The Wedding Pact (The O'Malleys #2) (16 page)

The man in the chair started to sweat. “You do, boss.”

Too little, too late. He moved closer, his feet feeling like they weighed a thousand pounds. “Me, Joe. Not my brother. You learned that lesson a little too late.” He forced the man’s fingers apart. “But you won’t forget it again.”

An hour later it was done.

James walked out of the room, his skin feeling too tight.
Fuck, fuck, fuck
. He stopped next to where Michael leaned against the wall, a toothpick in his mouth. “Get him cleaned up and home. He can figure out how to splint the fingers himself.” The words were foul in his mouth, and he had to resist the urge to spit.

“Sure thing, boss.” Michael pushed off and took two steps before he stopped. “You did the right thing.”

That’s what he was afraid of.

Once upon a time there’d been a right and a wrong and a clear line between them. Now everything was upside-down and backward. He lived in a reality where torturing a man was the right thing to do—the lesser of two evils—and he’d never hated himself as much as he did in that moment. But there was no getting off this crazy train—the doors had closed and they’d left the station. The only thing to do was ride it out to its conclusion and hope there were enough people left standing to make the whole thing worthwhile.

He wanted to talk to Carrigan. Just being around her was enough to hold all the shit he didn’t want to deal with at bay, but he couldn’t bring himself to call her with another man’s blood on his hands and his cries for mercy still ringing in James’s ears. No, he’d shower, go down to the weight room, and then shower again.

Maybe if he punished his body enough, he’d be able to bear the new stain on his soul.

Chapter Twelve

C
illian sat across from his father and oldest brother, waiting for the guillotine blade to fall. He damn well knew that they’d been waiting these last four months for him to pull himself out of his spiral and step into the slot they’d created for him. The family bookkeeper had been making noises about retiring for over a year now, and it was finally time for Cillian to go through the necessary training to bring him up to speed so he could take over.

Once upon a time, he hadn’t cared about the future. He’d known where his place would be, and he’d been content with that—as long as he got to experience as much as he possibly could before he was forced to take up the mantle of family responsibility. It was never something he railed against like his brother Teague, because he actually liked the work he’d be doing.

But he was having a hell of a time getting excited about it—getting excited about
anything
—now.

His father sat behind his massive desk, and Cillian couldn’t help thinking he looked small. Seamus O’Malley had always been larger than life, but the events of the last few months had affected him just as much as they had every other member of their family. There were new lines on his face, and his shoulders bowed as if carrying the weight of the world. For the first time in living memory, he looked
old
. Not that anyone had the balls to point it out.

Seamus steepled his hands. “Enough is enough.”

Ah
. They weren’t here to talk to him about stepping up to be the bookkeeper. This was about Devlin. Cillian sat back and stretched his legs out, crossing them at his ankles. They could do this now, but he wasn’t about to make it easy on them.
I’m not the only one who’s walking wounded, but I’m the easiest to focus on
. Maybe it was better this way. If their father was determined to nail his ass to the wall, it gave his little sisters a chance to find their feet
.
Not Carrigan, though
. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t play stupid.” This came from Aiden. He actually took a step forward, his fists clenching, before their father held up a hand to stall him.

“We’ve all mourned Devlin—”

For fuck’s sake
. Cillian straightened. “Really? Because it seems to have been business as usual. Real nostalgic.” No one was saying what they were thinking—that it would have been better if
he
had been the one to take the bullet.

The shock of the thought nearly took his breath away. It was a truth that he’d been dancing around for months, and there was something cathartic in finally letting himself think it.
It should have been me
.

Devlin was the one with the world at his feet. Cillian was just going through the motions, dicking around as much as possible. Even with his destined role as accountant, he was expendable.

And they all knew it.

Aiden crossed his arms over his chest. “And getting shit-housed drunk every night of the week is honoring our brother? Please. Don’t play the martyr to cover up that you’re doing what you’ve always done—skipping out on family business when we need you the most.”

“If I need to drink to deal with shit, then I’m going to goddamn well drink.” If they thought that’s what he was doing, he wasn’t going to set them straight. Alcohol had become the enemy the same way the Hallorans were the enemy. He’d been so fucking weak his entire life, had always chosen the easiest path. He was done with that shit now.

“
Enough
.” Seamus didn’t raise his voice, but he might as well have roared by how the single word cut through the room. He waited, but neither Aiden nor Cillian made a sound. Apparently satisfied, their father sat back. “We all mourn Devlin in our own ways. You, of all people, should know that, Cillian. Cut down your drinking and take one of our men with you when you go. I refuse to lose another son to carelessness.”

God forbid another one of your beloved assets slips away
. The thought wasn’t fair, but Cillian could give two fucks. Maybe their father loved them. Maybe he didn’t. But if he did, then he had a hell of a way of showing it.

But Seamus was letting him get off easy this time, and he damn well knew it. “I’ll take an escort.”
For now
. He pushed to his feet. “If we’re done here—”

“Sit.”

His legs went out from beneath him before he made a conscious decision to obey.

“Bartholomew is retiring. You will begin training with him next week. Once he’s satisfied you know what’s necessary, you will take over his position.”

