Nolan (Dangerous Doms 3)

He didn’t the last time he caught me, the last time I ended up at his mercy. He caught me trespassing on their property, captured me, and dragged me to a windowless room in the basement of their massive mansion that overlooks the cliffs of Ballyhock.

I remember it well. I know I’m fucked up, but I’ve replayed that night. I was angry at the time. Helpless and infuriated. But I could tell he held himself back when he punished me then, and I’ve remembered how he did. How it felt to be restrained in the cuffs he had. The way his stern voice lectured me as he inflicted measured pain with a stout-handled whip.

I let him think I caved. I cried and wept for mercy. He didn’t know I’d frequented The Craic to learn tolerance, and found a bit of myself in the process.

And he will never know.

I can’t scream with the gag, which is just as well, because being taken to their property is exactly what I want. Still, I have to protest some. So I wriggle and squirm and yell against the gag, my pleas coming out in muffled protests. Nolan’s still angry, I can tell by the way his green eyes flash, and his jaw goes all hard.

I’ve watched him for over a year. I know so much about him, I could write his biography. Former alcoholic, he went to rehab and quit the drink. He’s been stone sober ever since, no small feat for an Irishman. The youngest of the three McCarthy brothers, he defers to Keenan and Cormac’s leadership. My research says he’s Lieutenant, but as McCarthy blood, he’s high ranking in command.

Though he likes to joke and tease his brothers, he’s got a darker side. Perhaps it’s why I find him at the pinnacle of my focus when I think of the McCarthys. The others come here to dabble and play, but for Nolan, the need to dominate is in his blood.

I’ve watched him brooding over the cliffs. I’ve seen him scene with woman after woman at the club. But I also know he has a soft spot in his heart for his mother, the matriarch of The Clan who lives in the mansion and fancies herself mother for the lot.

They will all pay, every last one of them. Maeve McCarthy is just as guilty as the lot of them.

I suppose they fancy themselves some sort of fucked up altruists, and the truth is, they don’t dabble in the harder games the other mobs of Ireland do. There’s no human trade, no hard drugs, and as far as I can tell, they haven’t fulfilled a contracted hit since Keenan took to office. They bring arms from the coast and sell them at home and abroad. I suppose they think their generous contributions to the church and town buy them clemency.

Fuck them and the horse they rode in on. There is no pardoning the evils of the mob.

They’re Irish mafia through and through. The list of casualties in their wake grows by the day. They live by a ruthless code of loyalty and vengeance, and illicit funds pad the pockets of the lot. They may fancy themselves the Robin Hoods of Ireland, kind-hearted criminals. But I know better.

I will bring them down, from the very top of leadership to the very base of soldiers. All of them. Every last fucking one of them.

Naturally, they steal me away with ease, since the McCarthy brothers walk on fucking water. No guards come running to my aid, and when one looks our way, the tallest of the bunch has a word, and he leaves. I don’t care. My cell phone’s strapped to my inner thigh and I’ve secured my car with a club friend. I’ll get back onto the McCarthy’s property, find what I need. Then I’ll escape.

They leave the club with me as effortlessly as if they were heading out for a smoke. Balancing me between them, Nolan’s got a tight grip on one arm and one of the burly guys has me on the right. He’s being none too gentle on me either. At first I don’t recognize him, but when I remember, I cringe.

Tully. I used him last year to onto the property. A friend of mine slept with him, got his keys, and we were able to get onto their estate. That’s what started this ball rolling.

I have no friends at the McCarthys. I’ll have to play this just right.

I don’t fight them when they put me in the back of a car. I feel the reassuring coolness of my phone where I’ve hidden it. This car, not surprisingly, is large, with a driver up front and room in the back for several people. They don’t all pile in, though.

“Leave us alone,” Nolan tells them. “Take the other cars home.”