Pursuit: Brandon & Carly (Mafia Ties Book 4) (7 page)

“Besides which, your death warrant is exactly what I need so I can step into your shoes.”

“Yer a fecking riot, girlie. Dere’s na way in hell ya can step intah me shoes. De O’Reillys’ll never be led by a woomahn.”

“Oh yeah?” I murmured. “It’s too bad you won’t be around to watch it because that’s exactly what’s going to happen when you’re gone. Maybe the devil will let you take a peek at me as the O’Reilly boss while you burn in hell. I bet it’d be the perfect way to torture you, wouldn’t it?”

The purple crept into his cheeks again as he sputtered. There wasn’t anything he had to say that I wanted to hear, so I yanked the gag back into place and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “The O’Reillys
are
going to be led by a woman.
Me.
And the first thing I’m going to do is move our family out of the slave trade. Then we’re going to get out of drugs, too. The best part is knowing there isn’t a damn thing you’ll be able to do about it except roll over in your grave.”

The way I taunted my da right before he met his maker might make me a bitch, but I could live with that. In fact, it was probably for the best since I was about to step into his shoes.

I
didn’t hide who I was, what I was. I owned it. But, taking a life brings with it a measure of darkness, no matter the reason. Revenge, justice, or even mercy, they each inflict you with a scar you can’t ever erase.

I was riddled with these dark marks, blackness swirled in my soul, and it’s something I had long ago accepted. It’s who I was. But Carly? She flooded my darkness with light, she was unblemished, and I knew right then, I’d do everything I could to make sure she always would be.

Carly had steel in her backbone and possessed the qualities necessary to become a feared leader, one with intelligence, a required level of ruthlessness, while still retaining compassion and a sense of where the line between grey and black was. She wouldn’t have a problem leading the O’Reillys, and having blood on her hands would increase respect and her level of credibility.

She threw her father one last look of disgust, then turned to me and held out her hand. I knew she wanted her gun, I’d brought it specifically so she could end him if she chose to. She could, and would do it, but I wasn’t going to let her.

“Everybody out,” I commanded, folding my arms across my chest and glaring at them until they shuffled out. Nic raised a questioning eyebrow, silently asking if I wanted him to stay, and I nodded. I was going to need his help.

“Brandon.” Carly shook her hand impatiently.

“Wait until we’re alone, kitten,” I coaxed.

She frowned at me, but dropped her hand obediently and watched the door until the last man was gone and it shut behind him.

Turning back, she looked at me expectantly. I reached out and snagged her arm, pulling her into my embrace. “I’d like some time alone with him, kitten. Can you give me that?”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but she glanced at the son of a bitch, and when her eyes returned to mine, there was a spark of understanding. My desire to protect her extended to past hurts and I needed to make him pay. I didn’t confess to the fact that I would be the one to end his life, though. I knew she would fight me for it.

“Okay,” she agreed. “But save the last bullet for me.”

I didn’t respond, gently pushing her in the direction of a room on the opposite side of the warehouse from where all of the men had exited. Once she was out of earshot, I faced Nic.

“Keep her away, but make sure no one sees her. As far as anyone else knows, Carly did the deed.” He nodded and followed after her.

When Nic first decided the situation would be best resolved with Carly stepping into her father’s shoes, I wanted to tell him no fucking way. It went against all of my instincts to allow her to have a permanent target on her back. However, my woman was strong, determined, and stubborn as fuck. I couldn’t argue the fact that she would be able to earn her place and with our backing, we would be able to control the rapidly deteriorating structure of the O’Reillys. It was a volatile situation, and if she didn’t take the helm quickly, it was likely to implode and we’d be left with a shit storm to clean up.

As long as this was the road we were on, I would do everything I could to support her and protect her. And, that meant doing the dirty work. The families would give Carly the credit, but she wouldn’t carry the stains on her hands, and if the cops ever decided to come after her, it would be my prints on the weapons, my DNA on the bodies.

I meandered over to Pat, who sat in his chair trying to look brave and unconcerned. Too bad his eyes gave away the truth, he was scared shitless.

