The Wedding Pact (The O'Malleys #2) (3 page)

He hesitated, and she thought he might refuse. “You still have that Taser that Aiden gave you?”

“I don’t leave the house without it anymore.” It wouldn’t have made a difference that night when James threw her in the trunk because she hadn’t had her purse, but she didn’t go anywhere without it now. What had started as almost a joke was now a reassurance that she had a way to defend herself.

“Good.” Cillian shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. “You know, it
is
December. There’s even snow on the ground.”

“I didn’t want to have to check a coat.” She clutched the fabric more firmly around her. He was hardly underdressed in a three-piece suit, but it wouldn’t be long before he started to feel the cold.

They made their way down the block, her heels clicking in the darkness. With the snow covering the grass and decorating the trees, it looked like something out of a fairy tale. Like if she just walked a little farther, she might find a stray street lamp that would signify she’d stepped into a different world.

Except that kind of thing only happened in storybooks.

She slipped her arm through her brother’s. There was so much to say, and nothing at all. What could she say that would make anything okay? It wasn’t okay.

“I thought you were at Our Lady of Victories.”

It wasn’t really a question, but she answered anyway. “Sometimes I need a break.” A break that no church could give her, despite what her father believed. She’d tried when she was still in high school. They spent every single Sunday morning at Mass, and she’d thought that maybe the salvation she was looking for could be found inside those four walls. So she’d spent hours on end there, praying with every ounce of will her sixteen-year-old heart could muster up. Praying for someone to save her.

Silence had been her only reply.

So she’d gone looking for salvation in other places.

In all the years since, the closest she’d come to salvation was what she felt that night in James’s arms.

Chapter Two

J
ames cruised through Boston, letting his mind wander even as his route did. Finally, a few hours before dawn, he had to admit that he was stalling. It was time to go back to the house. At some point in the past, it might have actually been a sanctuary, but it’d been a long time since he thought of the house where his old man had reigned like that. In reality it was more like a prison…but less cheery. With a curse, he turned on the next street and started for Southie.

Everything was so fucking complicated since he took over. The initial transition hadn’t been tough—not when the feds swooped in and took his old man away. Unforgivable as it was, James wasn’t sorry to see him go. Victor Halloran would have killed Carrigan and put them in a position where none of them would walk away alive. Hell, he’d
planned
on it. Going out in a blaze of glory and all that shit.

He hadn’t asked anyone else if that’s what
they
wanted. He hadn’t given a fuck.

So, yeah, James wasn’t exactly crying a river that his old man was locked up for the rest of his days. The part he wasn’t thrilled with was being thrust into a position of leadership that he’d never wanted.

It was all so wrong. Brendan was the heir—the one who’d been trained for this shit, the one who the mantle of responsibility was supposed to fall on, the one who’d step up and take over. But Brendan was dead and, in the quiet moments when James was actually alone, he couldn’t help but think it was a blessing in disguise. Because, in pretty much every way that counted, Brendan was worse than their old man. Worse by a long shot.

So James did the best he could, and some days he actually fooled his ass into believing it would be enough. Today wasn’t one of those days, not when he still had Carrigan’s look of fear tattooed across his brain. Fear he fucking deserved.

Goddamn it, what had he been thinking, going back to that club over and over again? That she’d eventually show up and throw herself into his arms for a repeat of the first time? He knew damn well that some things couldn’t be taken back—and with good reason.

But a stupid, idiotic part of him had dared to hope otherwise.

He shook his head and pulled into the garage, lifting his hand in greeting to Michael. The man nodded in response, but he didn’t relax, which was enough to kick James’s instincts into high gear. Something was wrong. He shut off the Chevelle and climbed out. “What’s up?”

“Trouble, boss.”

There weren’t any of his men he’d trust beyond a shadow of a doubt, not with Brendan’s specter hanging over them, and his little brother, Ricky, thinking he was hot shit now. Too many of his men didn’t like the slow and steady way James preferred to do business. They thought that he should have taken up the banner of war that his old man had dropped, and run with it. Those damn fools only saw the potential profit of war—not the cost.

Even if James was as bloodthirsty as they wanted him to be, he knew how to look around him and see that the odds weren’t in the Hallorans’ favor. The marriage of Teague O’Malley and Callista Sheridan had allied their two families into a powerful position. Too powerful to fuck with and think he’d come out on top. But these idiots weren’t thinking like that. They didn’t care that the other two families combined had superior numbers and firepower.

And they sure as fuck hadn’t stopped to think about how convenient it was that the feds had shown up right in time to save the day. Someone on the other side was a rat, and a rat high enough up the ladder that the feds felt invested enough to interfere.

It could be Carrigan
.

He brushed the thought away and focused on Michael. “Tell me.”

The man shifted. He was always doing that, as if he had run naked through some poison oak or was jonesing for a hit of something. It didn’t help that he looked a whole hell of a lot like a weasel with his narrow face and beady dark eyes. For all that, he was as trustworthy as they come, and he’d never played James false. Yet.

Michael looked away. “It’s Ricky.”

Of course it was.
Fuck
. He’d gone and mishandled shit back when they were on the verge of war, and ever since then his kid brother seemed determined to be the biggest pain in the ass known to man. Every time James turned around, he was fucking something up or pulling some stunt that put people in the hospital.

