“You need to stop sticking your nose into my business and listening to conversations you have no right to listen to,” he growls
"Killian O'Leary is powerful. If you cross him, it will be suicide!" Before I can even look up, his hand connects with my face, slapping me so hard that it just about knocks me out of my chair. His signet ring cuts into the skin on my face, and I feel the warm trickle of blood. I hold my face in shock, my skin burning from the hit I took.
I’m trying to process the fact that my father just hit me. Over the past couple of years, as his addiction to alcohol and gambling has increased, he’s been slowly killing any love I’ve held for him, but never did I think that he would dare hit me. I keep my head down, staring at a spot on the floor, trying to determine what I’m feeling but unable to find words. I can taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth and begin to realize that he also split my lip with his hit—either that or the blood is oozing out more from the cut than I realized. I don't dare move. I don't even breathe. If I let him just rant and act like I've been put in my place, he will let it go and I can escape.
"You need to mind your damn business, Belle. Killian O'Leary won't be a problem because when Bones and I are done, he will be dead."
Once he delivers that news, he goes back to eating as if nothing at all has happened. I don’t know how I find the energy, but I remain sitting there, not speaking, but acting as if I’m eating. I use a dinner napkin to stop the blood I feel on my face, but I don’t look at my father and I don’t get up. I don’t want to get my father started again. When he finally leaves, he does so without another word. I go through the motions of cleaning and putting away the leftovers before going to my room to survey the damage and to cry…
Cry for the last part of my heart that remembered the father I used to love because it’s obvious that man doesn’t exist any longer.
CHAPTER 8
KILLIAN
Getting off the elevator, I take in the sight before me. E-Z, my most trusted ally, is standing outside my office with two of my security guys. In front of them are two men on their knees, arms bound behind their backs. They’re all on a large roll of clear plastic. I sigh. This is the part of my job that I truly hate.
E-Z's long hair hangs loose, his arms covered in ink. He looks like he belongs on a runway. His hair is in better shape and prettier than most of the women that I’ve dated. He sure doesn’t look like a man who beat the men in front of him—yet I know he did. E-Z—whose real name is Ezra—is not the type to let other people do the dirty work. You can see the proof of that from the cut on his knuckles. He's a pretty S.O.B., but he's as hard as they come. He's the clan's warlord and worked his ass off to get that position. He's the head enforcer, so security for the entire family runs through him, and that’s a partial reason why he’s standing in front of me.
"Look, Killian, I brought you a present." E-Z gestures in front of him to the men on the plastic.
They both have evident swollen eyes and busted noses. There are cuts all over their arms and faces. I can only imagine the creativity E-Z put into their interrogations. That’s the norm, really. E-Z and his guys put them through the wringer, ensuring they get all the information they can before it's my turn to deal with them.
"Did you look through all the files I sent over earlier?" E-Z asks, standing behind them with his arms crossed.
"I got it. It's plenty to show these scumbags were dipping into O'Leary's funds coming out of the casinos,” I growl. It’s not a surprising scheme. There’s always some idiot trying to skim off the top. It’s suicide to try it with O’Leary money, however.
"It looks like they were doing it in a way that O'Leary could only assume it was you since you're in charge of that operation."
"It does,” I admit and that burns. When you rise in the ranks like I have, you expect haters. It doesn’t make it easy to swallow, however. “It’s pretty fucking stupid to cross me," I rumble, squatting down and looking the assholes in their faces. I want them to see their death coming. I hired these two idiots a few years ago. I shake my head. I don’t like the way that burns. I hired them after getting recommendations—or at least the O’Leary family’s version of recommendations—from several trusted members of the family. I hate that this slipped by me, but it will end tonight. I look them over again. I can’t be sure they even see my face clear enough to know how disgusted the sight of them makes me. It’s likely they can only see me through the tiny slits of their swollen eyelids. "Shit for brains." I shake my head as I stand back up.