“You know, O’Reilly,” I spat, “I’d love nothing more than to spend months putting you through everything Carly endured at your hands. Unfortunately, we haven’t got that kind of time, so we are going to have to go for the condensed version.” My arm swung back and my fist smashed into his face with a satisfying crunch. He screamed as his broken nose streamed blood, but the sound was muffled by the gag.

“All the years you beat the shit out of her, and there was no one to hear her scream, no one to stop you, or help her.” My words served to add gasoline to the rage inside me. The next punch broke his jaw and his chair flipped back, crashing to the ground. “Let’s see,” I mused, rubbing at my thin beard. “Ah, yes.” I strolled over to a tall cabinet where I kept all of my ... tools. I snatched another scrap of fabric and additional rope.

I righted his chair and used the fabric to blindfold him. Then I slowly wound the extra rope around him. “How about every time you threw her into a dark, tight space. No way to move, only fear paralyzing her. I imagine it became harder and harder to breathe. Like it is for you, right now.” He was wheezing as the rope tightened around his chest, constricting his ability to take a deep breath.

Returning to my cabinet, I grabbed a few items and brought them to the table beside him. “I don’t have time to starve you, so I’ll have to settle for imitating the sharp pains of hunger.” I picked up a six-inch knife and stabbed it right into his large, fleshy gut. It was a fatal wound, but it was a slow bleed, leaving me plenty of time. Even more so, since I left the blade in and moved on.

I spent the next hour torturing him in retaliation for all of the suffering Carly had endured growing up. I removed his gag and his screams of agony were music to my ears, each one metaphorically washing away some of her pain. I also extracted the names of his contacts in human trafficking and the location of the next auction.

At last, I took off the blindfold, carelessly listening to his blubbering as he begged for his life. Removing Carly’s pistol from the holster under my jacket, I pointed it in the center of his forehead, staring into the soulless bastard’s green eyes. “Did she beg for you to stop, motherfucker?” I taunted. The tiniest flicker of guilt in his eyes told me all I needed to know.

The crack of the gunshot rang out in the silence of the warehouse.

After a minute, Carly came tearing into the room, stopping dead in her tracks when she spotted the hole in her father’s forehead. Her eyes darted to mine, a shadow of betrayal lurking in their depths.

Nic walked in behind her at a more sedate pace, unsurmised at the scene before him. “I’ll give you two a few minutes, then send in some guys to clean up.”

“You’ll start spreading the word?” I confirmed.

“Yes, it’ll be common knowledge in our circles by tomorrow night.”

I nodded but growled when he stepped toward Carly and squeezed her arm in an expression of comfort. She threw me a dirty look while Nic just chuckled and crossed the room to the other door. When it clicked shut, I set the gun on the table and calmly waited for the explosion.

“What in under fuck, Brandon?!” she shrieked, the odd turn of phrase showing a bit of her Irish roots. “You agreed to let me finish this!”

I met her gaze with a raised brow. “Did I?”

I had her there and she sputtered for a moment then snapped, “It was implied!”

“Kitten—”

“Don’t you, kitten, me, you bloody shite!” Seeing her dad and being so riled up was dredging up some of the slang she grew up around and it was so fucking cute, I had to fight a smile. “Was this your end game? Seduce me and worm your way in so you could take over and your organization would simply absorb mine?”

Any humor I felt was immediately gone. “Do not ever question or trivialize my love for you, Carly,” I growled as I stalked over to her, grabbing her arms and looking straight into her eyes. “I didn’t do it to undermine you so I could manipulate my way into being in charge. I have no problem being the man beside the woman, but I’ll be damned if I don’t do everything I can to protect you, and that includes your heart, mind, and soul.”

Her face softened, and I could practically feel the anger receding.

“Even now, Nic is spreading the word that you were the one to put a bullet in him and you intend to take his place. No one but you, me, and Nic will ever know it wasn’t your finger on the trigger. Is that clear?”

She nodded, took a deep breath, and slid her arms around my waist, resting her head on my chest. “Thank you.” I wrapped her up in my embrace and kissed her forehead.

“Anything for you, kitten.”

***

I
climbed out of the black Town Car and reached my hand in to help Carly. Lacing my fingers through hers, I gave her hand a squeeze. “Are you ready, kitten?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then shook her head. “No. But, it’s not like I have a choice.”

