Unshackled

“There he is!” I heard Old Phil shout angrily with a glare directed my way.

My eyebrows went way up there. What the fuck, was he mad at me?

The old man waddled toward me with his son limping behind, friends following too—and Shan was next to leave the room they’d been in. Phil always looked the same, whether it was summer or winter. Black shirt, too-shiny material, slacks, and a leather newsboy cap. “You wanna blame me, Ford? Huh? You got some fuckin’ nerve, lad! The shipyard ain’t my turf!”

“Are you shittin’ me?” I blurted out incredulously and threw away my smoke. If he came at me now, I’d take that fucking swing. “Everything south of Whitman is your ground, you demented fuck. And as if that’s not enough, you send your kid fresh outta kindergarten to do your dirty work.”

If looks could kill, he’d pop the vein in his forehead before he had the chance, but he was definitely gonna try. And just seeing him actually make a run for it and clench his fist pissed me the hell off. Who the fuck did he think he was?

I flinched forward too, and it set everyone else off as well. I knew they were gonna come between us in a matter of seconds, but all I needed was one blow.

“Oi!” That was several of them, including Finn.

The echoes bounced off the walls as I warded off Phil’s punch and clocked him straight in the jaw with a satisfying crunch.

He let out a shout of pain.

“You’re done, you hear me?” I yelled. “The second you put our boys—and our goddamn boss—at risk, you’re fucking done!”

I was hauled backward and restrained, which could only mean Finn had caught up to me. The pressure of his arm across my chest was too much, though I sensed it wasn’t him so much as it was my irregular breathing. And something else. I hadn’t even registered the way my heart was pounding. It felt as if it was trying to hammer itself free from a tight grip.

“Easy,” Finn warned in a low tone. “You gotta cool it, Ford.”

Two of Lucas’s friends held Phil back too. Or they supported him. Whatever.

I caught a quick glance at Shan and instantly averted my stare again. He was not pleased.

I gnashed my teeth and shrugged away Finn’s arms. “I’m okay.” Deep breaths. Deep fucking breaths. Something was wrong with me. My chest felt all constricted, and it was getting worse.

Finn walked over to Phil and patted him on the shoulder. “He got you good, huh? I reckon we’ll work this out in a civilized manner tomorrow. Lunch is on me. We’ll meet up at Mick’s at one.”

Phil kept a hand to his jaw, and it appeared he was having trouble speaking. I must’ve fractured it. “I’ll be there,” he rasped. “Until then, you’d be wise to get rid of the hooligans who don’t respect their elders.”

Oh, he didn’t. I barked out a sharp laugh and shook my head. “Respect is earned, you useless piece of shite—and as far as I’m concerned, you’re not worth the—”

“Kellan!” Shannon snapped.

I smashed my lips together and shot him a glare.

Finn smirked faintly before addressing Phil again. “He does have a point, Phil. Respect is earned, and it’s not respectful to tell your boss what to do. Am I right?”

Lucas felt the need to step in, and he slipped an arm under Phil’s to hold him up. “Lemme get you home, Pop. You’ll talk to Mr. O’Shea tomorrow, yeah?”

Finn cocked his head. “And you can make an appointment with Kellan, kid. Assuming you want a future in the Sons.”

Lucas nodded right away. “Yessir, I’ll do that.”

It was almost four in the morning when I finally drove home.

Finn had taken off about an hour after Old Phil and his young brood had left, and Colm and Red Mikey hadn’t shown up at all. But they did share some good news. Rather than hunting down the remaining two Italians, they’d followed them to their hideout, an old, abandoned office park, and they’d put trackers on their vehicles.

My last task for the day had been to get a cleanup crew to the warehouse, and they’d be busy for a few hours.

Shan, who’d spent the last couple nights at Finn and Emilia’s house, suddenly wanted to come back to my place, so I had him grumbling under his breath next to me.

“Just spit it out, old man,” I said impatiently. “You’ve been sliding me bitchy looks all night.”

He sighed, aggravated, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “You need to watch your goddamn tone, boy. What the hell makes you think you can treat Phil that way? Or me, for that matter! Regardless of what he’s done wrong, he’s been a respected Son for fifty years. He’s done his share—and then some. He took care of your grandfather’s crew and business dealings while Tadgh was in prison. He also helped your grandfather recruit and train a successor when your father wanted nothing to do with the syndicate.”