Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I wish I felt relief, but I don’t. In some ways, dying for this would be easier than living with the shame of what I’ve done. But I keep Angie’s face firmly on my mind, not the terrorized and horrified look she’s had ever since going to the Maguire mansion, but the way she gazed at me when I filled her to the brim that terrible, beautiful evening we ruined each other.
“I will fix this.”
“How?” He holds his hands out toward me as if trying to pull an answer from me. “How could you possibly do that?”
“I’ll handle the Gallaghers.”
“You’re really going to war with them? You think that’s a fight you can win?”
“When they’re broken, they’ll bend the knee to you.”
“That’s a lot of fucking work for an outcome I’d already secured,” he says sharply through his teeth.
“I know. And I’ll bleed for it.”
“You or your men will.”
I curl my hands into fists. Yes, there is going to be blood, and pain, and death, and I will hold it all on my shoulders, because that’s what a man does.
“When it’s over, the Gallaghers will be yours, and I will always be your loyal soldier. I will make this up to you, I swear it.”
“I hope so, Connor, but I will not back you on this. When Padraig Gallagher comes with his soldiers, and his boys Fergus and Lorcan and Cillian come to cut your throat, I will watch from the sidelines. I will not mourn you if they burn your life to ashes.”
“I understand.”
“Good. I hope you do. I hope you’re prepared. I’m going to tell them about the girl in two hours. That’s all I’ll give you for years of service. Two hours and nothing more.”
“That’s all I deserve.”
“You deserve to die, Connor. We’ll see what you get.” Declan lifts his glass, blood red and shining. “Good luck.”
I walk slowly out of the restaurant under the gaze of Declan’s soldiers. None move to speak to me. Deck’s waiting outside and he seems disappointed nothing happened. “You good?” he asks.
“We’re in the woods now. We’re on our own.”
“About what I expected. I figured you’d have a knife in the heart.”
“Upset about it?”
“Depends on how the next few weeks shake out.” He bares his teeth and pounds my back.
“You seem like you’re in a good mood now.”
“Once the shock wore off, I realized I’m headed into a very nasty fight. Nothing makes me happier than the promise of killing.”
The drive back to the house is filled with logistics. Deck’s on the phone relaying my orders to the various captains and lieutenants stretched all across the city. Two hours isn’t enough, but it’ll have to work. We drive the whole time, meeting with a few important men in person to make sure they understand what’s going to happen. I consolidate our territory and oversee the distribution of guns, ammunition, and body armor to our people, and I personally prepare them for what’s to come.
Two hours turn to three. The fact that there hasn’t been some kind of explosion is unnerving. The Gallaghers have to know by now.
I can only imagine their reaction. Old Padraig losing his mind, her brothers apoplectic with rage. Sinead’s angry, embarrassed tears. She always did deserve better.
Marcus calls when we finally reach Malba. There are guards stationed on the house grounds lurking among the trees with rifles and grim faces. “Tell me good news,” I say as I get out of the car, rolling my shoulders.
“I have your family. They’re safe and secure. The little brat—“
I hear Rowan in the background. Don’t be a dick, Marcus—
“She insisted on packing all her shit, which took forever.”
“Tell me you have men with you.”
“Plenty, no worries.” Marcus’s voice drops low. “Danielle is pissed, brother, just a heads-up.”
I shove back against a groan. My father’s wife is always a pain, but I have a feeling she’s only going to be fifty times worse. “I’ll handle it.”
“I bet you will. Lots to handle now.”
I’m surprised to find several young women in dark outfits pulling covers off furniture and dusting. I wrinkle my nose and swallow a sneeze. A vacuum’s running nearby. “Staff’s already at work. Good job.”
“Pleasure’s mine. Got to run. We’re all good here, see you soon. Danielle’s yelling about something. Hey, what the fuck do you—“ The phone goes dead. I shove it into my pocket and stand in the entryway of my house, trying to let the weight of the situation descend onto my shoulders.
This building was never my home. I stay here once or twice a week, at most, but only ever use that master bedroom. The place is haunted by the dead Maguires from years past. I always wonder how the hell they afforded it, considering we were barely more than a bunch of grimy car thieves. But the answer’s obvious: the grime was a distraction and the money was always there, propping up our operations. Only I took what was a disorganized mess and turned it into a money-making flywheel.