Merciless: An Irish Mafia Romance (Wild Irish Book 4) Page 5

  “Wanda.”

  “What can I do for you today?”

  “Lock down my private quarters,” I tell her as I leave and return to the entrance room where Gregor waits for me.

  “Sam is on it now,” he says the moment I step into the room.

  “Thank you Gregor. I have two more jobs for you. I need you to feed Darragh and the other one I will discuss with you later.”

  I return to the main house and find father in his study.

  “I’ve been ringing you,” he says it with an air of authority that he doesn’t own.

  “I know. I had several meetings today.”

  “With the Russians?” I’m not surprised he knows my business. He just didn’t gain that knowledge from me.

  “They are from the Czech,” I correct him while sitting down.

  “I don’t care Liam. I care about Darragh. Where is he?”

  “You don’t care about him, so let’s stop pretending you do.”

  My father’s fist hits his desk, but I don’t react or move.

  “I do. But of course I’m also concerned with what he remembers.”

  I don’t respond and he picks up a pen. “I saw John leave the premises. He looked upset.”

  “He was upset and soon he won’t be here anymore.”

  “Son.” My father’s voice softens, and he places the pen back on the desk. “You can’t keep disposing of people like its nothing.” He stands now rubbing his jaw.

  “Of course I can and I will. He knows too much, he’s as big of a liability as Darragh is, and he isn’t family.”

  “He was your friend.” I’m confused as to why my father is defending John, or why he even cares.

  “You let your own brother go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. So please, don’t lecture me on family or friendship. I just came here to reassure you that Darragh is safe and I’ll have his mess cleaned up in two days.” I rise.

  “How is Finn?”

  “His wife died, how do you think he is?” I lean in on the desk and my father sinks back. “Your wife died.” I remind him and he swallows. “Be with your son, comfort him.”

  I leave his office and make my way back down stairs. Voices ring out from the kitchen. I pause before entering. The effect I have on the room makes me want to leave. Everyone stops talking and Mary bustles back to the stove and away from table where Shane, Una and Finn sit. I didn’t expect to see Ciara in our home. She stands up the moment I enter; she is the only one who doesn’t look afraid of me.

  “Hi Mr. O’Reagan.” Her chirpy tone rings out in the silent kitchen. “I arrived a while ago, I was looking for Darragh.” She doesn’t sound worried, but she was rambling and I knew that was a nervous tick of hers. “So I just said I’d drop in and make sure everything was okay.”

  “I’m curious where he is too.” Finn states from the table. He’s still wearing sunglasses.

  “He’s away on business for me.” I tell the room and Ciara’s mouth forms a small O. I have no idea what Finn is thinking but Shane just nods. I turn to leave regretting coming into the kitchen.

  “When will he be back?”

  “In a few days. It was nice to see you, Miss Michaels.” I keep it formal letting her know not to follow me. She doesn’t but Shane does.

  “We had a problem at the club. But I took care of it.” Shane falls into step beside me.

  “Good.” I answer.

  “Aren’t you curious what it was?”

  I glance at Shane. “No.”

  “Where is Darragh?”

  I stop walking and face him. “He’s safe don’t worry. I need to clean up a mess he made.”

  Shane nods. “Yeah, Father told me about the bank job. He’s an idiot.” I didn’t like him knowing this, not since he had grown close to Una.

  “How is Finn?” I ask Shane.

  He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “When I ask him he says he’s fine. But he drinks every night and the sunglasses don’t come off his face during the day.”

  Finn was soft, and I always said that his softness would slowly destroy him. He needed to take his anger and focus on finding out who killed his wife, not cry about it.

  “You did well at the meeting,” I say to Shane. His arm is back in the sling, but I was impressed with how easily he had moved around the room like him being shot was a silly rumor.

  “Thanks brother,” Shane pats me on the back and I leave going back down into the basement. Gregor is waiting in the entrance hall as I arrive.

  “He started shouting again.”

