Chapter Seven

Declan

There’s nothing worse than temptation when you’re trying to go legit. It can be as subtle as the penny you find on the ground—a little tarnished, maybe nicked on the edges. You pick it up and examine it; it’s not yours, but it’s there. It’s free. No one wants just a penny. No one will miss it, so you take it thinking it’s only this one time—and then one time repeats itself with the next bad penny and the next until you’ve collected more than you know what to do with. Business is an awful lot like that. At least my father’s business had been. A little here, a little there until you had to launder it all to make it shiny new and untraceable. Dad left me with a pile of shit pennies to clean up somewhere in the millions, and even if I wanted to give it back I couldn’t without incriminating everyone in the outfit, and that’s not how we work here. I’m trying to build the Mob 2.0, but if I’m not careful the sins of the father and my own demons will drag this whole thing down.

When my phone rings, I pick it up knowing the voice on the other end is a bad penny—a loose tie I should have taken care of but didn’t when I had the chance. What did Sydney call me? Ah yes, merciful. How wrong she is about me. I’m exactly like my father. I’m a bad apple not far from the tree, picking up bad pennies like Sydney and LeHavre along the way.

The voice on the line laughs. “Did you get my present?”

I sigh. “You know it’s not my birthday, Andre.”

“I know, but we used to share everything.” He’s laughing out loud now, an obnoxious sound that makes the phone vibrate, and I hold it away from my ear, grimacing.

“I’m not interested in sharing.” I hang up the phone.

He’s implying women. Obviously I had my wild days. I still do, but I haven’t shared a woman in a decade. Knowing Andre LeHavre’s peculiarities made sharing impossible.

LeHavre is a complication I don’t need, and one of the many things I’m cleaning up from the days my father let his boys run around like lawless thugs. Last thing I need is the FBI—or worse, another street war to rival the one my dad created in the seventies. And to think I went to college and studied business for this bullshit. So many other ways I could have used that business degree from Dartmouth.

Now I have the luxury of sitting on the stone steps watching a limp Chinese carpet wiggle in the rain. Heavy droplets bounce off the wool of my dark suit, adding misery to my mood. With my elbows on my knees and my hands folded under my chin, I contemplate my next move. I’ve been holding in a deep breath until now, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do with said carpet.

It shouldn’t be here.

She shouldn’t be here—if my suspicions are correct—because anything that crosses the threshold of this house becomes mine and my sole responsibility. That rule and that one alone is the only holdover from my father’s era as Boss. Consider it an extension of protection once I’ve brought something into my domain. There’s no going back from here.

The carpet is easily six feet in length and a mottled red-and-navy pattern through the reverse side of the weave. It’s not a cheap carpet. Damn thing probably cost twenty grand directly from China. Unfortunately I recognize it and the study from which it came.

I remember kneeling on the carpet shoulder to shoulder, my joints aching in fear with my best friend as we took an oath to our fathers—and again when his shot mine.

LeHavre is fucking with me.

The asshole has been my rival since grammar school. We competed in everything—booze, school, girls—and now that we’ve both taken over our father’s rival businesses, the rivalry continues. This gesture, this trussed-up carpet, is a complication I tried to rid myself of several times already.

Sydney Meadows simply will not go away. The girl is unable to take a strong hint. She has this steely and admirable if not pain-in-the-ass resolve. Maybe next time I need to work out a deal, I’ll call her to negotiate—because I’m wrapped around her little finger by her wet pussy, blue eyes, and sweet lips.

Who am I kidding? She’s been mine since the moment she walked into my club and the second I finger-fucked her into subspace before cruelly kicking her to the curb unwanted. In hindsight, I might have taken back the kicking her out part and just fucked her to my devilish heart’s content. She’s been in my system like a virus. This rolled-up carpet is a Trojan horse and I know I’m going to regret ignoring my gut instinct. LeHavre doesn’t do anything without a cross purpose, and the fucker is sicker than I am, with a certifiable diagnosis.

“You can’t take it back?” Turning to my second in command, the question falls on deaf ears and rain picks up its tempo on the concrete. I exhale the burdens sitting heavy on my shoulders, looking at Neil, who shrugs. The water from an overflowing puddle rushes into the end of the carpet. I can’t imagine it’s at all comfortable, especially if she’s conscious inside there. If the water collects much more, she’ll drown inside the damn thing or have hypothermia.

Neil kneels down into the puddle, pushing at the rolled-up body. It doesn’t move and it doesn’t make a sound.

“It was a gift. The boys found it at the warehouse gate and brought it up here thinking you’d want to check it out before tossing it back.”

My curiosity gets the better of me. Does she hate me for what I did? Does she hate that I rejected her? I guess there is only one way to find out.