Or the morgue.

“What’s he done now?”

Michael shifted again, making him want to shake the answers out of the man. “He and some boys went out joyriding.”

It wasn’t the worst they could have done until…He stopped to think that the last time his brother and his
boys
went out joyriding, one of the O’Malleys ended up dead.
Fuck again
. How hard was it to understand James’s order not to do anything to agitate the issue between their family and either of the others who ruled in Boston?

Apparently too goddamn hard. “How long ago?”

“Couple hours.”

Cold settled in his chest, and for once, he actually welcomed it. Cold meant he didn’t have to feel, didn’t have to think about how fucked up his life had gotten. Didn’t have to dread what came next. He just did what was necessary. “And no one thought to pick up a fucking phone and inform me of this?”

Michael flinched. “We tried, boss. You weren’t answering.”

He fished his phone out of his pocket and, sure as fuck, there were three missed calls. God
damn
it. He thumbed through his contacts until he found his brother’s number and dialed. It rang through, the generic answering service setting James’s teeth on edge. He ground out, “Get your ass home right goddamn now, Ricky.”

This was what his life had come to—calling his brother like some sort of fucking parent whose teenager was out of control. His brother was twenty-seven years old. He should be past stunts like this. He
was
past stunts like this.

James spun on Michael. “Who’d he take with him?”

“Robert and Joe.”

Worse and worse. Those two were more likely to pump Ricky up than keep him from getting into trouble. Shit was going down, and James had been too busy feeling sorry for himself to cut it off before it started. He cursed long and hard.

He had two choices. He could go try to track down his idiot brother and hope he found him before something happened that no one could take back. But that would make him look weak as fuck, and his men would file it away. Even if they didn’t do a damn thing about it now, it would come back to bite him in the ass when he could least afford it.

Or he could wait here and confront Ricky from a position of power.

“Send him to me in the study when he’s back.”

“Will do, boss.”

He stalked into the house, wanting a shower and ten good hours of sleep. Neither was on the schedule at the moment. He went into the study and dropped into the chair behind the desk. The fireplace sat cold and empty, just like it had every day since his old man was taken away. He’d always hated that fire, hated coming in here, where it was so hot it felt like he was walking into hell itself and meeting with the devil.

Considering his old man, it was a pretty fucking accurate description.

Since he had no idea how long it would be, he got started on some paperwork that he’d been avoiding for far too long. Even illegal businesses needed records, and they had only just now gotten the tally for everything that was lost in the warehouse that the Sheridans destroyed four months ago.

If his old man had kept better books, they wouldn’t have had to trace all the shipments back to find out exactly what was missing. They wouldn’t have had to hold off three separate business deals until they could figure out if their partners were taking advantage of their lack of knowledge to screw with them. As a result, he’d had to spend far too much time behind this desk.

He fucking hated this desk.

Sometime later, the door opened and Michael came through, dragging Ricky behind him. James’s little brother was spitting mad, cursing like a sailor, and obviously drunk.
Great
. Michael didn’t say shit, just shoved Ricky into the room and disappeared through the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

Ricky glared at James. “What the fuck?”

“Want to try that again?” He’d learned a thing or two growing up in the tender care of Victor Halloran. Control was essential. The second he let someone know they’d gotten under his skin, he lost his position of power within the conversation. That went doubly so for his brother.
Fear or love
. Those were the only two things that forged loyalty, and his brother wasn’t showing a whole lot of either for him these days.

Ricky crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin. “What. The. Fuck?”

So it was going to be like that. James pushed to his feet, slow and controlled, hating that his little brother flinched away from the movement. He deserved it after what he’d done, and the knowledge still stuck in his throat like a chicken bone. Knowing that he was doing what he thought best to keep his people from dying in a war that wouldn’t benefit anyone was the only thing that kept his remorse in check. “Where were you?”

“Didn’t know that I needed to check in with my keeper before I took a piss.”

He wanted to reach across the space between them and smack the shit out of the little idiot. Ricky was all posturing and no brains. He acted when he wanted to act, and didn’t stop to think of the waves his actions might cause. Tonight he might have just gone down to the pub with his boys. Or he could have just as easily decided to try for another drive-by in enemy territory. “Tell me. Now.”

For a second, he thought Ricky would push more, but something on his face must have scared his brother, because he finally muttered, “We took a drive through O’Malley territory, saw some shit, then went down to the pub for a few drinks.”

O’Malley territory—where Carrigan was once again living. The thought of something happening to her…James’s stomach gave a funny leap that had him clenching his teeth. “Saw what shit?”

“Dunno.” A belligerent shrug. “One of their bitches walking down the street. Thought about picking her up, but she was gone before we could.”

He made an effort to relax his muscles. There was no way of knowing if it was Carrigan they saw, but there was no reason to think either of her sisters would be wandering about unescorted on the same night he knew she’d been out. It was too much to hope for a convenient coincidence.

James sat down and folded his hands on the massive desk. “Stay out of their territory.”

“But—”

“I didn’t fucking stutter, Ricky. Stay out of their territory or you’ll damn well wish you did.”

His brother stared at him for a long time, and James held the look, waiting to see what he’d do. There was a confrontation coming, whether he liked it or not. When Ricky cursed and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him, James allowed himself a silent sigh of relief.