Next week. He’d known it was coming up fast, but he’d had no idea
how
fast.
Fuck
. It wasn’t that Cillian didn’t like the idea of keeping the family’s books. Ever since he’d shown an aptitude for numbers and the morals required for creative accounting, it was assumed he’d step into that role when the time came. Hell, a part of him had even looked forward to it. He might never run the O’Malleys—and, seriously, that wasn’t a position he aspired to—but with their finances within his control, he’d have the keys to the kingdom, so to speak. Every cent that filtered through their businesses—both legit and illegal—went through the bookkeeper.

But then Devlin died, and Teague was married off and helping to run things on the Sheridan side now. And Carrigan…

Every time he thought about the lost and terrified look on her face when she told him she was going to have to marry a stranger, it made him want to hit something. If that Dmitri guy was any indication, the sharks were already circling, scenting blood in the water. He couldn’t imagine his strong-willed sister married to someone like that. But she didn’t have a choice any more than the rest of them did.

He was getting off easy. He knew that. He’d always known that. Once upon a time, he’d even reveled in the knowledge.

Not anymore.

But that had more to do with him than the job he was expected to step into. There wasn’t much he got excited about these days, and it sure as fuck wasn’t going to be keeping the books with a side of computer hacking that convinced him that the night Devlin died hadn’t been a horrible case of fate making a mistake.

He blinked, realizing that both his father and brother expected a response from him. A harsh laugh slipped free. “I’ll be there.” He stood again. “If there’s nothing else…”

His father waved a hand. “Go.”

“Gladly.” He turned on his heel and marched out of the room before Aiden could chase him down and yell at him for being disrespectful.

It used to be that he didn’t lose sleep over his siblings’ fates—not when he always knew
his
. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about them—about what Devlin would be doing if he wasn’t six feet underground. He’d have started his junior year of college in the fall, going about school with the same enthusiasm he went about life. It wasn’t the same way Cillian had always lost himself in the partying and good times. Devlin genuinely enjoyed everything from his morning coffee to the lectures from his professors to whatever book he was buried in at the moment. At twenty, part of him had just been so…young. Full of potential.

Potential that had been cut short because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And his other siblings?

Teague was fine. Hell, Teague was better than fine. He had a banging-hot wife who seemed to genuinely care about him. If anyone in their family was living the dream, it was Teague. They didn’t see him nearly enough these days, what with his attention being focused solely on solidifying the Sheridans’ hold on their portion of Boston. Cillian didn’t blame him for that. His theoretical future kids would be as much Sheridans as O’Malleys—more, really.

Keira and Sloan…He didn’t even know. He’d barely seen them since they got back from the house in Connecticut, and that was indication enough that something was off. Keira was normally in the middle of everything, and for her to be playing least in sight wasn’t a good sign. And Sloan was probably half a day from slitting her wrists in angst.

I’m going to need to talk to her sooner rather than later
.

Aiden didn’t seem too torn up about being heir and preparing to step up and take over the family. Cillian had never pegged him for a clone of their father, but then he’d been wrong about a lot of things. What did he know?

And Carrigan…fuck.

He turned the corner and picked up his pace, heading for the door. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help Carrigan. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help
anyone
.

*  *  *

Carrigan walked into the restaurant and stopped cold. It was totally and completely empty. She glanced back at the door she’d just come through. Surely if it was closed, it would have been locked? She’d been to Slingshot countless times in the last ten years and it didn’t matter the day of the week or the hour, it was always damn near packed. She looked around again, wondering what the hell was going on.

A flustered girl who couldn’t be more than eighteen hurried up. “Ms. O’Malley?”

“Yes…” The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Was this a trap? Dmitri was on her father’s list, so she’d assumed he was safe enough to meet. Surely she hadn’t assumed wrong?
Damn it, I know better than this. Where’s Liam?
He’d gone to park the car, so he’d be here in just a few minutes. She touched her purse. The Taser was still stashed in the bottom of it. She could use it if she had to—it wouldn’t kill anyone, but it’d give her a chance to run. If there was a legitimate threat, Liam was more equipped to deal with it than she was, no matter how much she hated relying on someone else to ride in and save the day.

“It’s safe.” The Russian accent rolled over her like the best kind of vodka. The man who stepped out from behind the column matched it perfectly. Carrigan had the wild thought that he’d been standing there with the sole purpose to make an entrance, but then he took a step closer and she was too busy staring to speak. He was…well, he was gorgeous. Dark hair styled perfectly. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut, which should have made him look feminine but didn’t in the least. And those gray eyes. Good lord, the man was sex on a stick.

If you didn’t mind that the stick was more likely to beat you to death than fuck you.

Other women might miss it, but there was a coldness in his eyes that his smile didn’t touch. She had a feeling those eyes never warmed up. Not to mention everything about this meeting was orchestrated to put him in a position of power for their exchange. He’d shown up first, made sure one of the most popular restaurants in the neighborhood was empty, and had waited until she had her guard down in the confusion to make his entrance.

If she was taking bets, she’d bet that he never went into any situation without first making sure he would be in control of every aspect of it.

Dangerous. Very, very dangerous
.

She cleared her throat. “Dmitri Romanov, I presume.”

“You presume correctly.” He motioned at the empty restaurant behind him. “I thought our meal would proceed smoother if we didn’t have an audience.”

Either that, or he wanted as few witnesses as possible to take care of after he murdered her. She glanced back at the door again. Where the hell was Liam?