“You worry about crossing me, Belle. You just worry about that,” he says softly. I should nod my head and let it go. I know I should. Hell, I should be out the door. What is it about me that thinks I can save people who don’t want to be saved?
“If you cross Ryan O’Leary, both of us will be dead and you know it,” I respond despite my better judgment.
“Ryan O’Leary is not God!” he yells, his face turning a ruddy color, betraying his anger.
“He is in Boston,” I press.
I don’t know why I keep pushing it, other than I truly am afraid he’s going to do something to get us both killed. My dad can be that stupid. I guess that’s another reason I haven’t left. If I leave, no one will even try to keep him in check, and he will end up dead. I don’t think I could sleep with his death on my hands knowing that I might have been able to do something to stop him.
He holds his hand up and it’s shaking—whether with his anger or a need for a drink, I couldn’t really say. I wait for his hit. I’ve always said the minute he hits me there will be no coming back from it. I will have to walk away. Part of me wishes he would at this point. It would give me a reason to leave—a reason not to let guilt eat at me.
In the end, he doesn’t hit me. He walks away, cursing under his breath. He slams the door and I’m left sitting, curled around a bowl of soup, wondering if it’s already too late to save my dad.
CHAPTER 3
KILLIAN
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t feel comfortable using someone I don’t know for this. I’d much rather go with the men the Ruin put us in touch with.”
I do my best to keep my voice calm. I owe this man respect. He’s given me a lot. Some wouldn’t see it that way. Some would say he owed me much more than he ever gave me. I think they’re wrong. The circumstances of my birth are not who I am. Reaching the position of general inside the O’Leary family is something that I earned the hard way—not just because of my last name.
“Did you know that Killian was the name of my grandfather, Mac?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, close my eyes, and brace myself. When Ryan O’Leary is in this mood, there’s no coming back from it.
“I did, sir.”
“We’re on the phone, Mac. There’s just the two of us here. Can you not call your old man what he is?”
His Irish accent gets more pronounced as the tone of his voice drops down. He insists on calling me Mac. Hell, most of the entire organization thinks I have the name Mackenzie or something. However, it is just the Irish word for son. I don’t know what has made the old man feel so sentimental these days. It’s been hell to navigate, though.
“I’m not sure that would be wise. Your wife—”
“Orla isn’t on this phone,” he snaps, letting me know that I’ve disappointed him.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I know I owe you more than I can ever repay. I’m grateful, man.”
“I hear a but coming.”
“We don’t have that type of relationship. I am an employee.”
“Maybe it’s time we started,” he says, confusing me.
“Started what?” I ask, wishing I had stopped on my way in and grabbed coffee.
“We should just tell everyone that you’re my son. You could come to London. Business is better here. You could achieve great things.”
“I’m doing okay here,” I remind him. “Under my direction, we’ve gained territory and connections that have long been out of reach. I’ve made good allies in Desolation—”
“Yes, but—”
“Orla wouldn’t forgive you.”
“I’m not sure it matters. Get this piece of business done. Meet with the boneman. He’s good at what he does. He’s worked well for the family in the past. He’s a distant relative of Donovan Tate and, as such, knows that business that happens in the family, stays there.”
I frown, still not happy. The irony of having a boneman—which is basically a freelance muscleman the family hires for special jobs—who calls himself Bones—makes all of this feel off. My gut is telling me to not agree to this shit. I don’t have an ounce of proof why I shouldn’t, however, and if this guy has worked well in the past. Hell, maybe everyone else is right and I’m just losing my damn mind.
“If you’re sure that’s what you want, sir.”
“It is. Then, I want you to get to London. I have a business proposition to discuss with you.”
“If that’s what you want,” I repeat again. We talk for a few more minutes and hang up.