Bratva Beast by B.B. Hamel
Fiona
Iwoke hoping the day before had just been a nightmare.
But I knew it wasn’t. Donal was dead and I watched him die right there on the sidewalk.
I stayed in bed alone for a while, staring up at the ceiling. I heard Mack wake up and move around the apartment, but he didn’t come in to bother me. On the one hand, I was grateful he was letting me sleep in—but I craved his touch and his taste, especially right now, right when I was starting to wonder if I’d made a mistake.
One of my cousins was dead. Mack hadn’t killed him, but he’d been involved. More might die in the future, all because Mack was a Russian and I was Irish and we weren’t supposed to be together.
My family would never accept it. Sooner or later, they’d find out, and then the blood would flow.
I wanted to pretend like Mack would take the brunt of that violence, but I knew better. If my family decided to come after him, more and more of them would end up dead.
Mack was a monster. He was inhuman, the way he moved, the way he stopped Donal’s knife attack and somehow managed to used Donal’s body as a human shield. It was horrifying—the sort of thing no person should ever be able to do.
And yet he hadn’t even broken a sweat.
It was uncanny and terrifying how easily he killed and shrugged the death off. I shouldn’t have been surprised, considering that wasn’t the first time I saw him do something so monstrous, but watching it happen to people I knew was too much.
It broke something inside of me.
I got out of bed and pulled on some clothes. I stepped out softly into the hallway, straining to listen.
Nothing. All quiet.
I walked into the living room, checked the kitchen, and took a deep breath. He was gone and I was alone. Probably went to get me breakfast or something like that.
I had one chance to get away.
It wasn’t that I wanted to leave him. Really, it was the opposite: I wanted to be with him so badly that it scared me. I needed distance, just for a little while, some space to think. I snuck outside, down to the sidewalk, and hurried away from the house, picking a direction at random. I walked fast, heart hammering, afraid I was going to run into him at any moment.
But after a few blocks, I finally slowed down and got out my phone.
I had Shannon’s number from a while back. We weren’t really friends—we hung out a little when we were younger, but aside from that, we barely knew each other. But I saw the way she looked at Donal that night and I knew what he meant to her.
And now he was gone.
She answered on the third ring. Her voice was husky, emotional. “Fiona?”
“Hey, Shannon.”
“I guess you heard about what happened.”
I let out a sharp breath. “Yeah, I heard.”
“They don’t know who did it yet, but Uncle Cormac said he’s going to rip the city up from its roots until they figure it out.”
I seriously doubted that. Donal wasn’t nearly important enough.
“If anyone can figure it out, it’s Cormac.” I hurried on again, cutting down a side alley. “I just wanted to call and make sure you were okay.”
And maybe to beg her forgiveness.
“I’m just numb. We all know it can happen, you know, considering what they do, but Donal? We hooked up that night, did you know that? First time we kissed and like… you know, did stuff together.”
I grimaced and couldn’t imagine how that felt. One night you’re exploring a new relationship, and the next day he’s dead.
“I’m so sorry, Shannon. Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe call his mom? She’s a nice lady. Did you know he was adopted? He talked about it the other day, I think it really fucked him up, you know? And now he’s gone.” She sucked in a breath like she was about to start crying.
“I’ll call her and check in. Really, Shannon, I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. Everyone keeps saying that. It’s really nice, but I don’t know what to say. We just hooked up that one time.”
“I don’t think you have to say anything. Just feel the way you feel, you know?”
“Yeah, right. Thanks for calling, Fi.”
I hung up the phone and stood leaning against a tree for a few deep breaths. The sun felt strong on my skin and sweat prickled down my spine.
That was the truth of death that I didn’t think Mack ever experienced.
Each soldier he killed left a wake of sadness behind the body, stretching out through families and relationships and friendships. Donal wasn’t the most popular guy in the world, didn’t have a whole lot going on, but there were people that cared about him, and now they’d all sit around and wonder how this could happen, how a boy like Donal could end up dead.
I knew, of course. They decided to attack a man way out of their league, and Donal paid for it.
That was the street, the family. That was the reason I wanted to get the hell away from it all.
I drifted toward my apartment. I had to think, had to get some space. Every time Mack was near me, I felt like my head might split in half from the smell of him and the ghostly remembered touch of his fingertips on my skin.
I couldn’t be objective with him around.
Not that I was ever really objective, but still. I had to try anyway.
Donal was dead. Shannon was heartbroken.
I had a hand in all that.
If I hadn’t gone to hang out with them— If I hadn’t been with Mack—
I reached my place and went inside. My apartment door was open a crack, which I didn’t remember doing. Maybe we left it that way after the fight with Peter. Mack had the place cleaned and the body removed but it still felt strange, being back here. I pushed it the rest of the way and stepped into the familiar mess—though there were some overturned piles of clothes, some broken glass, the cabinets left open, like someone had gone through it all.
I paused, frozen. I heard him before I saw him. That familiar cough.
I stepped into the living room and stared at my father.
