard with his dark eyes and dark soul.
My heart palpitates unnaturally in my chest.
This time I’m aware he’s there, but I get my breathing under control before I look up at him. He’s in a fresh suit, but his eyes look worn out like he’s lived too many lives and just wants to lie up somewhere and rest.
I want to ask so many questions, but I don’t.
“Are you okay?” He asks as he clears the last step of the stairs and joins me in the basement.
“No. I’m not.” I answer.
His smile rocks my reality, and I’m unstable. “You don’t like your shoes?” He points at the red sneakers on the table.
I had taken them off the moment I had been returned to the box. They felt almost unnatural on my feet.
“You know my brother?”
“Yes.” His answer startles me.
I knew his father had said they were friends, but to hear him say it makes this whole situation a bit clearer.
“Did he tell you to do this to me?” I step closer to the glass. They must have been laughing at me all this time. Watching me slowly lose my mind.
I kissed him. I had kissed Richard back. My cheeks heat up at how foolish I must look right now.
Richard’s lip twitches.
I march the rest of the way to the glass, and my fist smashes into the wall. “This isn’t funny.” Tears burn my eyes. “When will this stop? When will he be happy? When I’ve completely lost my mind?” The questions fall fast from my lips.
“I did this to him.” Richard walks around the perimeter of the box until he comes to the door.
“Don’t come in.” I plead.
The door clicks as he disregards my request. He steps in but doesn’t move toward me. “There are some things you don’t know about me. Your brother didn’t know much about me either. I think if he did, he wouldn’t have beaten me nearly to death.”
My mouth opens, but I close it quickly. I couldn’t defend Leonard; it sounded like something he would do. He’s always had such a vicious nature.
“I don’t remember you.” I finally say, knowing if I ever saw Richard, I would have never forgotten him.
“I was in the asylum with your brother.”
I don’t have to ask why he was in an asylum. Yet Leonard had been unbalanced. Richard didn’t seem that way at all. I wouldn’t have thought him unhinged. A killer, yes, but not unstable. There is an order to Richard that I’ve never seen in Leonard.
“My father placed me there as a form of punishment.” His confession meets me head-on with disbelief.
“The man who arrived in the garden?” Just as we kissed.
Richard nods. “My father.”
Each word is becoming too much, and I need to sit down. The table and chairs are right beside Richard, so I opt for the bed because that's the furthest point away from him.
“So I’m here to what, to hurt my brother?”
“Yes. I saw how happy you made him.”
I laugh when all I want to do is cry. “I don’t make him happy.” A fist curls in my stomach.
“Does he make you happy?”
I look at Richard, the question not sitting right with me. “No.”
Richard steps up to the table and chairs.
“So, how were you going to use me against my brother?” I ask the question I wanted to ask the moment he had mentioned my brother.
“Kill you.”
All the hairs rise along my body, and I fall silent.
Each step he takes toward me has me closing my eyes. I smell him. The air stirs in front of me, and I know I should open my eyes. Alarm bells ring loudly in my head as his fingers touch my bandage.
My eyes snap open. He’s kneeling in front of me; there is a softness in his gaze that I’ve never seen before.
“I told you already you won’t die by my hand.”
I nod my head.
He could order someone to kill me. The bald man whom he had called Davy springs to mind.
“My father...” He starts, but his words trail off.
Holding his stare becomes too much, and I look away.
“He will be the one who kills me?” I ask his feet.
Richards’s fingers touch my chin. “I won’t let that happen.”
I’m staring into rich brown eyes, and I want to believe him, but he put me in this box. He had planned to kill me.
“I want to go home.”
He hangs his head. “Claire, that’s not possible.”
I’m ready to get off the bed, but his fingers curl around my wrist, the touch sinking deep under my skin and keeping me seated on the bed.
“Please.” It’s a whisper.
Richard glances up at me, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist. His brows rise, and irritation widens his eyes. “I said that’s not possible.”
I bit my lip to stop from shouting. I am going to die in this god-forsaken box.
“Is my brother dead?” I
find myself asking.
“Would that upset you?” Richard answers my question with a question.
If this were anyone else, I would question how serious they were. The sharp gaze that Richard holds me under tells me he’s very serious.
“Of course.” The moment the words leave my lips, I’m questioning them. I didn’t care for Leonard, but him dying made me feel even more alone in this world. I would have no one left.
The sadness of that thought has a laugh dribble from my mouth. Richard loosens his hold on my wrist.
“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?” I ask, but I don’t want the answer.
Richard’s gaze holds the answer that his lips don’t form.
He would die, and I would be alone.
Tears fall from my eyes without my consent. They are silent tears like my emotions haven’t caught up with them yet.
“I told them he wasn’t right.” I pull my hand out of Richard’s touch. “I told them he hurt me.” I’m mumbling. I focus on the glass over Richard’s shoulder. He’s silent as he remains kneeling in front of me.
I’m in a confession box, and I’m ready to spill my sins. “They didn’t see it. Maybe I didn’t convince them enough about how dangerous he was.” I’m focused on Richard. “Maybe if I had tried harder.” The image of Richard wavers, and I blink, allowing the tears to fall down my face. “Maybe they would be alive today.”
I swipe at one eye and glance away from Richard again.
Another laugh rumbles my chest, and I slap my chest like the laughter had no right to make an appearance.
“But I’m sure you and my brother exchanged war stories.” I wipe my other eye angrily.
“He hurt you?” His words are low.
I really look at Richard, taking in how dark his eyes have grown, a dot in an inkwell. His jaw twitches several times.
Is he angry?
“He never told you why he was in the asylum?” I tilt my head, trying to see Richard from a different angle.
“No.” He growls. “But you will tell me.”
The demand has me sitting up straight. “No.”
Richard gets up and towers over me. His hands are curled into fists, and fear grips my shoulders and drags them back. I’m waiting for him to strike me. I’m waiting for this to end. I don’t look up at him. I’m not that brave, but I know better than to run. Men like him would love that rush, and I refuse to give this man or any other more power over me.
