The Wedding Pact (The O'Malleys #2) (7 page)

Except that certainty hadn’t come last night. And it sure as fuck wasn’t here tonight, either.

All he could think about as he strode down the stairs to the main club floor was that he’d well and truly fucked up. She was within her rights to never forgive him. Hell,
he
wouldn’t forgive him if he was in her position.

And wanting her forgiveness had nothing at all to do with the damn album.

“Fuck.” He settled into an empty spot at the bar and waited. Just because he was giving her space didn’t mean he was going to leave before seeing her safely into a cab. She wouldn’t thank him for the babysitting detail, but he’d never forgive himself if something happened to her because he wasn’t watching.
What the hell am I thinking? Something
is
happening to her
. He’d hoped against hope that the rumor he’d heard about her old man selling her off to one of his allies was false.

The look on her face had told him otherwise.

Knowing she was destined for a political marriage was like watching a hawk get its wings clipped, or a tiger be declawed. While it was possible that she’d maintain the fiery personality and streak of wildness that called to him on a level he wasn’t prepared to deal with…it was just as likely that her future husband would kill that part of her, leaving a dead-eyed Stepford wife in her place.

The thought burned. Beating some sense into Seamus O’Malley sounded satisfying as fuck, but ultimately it wouldn’t change anything.
Nothing
James did would change anything.

And hell if that knowledge didn’t stick in his throat.

The minutes ticked by, but it wasn’t too long before Carrigan appeared at the top of the stairs like some kind of fallen angel. He couldn’t see her eyes from where he stood, but he imagined her a queen surveying her kingdom. The moment her gaze landed on him, her body went tense. He waited, curious to see what she’d do. She marched down the stairs, her hips swinging with each step. But instead of coming to give him a piece of her mind, she shot him a look and disappeared onto the dance floor.

That shit was a dare if he ever saw one.

He was moving before he made a decision to, stalking after her. People took one look at him and parted like the Red Sea. He walked through them without pausing, stopping when he caught sight of her, her hands above her head, her eyes closed, her body moving with the writhing beat of the song.

She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His plans to keep his distance went up in a puff of smoke and he closed the space between them, needing to touch her more than he needed his next breath. James slipped behind her, resting his hands on her hips. It took all of three seconds to pick up her rhythm and match it, fitting himself behind her. She arched back against him, her arms looping around his neck and her head resting on his chest as they ground together.

Stupid.
This wasn’t part of the plan, wasn’t part of keeping control of the situation. Because if anyone was in control right now, it was Carrigan. She guided him with the rolling of her hips, her ass against his cock, the heat of her searing through his clothes as if they didn’t exist.

Unable to help himself, he coasted his hands up her sides to frame her ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts with every other beat. She moved closer in response, rotating in his grasp until they faced each other, her chest pressed against his chest and her fingers twined in his hair. She went onto her tiptoes, dragging her body up his, and he groaned in response. “James?”

“Yeah, lovely?” A little voice tried to pipe up to point out that he’d give her damn near anything with her moving against him like this, but he ignored it, waiting for her answer.

“I might want you…” He tightened his grip on her hips. She laughed, a sound he felt more than heard. “But you try that manipulative shit on me again, and I will go for your throat.” And then she was gone, slipping through his arms like smoke. He stood there like a damn fool, sporting a hard-on for the record books and watching her walk away. He shook his head and followed. Head games or not, his needing to see her safely to a cab hadn’t changed.

Fuck, he was almost proud of her for turning the tables on him so efficiently, even if he was going to suffer for it physically. He could weather a little suffering and, to be honest, he’d seen a whole hell of a lot worse. James grinned. He followed her out of the club, letting her pull ahead, and leaned against a wall as she flagged down a cab. Only once it veered back out into traffic did he turn and head for his ride.

Damn that woman, but he only got more intrigued with each interaction. He looked forward to seeing what the next one brought.

That small voice in his head tried to pipe up again, tried to remind him that she wasn’t his and never would be, but he ignored it. She wasn’t married yet and if she was willing to play, he was more than willing to go the distance.

Chapter Five

J
ames’s phone rang when he hit Southie. He glanced at the clock on the screen. Two a.m. Nothing good came from calls at this hour. With a curse, he answered, “What?”

“Trouble.”

No shit. Michael wouldn’t be calling him for anything else. “Tell me.”

“Tit for Tat. Ricky’s there.”

Well, shit again. There wasn’t a need for more goddamn information. Their brother, Brendan, had been killed in that strip joint four months ago. James had never liked the place, and that went double since it used to be the front for human trafficking of the young and pretty variety. He’d put a stop to that shit the second he took over the Hallorans. Now the only women who worked there were there of their own choice. If they turned tricks on the side, that was up to them, but they traded a percentage for his protection. It was as fair a deal as he could offer them, and most were more than happy with the arrangement.

There was no goddamn reason for Ricky to be there that wouldn’t send James’s blood pressure straight through the fucking roof. “When?”

“They left fifteen minutes ago.”

At least this time he could nip this shit right in the bud instead of dealing with it hours later. He turned right at the next light. “Meet me there.”

“Will do, boss.”

He hung up and floored it. There was no rational reason to think that his brother was up to something…other than every other fucking time he turned around, Ricky was finding ways to undermine him. Whatever familial bond they’d had as kids, it was gone now.

My brother would happily see me dead and out of the way now
.

James blew out a breath. It was a truth he hadn’t wanted to deal with before, but it
was
the truth. He let it settle inside him as he pulled up in front of Tit for Tat. The building looked damn near indistinguishable from the ones around it, aside from the neon sign out front advertising full nudes. Only its patrons knew exactly what was offered on the inside—them and the few cops he had on the payroll to keep his ass out of the fire.