He sat on the couch, legs crossed, looking at his phone. He was older than I remembered: hair graying, skin wrinkled and sagging. He gained some weight, a little paunch on his stomach, a little flab around his neck. His eyes moved from his phone up to my face, and he didn’t smile, barely reacted.
“You live in a pit.”
I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here, Dad?”
“You ever straighten up before in your life? I think there’s glass in your kitchen.”
“Why are you here?”
He shoved his phone into his pocket. “You were out. I let myself in.”
“I noticed.” I didn’t move, caught between running and morbid curiosity. Good thing I chose to come back—otherwise, he would’ve figured out that I wasn’t staying at my own apartment anymore.
“Donal’s dead.” He cocked his head. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
“Cath texted me.” The lie came so easily that it frightened me.
“Word moves fast in the family. You knew the boy, right? He was friendly with some of the people you used to hang around, but you don’t spend much time with them anymore, do you?”
“No, Dad, I really don’t.”
“Too good for the family. I always knew you were, even back then.”
“What do you want?” I clenched my hands into fists, trying not to let him bait me into the old arguments.
“What, your father can’t check in on you?”
“You haven’t bothered to so much as call in months. So excuse me for being surprised.”
He ignored that. “It’s hot in here. You been using the air conditioning? Looks like you haven’t used that bathroom in a week. Dust everywhere.”
“Good detective work, Sherlock.” I glared at him, getting annoyed with all this. “I’m losing patience, Dad. If you don’t have anything to say, why don’t you just go home? Thanks for telling me about Donal, but I’m not in the mood to fight with you.”
“Maybe I don’t care what you’re in the mood for.”
I threw my hands into the air. “Dad, what the hell do you want?”
“I want you to come home.”
I took a step back, knocked off balance. I watched him carefully, waiting for the punchline, for him to explain further, for him to do anything but sit there and watch me with those feline eyes, but nothing happened. The silence stretched.
I hadn’t left on good terms. Dad was pissed when I told him that I found a job outside of the family, and he was livid when I told him I was moving into my own apartment.
We fought bitterly for weeks. He accused me of betraying the family.
He was right, I was betraying the family. Not literally, not back then at least, but in my heart I was finished with the Doyles.
He didn’t believe I’d leave right up until the day my lease started. When I packed my stuff, he raged at me, he screamed at me until his voice went hoarse, and that was the first time since I was a little girl that I thought he might actually hit me.
Instead, I left, and we’d barely spoken since.
Now he was back in my life.
And he had no clue, no clue at all that his son was still alive, and I was the only person working to make sure it stayed that way.
“I don’t want to come home, Dad. That’s not my home anymore.”
“You’ve been away from the family for long enough. There are things happening, Fiona. Your brother’s gone and I don’t want to lose you too.”
“What kind of things?” I stepped closer to him, trying to suppress my anger. “The sort of things that got Donal killed?”
He didn’t take the bait. “You belong with the family, Fiona. You’re my goddamn daughter.”
“I don’t belong anywhere, least of all in your house. Do you remember how you were to Connor when we were growing up?”
Dad flinched like I punched him in the teeth.
We never talked about it. Never once brought it up. When Connor got older, around thirteen, Dad stopped the beatings, stopped showing up with the belt like a switch had been flipped. After that, Connor and I mentioned it less and less, and Dad pretended like it had never happened.
There was no reason for it, no reason for any of it.
“I don’t know why you’re bringing that up now.”
“We were so scared of you. Connor especially. Sometimes he came into my room before you showed up and he’d start crying, and I didn’t know what I could do. Eventually you’d show up and do your thing, and afterward I’d try to take care of him—”
Dad got to his feet. “I don’t know why the fuck you’re talking about that now.”
“Why’d you do it, Dad? Why the hell did you hit him? Why the fuck would you beat him with a belt for years, every single night, then just stop?” I was shaking. Tears were in my eyes. A sob wanted to explode through my throat.
I wouldn’t let myself break down in front of him.
All my life I wondered. I wanted to ask him so many times, but I was always too afraid he’d hurt me, or worse, he’d hurt Connor again. I was terrified that if I ever spoke the words aloud then I’d break the spell and he’d turn into a monster again and start the cycle all over again.
Now though, I couldn’t keep it buried, not anymore.
I knew it was Mack. I knew it was whatever change had come over me in the last week since being with him, whatever strength he’d given me, whatever anger he unleashed in my heart. Before Mack, I never would have the guts for this.
But I was all guts these days and sick of pretending like anything mattered.
“What would you rather that I kept doing it? That I did it to you instead?” He stepped toward me, eyes dead and raging like the old days. “You want me to hurt you now? That won’t bring the boy back.”
“Connor, it won’t bring Connor back.”
“I did what I had to do. He was born into a hard life and if I didn’t toughen him up, the street would do it for me.” He stared at me, a vein popping out on his neck. “And I failed him. Maybe I shouldn’t have stopped. Maybe I was too easy and should’ve hit him harder.”
“You’re sick. You know that, don’t you? You think you were trying to do him a favor?”