  Darragh wasn’t giving up. “It is fine I’ll talk to him.” The moment I open the door I hear Darragh’s shouts, he’s banging the door rapidly.

  I open the small slot at the top and am face to face with his anger. “You need to calm down,” I say.

  His fist sends vibrations through the steel door. “I’ve been locked in here like some fucking animal and you’re telling me to calm down. This is unforgivable.”

  I wait until his rant is over. “You have only two more days and I will let you out.”

  He throws his body at the door. “Let me the fuck out now Liam.”

  “No, and if you don’t start talking to me in a more civil manor I’m leaving.”

  “Civil? Civil? Who does this? Who locks their own brother in a fucking cell?”

  I can’t see him as he walks away, but he comes back into view. He seems calmer.

  “I’m going crazy in here; please Liam just let me out.”

  “I can’t but I’ll get you something to watch.”

  “Has anyone asked where I am?”

  “Everyone thinks you are on a business trip for me.”

  His anger returns and he tightens his fists. “You’re so fucking sneaky.” He runs his hand through his hair. “What about Ciara? Have you thought about her for one fucking second?”

  “She’s actually upstairs right now, with Shane and Una. I reassured her you would be back shortly. And honestly Darragh you should have thought about her before you robbed a bank.”

  His fists slam against the door again. “I wasn’t with her then.”

  I wasn’t staying here much longer to hear him throw a tantrum. “I will have Gregor organize some entertainment for you.”

  “Wait.” He stops me before I close up the slot.

  “What?” My patience is slipping.

  “You’re a fucking wanker.” I close the slot before he sees the amusement on my face.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SVETLANA

  The door closes, and the man disappears. There’s no sound as the blood thrashes against my ears. My clammy hands tremble as the finality of this situation sinks in. I’m stepping back with jerky movements. Black spots grow at the corner of my vision. I’ve stopped moving. The tips of my fingers reach down and touch silk. Spinning too quickly I’m facing the large dominant bed that’s covered in black silk sheets. I keep checking the door waiting for someone to storm in, waiting for that man to come and hurt me. It’s only a matter of time I tell myself. The tremble is immediate and grows in my arms and legs.

  I hold my breath; I thought I heard a noise outside the door. He’s coming, and he’s going to hurt me. I’m scurrying away from the bed moving towards the wardrobes. They are built in and small gaps allow me to slide in and hide. My breathing quickens as sweat gathers at the back of my neck. I think I hear another noise outside the door. Pulling open the large wardrobe door I stumble back. Rows and rows of suits are hung perfectly, starting from a black and reducing in color like a color card. A sob bursts from my mouth and I push it back with my hand. This was his room. I was in his bedroom. Where he slept. My eyes move to the bed. What would happen when he returned? Would he rape me? Hurt me? I sink to the floor as the fear starts to choke me.

  I’m standing up again and my single minded focus is Jan. I need to return to Jan. He would be my focus; he would be my strength, my anchor.

  Opening the bedside tables gives me nothing. They are both empty. Th
ere are no lamps, not even an alarm clock. Nothing to pick up and throw. A half mannequin sits in the corner of the room, a suit jacket hangs from its shoulders. The lighting in the room is built into the walls making you forget that you’re underground. My chest tightens and I try not to think about where I am. I need to find a weapon. The room was dominated by the bed. Lying on my stomach shows not as much as a piece of fluff under it. The wardrobes are the final piece in the room. I wait and listen around my pounding heart for any other noises. I don’t think I hear anything. I open the second wardrobe, it’s just rows of shoes, all polished. All in perfect order. After searching the room I find nothing. The only door in the room is the one I came through. I move towards it and place my ear against the door. I hear nothing. Wiping my clammy hands on my legs I touch the door knob. A part of me just wants to back away and find a corner to sit down in and wait this out. But if there is a chance of getting out, or a chance of finding something I can defend myself with then it was worth the risk. Turning the knob my heart jumps around as the door opens. The slight click has me holding my breath as I open the door further and peek out into the living space. The lights are on but I don’t see anyone. The kitchen is open plan and my mind is conjuring all the knives that are at my fingertips. I move to take a step out of the door but remember my heels. Kicking them off I swallow before stepping out onto the tiled floor. The imprint of my feet appears but disappears as I step forward. Sweat coats my body as I reach the kitchen area. Opening the first drawer it’s filled with tea towels and cloths, I close it quickly.