He hated dirty cops. There was something fundamentally wrong with a man who put a price on his honor, no matter how useful they were when it came to keeping his people out of jail. But then, honor wasn’t something James had the luxury of holding close. He didn’t have an inch of high ground to stand on. Not anymore.

Inside it was hot and dark—aside from the brightly lit stages—and stank of lust and greed. James headed for the bar, ignoring the scattering of men watching Echo swing herself around a pole, her dark hair flying behind her. He nodded at Tawna, noting at how shaken she looked. Her wide blue eyes made her look younger than her twenty-something years, and she actually seemed grateful to catch sight of him. If he had any doubt that Ricky was here, it vanished then. The sins of their father seemed to be something both his brothers had inherited.

Some days he thought it hadn’t really skipped him, no matter how much he wanted it to. “Where’s my brother?”

She pointed a shaking finger to the stairs, and he mentally cursed in every single fucking way he knew. He hadn’t been up there since Brendan’s death, and he could have spent the rest of his life without doing it again.
Goddamn it
. It took simultaneously too much time and not nearly enough to get up those rickety-ass stairs. They needed to be torn out and replaced, but no one would ever do it. That wasn’t the kind of place Tit for Tat was. At the top, the hallway of doors stretched out, all of them closed. This was where the girls brought men for lap dances or the other side of their business. The thin doors let out more sounds than they concealed, but his destination wasn’t in any of them. No, it was the final door—the one containing what passed for an office.

He found Ricky sitting behind the massive desk, deep in conversation with two men James didn’t recognize. If that wasn’t a giant-ass red flag, the fact his brother had managed to clean up his shaggy blond hair and find a button-up shirt somewhere was. He was crashing a business meeting—one he wasn’t supposed to know about from the flash of worry that appeared on his brother’s face. Ricky shot to his feet. “James.”

There wasn’t a damn thing he could do until he knew what the hell was going on, but he didn’t need to let his little brother know that. He jerked his chin at the door. “Out.” Ricky hesitated, but James had too much practice using his cold stare to manipulate people. His brother didn’t stand a chance. He slunk through the door like a beaten dog with his tail between his legs. James waited several long seconds to make sure he didn’t change his mind, and then took the seat behind the desk. “Gentlemen.”

The two men were anything but. Oh, they cleaned up well enough with their cheap suits, but there was no mistaking the glint in their eyes. Killers, both of them. What in the ever-loving fuck was Ricky doing meeting with these guys? They exchanged a look, and the man on the right, a redhead with hands the size of hams, leaned forward. “Since you didn’t seem to be aware of the meeting taking place, I’ll bring you up to speed. We’re not interested in the internal power games the Hallorans have going on—all we care about is getting paid.”

That was a relief, though he doubted he’d get lucky next time. “Then we’re on the same page. What’s the merchandise?”

Another shared look between the men. “We heard you were down on your inventory.” The redhead motioned at the club around them. “We have a crop hitting the harbor two weeks from now. They’re good stock, so we’re commanding top price.”

Girls
. They were shipping in more girls, and Ricky had been Johnny-on-the-spot to buy them up. Just like Brendan used to. It was official—when James got his hands around his fool brother’s neck, he was going to strangle the fucking life out of him. They were
out
of the flesh trade.

But if he didn’t buy up these girls, some other piece of shit would.

For a second he almost let it go. It wasn’t his problem. He had more than enough to deal with without adding this to the mix. He eyed the men, both who James would bet had been in this business for years. They didn’t care if he agreed to this purchase. There were plenty of buyers, even in this day and age. If he turned them away, they wouldn’t blink at supplying someone else. Someone who would be more than willing to sell unwilling women to men who didn’t care about consent.
Godfuckingdamn it.
He smiled through gritted teeth. “Let’s talk money.”

As much as he wanted this done and over with, he took the time to haggle with the men. There was no telling if he would have to deal with them again, and it set a shitty precedent for him to give in to the first price they named without bargaining. But, fuck, he hated every second of it. By the time they settled on a price that was respectable but not insulting, he felt like he’d been hit by a truck. They arranged to have the
merchandise
dropped at an agreed-upon location on a date two weeks from now.

He watched the pair walk out of the office, and seriously debated grabbing the gun fastened beneath the desk and putting two slugs in each of them. It wouldn’t do a damn thing to help either the situation or how fucking filthy he currently felt. Slave traders were like cockroaches. You managed to kill one, and three more popped up in its place. Taking out these two wouldn’t help the girls on that boat coming in, or the ones that would undoubtedly follow.

Fuck
. He pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing he could just douse himself in bleach and be done with it. He couldn’t save the world. Hell, he couldn’t even save his little corner of it. The best he could do was figure out some place for those girls where they weren’t forced to be little better than sex slaves. They would get a choice. They would have some sort of income from a job. He’d make sure of it.

But first he had to deal with Ricky.

James looked up to find his brother standing in the doorway, puffed up like he was ready for confrontation. Too fucking bad. He wasn’t going to get one. “Sit.”

“You can’t just—”

“Sit.” He didn’t raise his voice, but he didn’t have to. Ricky had been conditioned from a very young age to respond to that particular icy tone, just the same as James and Brendan. His older brother hadn’t ever bothered to learn the trick of speaking like that, because his sheer size and personality got his way more often than not. James was a firm believer of stocking his arsenal with every weapon available to him. Their father’s furious tone was one of them.