If I give back whatever is inside, I’m giving her a death sentence. Rejected gifts go to the broken toy pile, no longer worthy of consideration. LeHavre doesn’t play well with others. Whatever this little present did to end up on my doorstep in a final act of mercy, its fate now rests on me.

“All right, let’s unwrap this thing and get it over with.” I pull the gun out from my holster and cock it. I don’t need any more strays begging for leniency they don’t deserve, but I also don’t need surprises or loose ends.

“Seriously, Dec?” Neil motions to my gun and I shrug.

“Hurry up,” I tell him.

Neil kicks the ends of the carpet hard, and it rolls out several feet with the inner tube getting thinner and thinner. It stops with a thwap-thwap-thwap sound in the rain, revealing Sydney.

The cop’s daughter.

His very naked and unconscious daughter.

“Shit.” Neil leans down, checking Sidney’s pulse.

Whatever happened between us, she didn’t deserve this. It’s one thing for me to strip away her dignity in a crude lesson, but for Andre to do this infuriates me. He has no right to her, even if he holds her father’s debts.

“Is she…?” If it’s bad, it’s my fault, but really how much worse could it be?

“Steady pulse, could be drugs.” He continues brushing hair off her neck, exposing more delicate skin marred with bruises. The girl needed more vitamins or a bloody steak the way she bruised so easily.

“Could be?”

“A doctor would have to confirm it.”

I nod. “All right, we’ll call one.” I haven’t moved from the stoop. Her stillness keeps me frozen in place as the rain begins to fall harder, slapping her bare skin.

“Jesus Christ, Dec.”

Neil gives her body a cursory check, running his hands down her limbs, and I’m about to jump down and tackle my brother to stop him from touching her. The only thing that stops me from giving into the overprotective wave of irrational emotions is that I can’t be seen giving in to the impulse. I don’t know who is watching us, and I will not have some slip of a girl suddenly becoming my Achilles’ heel, no matter how I feel about her.

“Her skin is cold to the touch.”

I grumble, “No shit Sherlock.”

Her pale, luminescent, wet, and nearly blue skin begs to be rubbed pink with warmth. A war within me rages. I want to spank her, caress her. Most of all I want her blue eyes to look at me with defiance, to give me a reason to keep going.

Neil shakes his head and continues his unnecessary appraisal of Sydney.

“Stop touching her, asshole.”

Stupidly he smiles at me, as if he knows the reaction his movements will cause within me. My patience is thin and my jaw hurts from grinding teeth on teeth.

“And do what? Bring her inside? Leave her? It’s your call, boss.” I don’t like the way he addresses me, but there isn’t time right now to take him to task for it.

“Don’t be obtuse. Bring her inside before the neighbors see.” I look around and watch a curtain shuffle. Mrs. O’Malley is a nosey one, but old school. She won’t call the police. I know this because she used to babysit my father, and later me and my siblings before our criminal enterprises. That woman is old enough to be my elderly grandmother. I heard stories that she slapped his hand a time or two with her wooden spoon for being a little devil. Too bad none of that encouraged him to be a better adult. She benefited more than most being on Damien Natas’ good side, and often joined our family dinners once a week. I have a good idea that she’ll be over with stew and fresh bread, conniving us to get her fill of gossip, before the evening is out.

Fuck me.

I let Neil carry Sydney inside. He’s walking up the steps to the second floor bedrooms when the front doorbell rings again. Groaning, I can’t take much more of this bullshit today.

I swing the door open, growling. “What?” I yell, having to look down to the new interloper.

“Don’t you yell at me, young man! I’ve changed the diapers of two generations of this family, you little shit!” Mrs. O’Malley smacks my chest and arm in rapid succession, pointing her thin, gnarled finger at me. She could probably stab me with her finger and kill me quicker than a bullet, and I step back to avoid further abuse.

“Damn it, Maggie.”

She stands barely five feet tall; the only thing breaking sixty inches is her smooth white-haired bun on top of her head coupled with heeled shoes that probably predate my existence.

“Don’t you curse at me, Declan Arden Cathal Natas.”

I clench my jaw tight. Maggie will drive me to chip a tooth with her bossy interference.

“Now where is the girl?” Her powdery perfume snakes into my nostrils, drowning out Sydney’s floral scent despite the rain outside.

I look toward the stairs and Neil is already gone.

Maggie gives me a look worthy of shriveling a better man.

I mumble that they are upstairs.

“Speak up, boy,” she shouts.

“Upstairs.” I wave my hand at the stairs, allowing her to follow Neil. I don’t even look at her as I shut the front door and pull my cellphone out of my pocket to call the doctor.

“Call the doctor!” Maggie yells from the top of the stairs, continuing to mutter. “You boys are both nitwits!”

My eyes strain from rolling so hard.

So much for being a badass mob boss in charge. This was all turning into a clusterfuck out of my control.