  The room dims and I’m standing straight as a strange red hue flairs to life. The blare of an alarm has me frozen to the spot. My mind can’t understand what’s going on. Black spots dance across my vision again. I need to leave now. Someone was going to come. I race across the kitchen but pause. What if this was my only chance of finding a knife? What if from here on out I was locked in that room? Locked in his room? With a sickening twirl of my stomach I race back and quickly open more drawers. Please, please God. The blare of the alarm cuts off and I feel a presence in the room. I’m spinning around trying to spot the danger that I feel. He’s standing at the end of the counter, his black eyes consuming my fear. My hands grip the counter as I try to move around the kitchen and away from him.

  “Byl jsem hladový,” I tell him I am hungry in a shaky voice. He blinks and moves towards his kitchen. His eyes are calculating as he glances over each drawer, press and counter. I have no idea what he is searching for.

  “Why are you in my kitchen?” His voice is deep as he speaks. I try to calm my racing heart and think. Think. Glancing away from him gives me a moment to process my thoughts.

  I try to give him a confused look and shrug. “No English.” I say as broken as I possibly can. He takes a step closer and I sink against the marble worktop. My eyes dart around. I could run to the room. But there was no lock on the door. My eyes shoot back to him as he takes another step towards me.

  I rub my stomach. “Hladový,” I say. His eyes follow my hand movement and I drop it. I want to get away from him. Something about him unsettles me but I can’t put my finger on it. He was well dressed, well groomed, but there was something in the way he moved. He was a predator. I’d been around enough of them to recognize one.

  In his eyes there is such a heavy black that I can see his iris fully. I shiver as sweat trickles down my back.

  “Go back to your room and don’t leave it again.”

  I don’t move. I want to. I want to run to the room and hunker down and never have to be in his presence again. But if I do, he’ll know I understand him. I rub my stomach again. “Hladový,” I repeat. My hand trembles too much as it touches my stomach.

  He steps closer to me and with two fingers touches my arm. I move away from his touch and bump into the cooker handle. Jumping away from it I nearly walk into him. He directs me like you might try to control a wild bull. Moving so I move in the direction he wants me to move in.

  He points at the bedroom. “Stay in there and don’t come out again.” I hear the warning. It sends dread skittering down my spine. I move towards the room. When I step in I’m ready to crumble to the ground but he doesn’t close the door like I thought he would instead he enters too. I’m backing away quickly towards the corner of the room. My eyes dart to my heels that sit at the door, a weapon that I hadn’t thought of. He isn’t looking at me, he’s opening his wardrobe. He’s back is towards me like I’m not a threat. My muscles tense as I take a step towards my shoes. My stomach twists and tightens as I quicken my steps. I move too fast, and like startling an animal, he moves too quickly and is blocking the door. I stumble away from him and nearly land on my behind.

  My chest rises and falls rapidly. “Obuv.” I point to my shoes with a shaky hand. He looks at the red heels for a spilt second before picking them up and I’m shocked when he hands them to me. I take the weapons and clutch them to my chest as I back away from him again. He goes back to his wardrobe and I huddle against the wall until he leaves with a fresh suit, shirt and shoes. He closes the door without a word and I sink to the floor holding my shoes tightly. I sit there for a long time just trying to calm my racing heart down, when I finally do the trembles slowly leave and the exhaustion has me closing my eyes. Just for a minute I tell myself.