By using contacts and calling in some favors, Nic and I were able to get the funeral for Carly’s father arranged in three days. It also helped that her priest, Father Gannon, was almost as happy to see Pat on a marble slab as we were.

Carly worked tirelessly and I helped with what I could, but I also had to get back to my own job. We had a couple of shipments coming in and we were still in a tense holding pattern with the O’Reilly’s until Carly took over. Which meant we needed to oversee transit with more men, and I had to attend some meetings to negotiate for new merchandise, both legal and...otherwise. They were my contacts and would only deal with me.

By the time I fell into bed, I was exhausted and I’d fallen asleep with my girl wrapped up in my arms, only to wake a couple of hours later as she got up to start her day. I was suffering from a serious case of blue balls and I couldn’t wait for this fucking day to be over. The only bright spot was knowing I’d be seeing Pat O’Reilly in a box.

We walked into the church and I was so fucking proud of my woman. She held herself like a queen, showing no weakness but for her grip on my hand, which only I was aware of. We paused briefly when we came upon Nic and his wife, Anna. He stood and kissed Carly’s cheek, before shaking my hand. It was the first step in solidifying the backing of the DeLucas.

Sliding into the “family pew,” she leaned back and brushed some imaginary lint from her perfectly pressed black, linen pants. Her black blouse was sheer, with a silky camisole underneath. Chunky gold jewelry, her gorgeous red hair in a bun, and striking makeup all painted the perfect picture. She didn’t have to pretend to mourn, it wasn’t a secret that there was no love lost between father and daughter. In all honesty, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the majority of attendees were there to make sure the son of a bitch was really dead.

A wicked smile stole over my face as I pictured a Charade scenario where mourners walked up to the casket and stabbed, shot, suffocated, whatever they could think of, to prove he was truly on his way to hell.

Carly pinched my thigh and I scowled at her, rubbing the offended skin. “Behave,” she whispered. I shrugged and zoned out as Father Gannon began the service. It wasn’t long. How could it be? No one was going to stand and extoll the virtues of that evil man.

There was an “Irish wake” being held at the largest O’Reilly pub, though they skipped the tradition of laying out the body. It was mostly an excuse to get drunk. But, everyone knew there was an even more important purpose. They gathered to find out if the rumors were true.

When we walked into the pub, all talking and raucous laughter ceased. Even the musicians fell silent. They waited and watched us as we made our way to the bar. The bartender pushed two shots of whiskey toward us. Carly lifted hers into the air, waiting for the rest of the room to follow suit. “Sláinte!” she called out and tossed the shot back. The sentiment, basically “to your health” was rumbled through the crowd as they repeated it before they drank.

The bartender refilled her glass and she held it up a second time. “It’s a common toast, ‘may you be in heaven two hours before the devil knows you’re dead.’ But the devil has been waiting to collect my father’s soul for some time now.” There were some snorts of laughter around the room. She waited for silence, then continued, “So rather than wish him an afterlife he cannot have, I say ‘Go maire sibh bhur saol nua,’ and ‘Sliocht sleachta ar shliocht bhur sleachta’.” There was more laughter as she tossed back the second shot and the words echoed about the room. “Take this day to celebrate or mourn, whichever you wish, the life of Pat O’Reilly.” Her voice became deadly. “Tomorrow, is a new day and your allegiance lies with me, or the next Irish wake we attend will be yours.”

“Sláinte!” she called again and took one more swallow of whiskey. The response was wary, but they followed her example. She turned toward the bar, dismissing them and after a few minutes, the room filled with music and conversation once more.

I was so fucking turned on, I almost threw her over my shoulder and dragged her to the back to fuck her in the darkest available corner. I faced the bar to hide my condition and drank my own shot, taking the minute to try and think about anything but how fucking hot my woman was, especially when she showed her strength.

I felt my dick start to soften a little and blew out a breath of relief. Carly was staring down at her glass of amber liquid, almost studying it. I knew her better than anyone and I could see she was barely holding it together. Placing one of my hands atop of hers, I leaned in and whispered, “I’m so fucking proud of you, kitten. Remember, you’re not doing this alone.” She met my gaze and smiled, clearly feeling the intended comfort. “What were those toasts?” I asked. I only barely knew Irish tradition. “Sláinte” was definitely the extent of my Gaelic knowledge.