Chapter Six

Eamon

Hiding out inside of a dark dive bar frequented by mid-level business managers who wanted to make sure their wives and girlfriends never found out about each other was not my idea of a good night. In fact, I was pretty sure it was one of the circles of hell, fueled by cheap cologne, cheaper perfume and half-priced well drinks. But I needed some time to think.

I needed to come up with an explanation for why I didn’t have one fucking dollar of the money Peter Michaels owed the family. Staring at my swollen, bloody knuckles, I knew damn well I couldn’t tell my father that I couldn’t resist the man’s daughter and had decided to let him repay the debt with her body. If I did that, he’d laugh with that sharp glint in his eye that had made more than a few hardened gangsters tremble in their boots. Then he would tell me what he always did.

“If she’s willing to do that, let’s put her to work and get all my money back. With interest.”

And even though I didn’t know anything about Layla, except that I wanted to fuck her, I didn’t want that fate for her. This wasn’t her debt, it was her old man’s. And what was worse was the surprise written on her face when she realized that she was the only one in the room surprised by the beat down and the debt. She hadn’t even known he was a gambler, so no, I wouldn’t put her to work in one of the Connelly’s whorehouses, strip clubs or escort agencies.

No, Layla was mine. For four long beautiful nights, she would be mine. In my bed, up against the wall, in the shower. However I wanted to take that delectable body with mouthwatering curves, I would.

Hard and fast, slow and intense, wild and out of control. I had four days of total access and I had no qualms about taking them in exchange for the money.

Men loved to pretend they didn’t pay for sex but we all did. One way or another, we paid. Married guys paid with mortgages and family vacations; single guys paid with expensive meals the women didn’t eat, overpriced cars to reel in the prettiest of the bunch. We all paid in the hoops we jumped through, issuing just the right compliment instead of telling a chick she had great tits or a nice round ass, kissing her chastely on her doorstep and forking over cash for two more dates just so she felt comfortable enough to spread her legs.

Yeah, we all paid in some way, shape or form. The only difference was this time, we both knew what was expected going in. There were no games to be played. I wanted her body and to save her dad, Layla would give it to me.

An hour later and I still didn’t have a valid excuse to give for the lack of money in my hands. I shook off the cheap whiskey buzz and made my way to my car and headed toward my dad’s house.

By the time I walked through the doors of my father’s house, I was stone cold sober and ready with a believable excuse for not collecting the debt.

“Well, well, the prodigal son has finally returned.” Rourke’s dark stare honed in with a little too much focus for my liking. My cousin saw too damn much with those keen eyes. Usually I appreciated it, but right now I just wanted him to go the hell away. “Everything cool?”

That was how Rourke checked in and it was what I loved most about him. He wanted to know all the details but we were men and he accepted what I told him while also being prepared to jump in and help if need be. “Yeah, everything’s cool. He won’t like what I have to say but it is what it is.”

“I’m sure you have your reasons,” Rourke said with confidence, swirling the amber liquid in his glass slowly. “Uncle Patrick is in a mood so tread carefully with your news.”

I frowned. My father was an intense and ruthless man but usually he enjoyed his work, even the dirty parts. Hell, if you asked me, he enjoyed the dirtier parts of running a criminal organization most of all. “Anything in particular?”

“Shae took exception to the way one of the johns left one of our girls and broke his ribs. The asshole was threatening to sue until I reminded him that his pregnant wife might take all of his money if she knew about his little side habit.” Rourke grinned, so pleased when he could play Machiavelli instead of just the mob accountant role Patrick had relegated him to.

“Nice. Shae in there?”

“Hell no. Uncle reamed his ass and he took off like a bat out of hell. My guess is he’s somewhere half shit-faced with at least two chicks at his side.”

I laughed. “Lucky him. I’m going in.”

“Good luck,” Rourke called out sarcastically. I knew he didn’t believe I’d need it. Both my cousin and my brother were certain I was Patrick’s favorite but if that was true, it was news to me. I knew he loved his sons and also loved his sister’s son as if Rourke were his own, but Patrick didn’t play favorites, not in the way they thought. He respected me because of the role I played within the organization. I wasn’t the only one who cracked skulls and broke knees when it was necessary. But as the first-born son of the Connelly family, it was a little odd that I had taken to this particular job so well

Because of my role as enforcer, people feared me, and because of my relationship to Patrick, they also respected me. It meant I had the perfect combination to take his place when the time came, but that didn’t mean I was his favorite. I was just the most useful.

For now.

I took a deep breath and knocked on his study door.

“Come in.”

When I opened the door, Patrick sat behind his desk with his head resting on the back of the chair and his eyes closed.

“Is this a good time?” I asked.

He groaned and pushed away from the desk. A thin young redhead wearing a scrap of white Lycra that was pretending to be a dress knelt at his feet. With obvious disappointment, he said, “Let’s pick this up later, Jacinda.”

“You got it, Mr. Connelly.” She rose to her feet, adjusted the Lycra to cover her essentials and gave a cute little finger wave to Dad without sparing me a glance as she left. Smart girl, knowing who had the real power in the room.

“You got my money?” He didn’t even wait until his pants were back around his waist and his cock was zipped up before speaking. I wasn’t surprised. There was no clocking out in this line of work and Patrick didn’t waste time when he didn’t have to.

“Not exactly, but I will.”

“That’s funny,” he said in a tone that said it was anything but funny, “because I sent you to get my money.”

I didn’t want to split hairs, but I clarified my mission. “You sent me to remind him why it was stupid not to pay,” I said, ignoring his glare because even though he thought he was badass with the glares—which he was—he was still my father. “Five days and he’ll have the money in full. Guaranteed.”

“Five more days, really? And how exactly will he have the money, Eamon? Gamblers are notorious liars.”

“Because I’ll be checking in with him daily. He wants to pay the money back because he wants to keep working with us and I intend to make sure both of those things happen.”

Patrick grinned. “That’s what I love about you, son. You’re always focused on the bigger picture.” His grin faded back to all business. “Just make sure I have my money by the end of the week. Or else.” He didn’t need to emphasize the threat. I understood it loud and clear.

If the money wasn’t here in five days, Peter Michaels wasn’t the only one who’d be in deep shit.