  The sound of the door clicking has me opening my eyes. My shoes lie beside me and I reach for them as my eyes dart and dance around the room, landing on a tray of food beside the door my stomach grumbles. No one else is in the room. Putting down my weapons I take the tray back to the corner and examine everything on it. The spoon could be useful. I stuff it into my pocket. The sandwich I eat without tasting. The plate could be used but if it’s missing he would be suspicious. So the only thing that I can take is the spoon. The tea is warm and I drink the full cup down. The thirst I feel burns my throat. I eat only one half of the sandwich when I start to feel sick. Panic consumes me as I pull the other part of the sandwich apart. I’m taking off lettuce, cucumber, tomatoes, and some chicken. After smelling the bread and sniffing nothing unusual, I sit back. I’m afraid of being poisoned but that wouldn’t make sense. My appetite vanishes quickly and I push the tray away.

  Resting my head against the wall the heaviness that pulls against my eyes is too much and I know it’s not natural. I’m fighting it as the door opens and his legs appear moving towards me. I’m trying to sit up but my body slides down onto the ground. I refuse to close my eyes. Each blink gives me a smaller view.

  “Please.” I mumble my brain fuzzy, telling me I’ve made a mistake. One hand wraps around my waist and the other under my legs. I’m airborne. My head rolls until it’s pressed against a solid chest. His heart beats calmly, the beat making me close my eyes fully. My sense of smell kicks in and I inhale him deeply, he smells of leather, shoe polish and his cologne. His breath brushes my face as he lowers me onto the bed; the smell of whiskey has me half opening my eyes in alarm.

  Uncle.

  His hand leaves my waist and I’m trying to move. He comes into view, not my uncle but the man.

  “Stop fighting it,” he tells me, but his tone suggests he doesn’t care either way. A whimper leaves my throat as my eyes flutter closed. The bed dips and I know if I fall asleep now whatever happens I won’t be able to stop.

  “Please,” I whisper again as moisture leaks from the corner of my eye.

  ***

  Someone has stuffed my mouth with cotton and rammed it down my throat. Sitting up I’m yanked back. My arm stings as I pull it again. Through my confused state I try to grasp what’s happening. I’m handcuffed to the bed by one arm. Panic shoots through me and I’m sitting until my arm twists painfully. I’m pulling at the handcuffs not caring of the damage I’m doing to my arm. When I don’t make an impact but only hurt myself, I stop thrashing and take stock. I’m still in my clothes. My body feels fine, as far as I can tell over the adrenaline that rushes through it. The door opens and I don’t have time to prepare myself or get
away.

  His ink filled eyes focus on the poster of his bed that I’m handcuffed to. “Don’t damage my bed.” He carries a tray as he moves towards me and I shuffle back but my god-damn arm prevents me from moving away from him. He places the tray on the bedside table. He had drugged me yesterday. I turn my head away from the food letting him know I wasn’t eating. His fingers quickly work as he un-cuffs me. I pull my aching wrist to my chest.

  “Get up.” He holds the cuffs in his hand and I follow his movements as he puts the key back into his pocket.

  “No English,” I repeat, but something tells me I might have messed up. When he reaches me I move back until my back hits the headboard. His fingers aren’t tight on my arm, but I feel the pressure of his touch and I’m off the bed and standing. He keeps directing me by touching the small of my back when I pause. I hate the feeling. I glance at him over my shoulder but he’s focused on our destination. A bathroom, the moment I step in I close the door. But it doesn’t close fully his foot is stopping the door. I’m shaking my head. I was not doing my private business in front of him.

  “The door stays open,” he says, his coal-black eyes soaking up any light in the room until I step back away from him. The toilet is slightly deeper into the bathroom and to the right so he wouldn’t be able to see me. Each time I peek at him he has his back to me. After releasing myself of a full bladder, I wash my hands and face. The sound of the running water has him stepping in to the bathroom making the space feel too small. I’m frozen watching him having no idea what he is doing as he opens a vanity door and takes out tooth paste, a tooth brush, soap and a cloth. He holds the items out to me, his long fingers and large hands easily holding the contents. The cold tiles under my bare feet take away some heat that burns through me. I take each item from his fingers, confused by his kindness. But Holic was kind at times, yet his cruelty was animalistic.