“This life isn’t for the weak.”
“He was your little boy.”
“Enough,” Dad shouted, eyes bugging out, baring his teeth. “I don’t want to hear any more from you as if you know a damn thing about any of this. You ran away the first chance you got and I let you go because I felt guilty about what I did to your brother when you were little, but I’m not going to let that hold me back any longer.”
He came at me then, walking with a purpose.
All I wanted was some time alone to think about things. Instead, I stumbled right back into another stupid trap, just like the first time. God, I was so dumb, so worthless.
I should give in.
Let Dad hit me the way he hit Connor.
I could make up for all those nights I spent hiding in my closet while Connor took the beating, over and over again.
All those nights I failed to come out and help.
All those days I never said a word.
Never asked for help.
I screamed as Dad backhanded me across the face. I felt my lip smash into my tooth and tasted the iron tang of blood. I staggered sideways and hit the wall.
The front door exploded open and a body barreled inside like a blur.
Dad barely had time to shout in surprise as Mack rammed a fist into his face.
I heard myself screaming, but it wasn’t until later that I realized I was begging him to stop.
Mack smashed another fist into Dad’s face, shoved him up against the coffee table, and rammed his forehead into Dad’s nose. Dad was bloody, lolling limp and groaning, and Mack hit him again, and again, and again. A tooth came loose and Dad looked like a piece of battered meat, his features cracked and shattered.
Mack hit him one more time then stood breathing hard above Dad’s limp body.
“Oh, god,” I groaned and got to my feet. I staggered over to Mack and stood behind him, staring down at Dad. “Is he dead?”
“Not yet.” Mack took a gun from his waistband and pointed it at my father’s head.
“No,” I said, shoving the gun away.
Mack’s face was emotionless. That scared me more than anything else. “He saw me. He knows now.”
“Please.” I stared into his eyes. I touched his cheek.
So tender and gentle. But a monster.
“He saw my face. If you let him go, he’ll tell them, and this’ll all be over. Who matters more? Your dad or Connor?”
I stepped away from him. Dad groaned.
My mind worked in furious circles.
“Think about it,” Mack said, voice still eerily calm. “He knows we were together. He saw my face and he knows who I am. He’ll tell someone sooner or later, and even if you let him in on what’s going down with your brother, do you really trust him to keep quiet? You think he’ll choose your brother over the family? You know he won’t. Connor will pay the price for all this.”
“We can’t know that.”
“You really want to defend the man that used to beat your brother bloody every night? You want to risk your brother’s life for this scumbag?” Mack’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the gun tighter.
He was right. I knew he was right. If we let Dad walk out of this room then he’d tell someone and that would be the end of all this. The Lionettis would hear and they’d kill Connor, and I would’ve failed my little brother again, all because I tried to protect my father.
Who didn’t deserve my protection.
But he was still my dad. It felt like a hot poker was shoved into my chest and there was no way to wriggle away from it, no way to get out of this fucked-up, broken situation.
All because I wanted some alone time.
“Walk out of here, Fiona. Go out and wait in the hall. I’ll take care of it.”
I touched his arm and wanted to say something. Maybe I could come up with a plan that would solve all our problems and avoid anyone getting killed—
But he only looked at me and his face softened.
“Go in the hall. It’ll be over fast.”
I turned and walked away.
Maybe I could’ve come up with another solution. We could tie my dad up and keep him in the basement— or knock him over the head so he’d forget what happened—
But it was unrealistic. I knew it and Mack knew it, and now Mack had to be strong for both of us.
I curled up on the floor in the hallway and hugged my knees to my chest.
I jumped at the gunshot.
Just one bang, like an explosion. I thought I’d cry, but I felt nothing.
Empty, hollow.
In some ways, this was justified. After what Dad did to Connor, he deserved to be sacrificed so Connor might survive.
It still felt like I was being torn into pieces.
Mack stepped out a moment later. The gun was gone, tucked back into his waistband. He sat down next to me and I leaned my head on his shoulder.
“You okay?”
“I think so. I just keep seeing my dad hitting me in the face, over and over again, and I keep wondering if there was something else I could’ve done.”
“He was an abusive piece of trash, Fiona. I should’ve done that from the start.”
I smiled a little. “That’s all you think about, isn’t it? Killing?”
“Killing and fucking you.” He kissed my cheek.
“What do we do now?”
“You go back to my place. And stop fucking wandering away, you’ll only get yourself in trouble.”
I chewed my lip. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair.”
“I’ll get rid of the body and meet you back there.”
“Are you sure? It’s the middle of the day.”
“I’ve done worse.” He sighed and climbed to his feet. I stared up at him, at gorgeous Mack, at muscular and primal Mack, at his handsome face and dark eyes, at those lips that bring me so much pleasure, at his forearms covered in tattoos, at his long lashes. He looked like the carving of a perfect man.
I never felt so enamored with a person, and I wondered if I was going insane.
He helped me to my feet and kissed my cheek.
“Go now. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry. I never should’ve come back here.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re not a prisoner, and you didn’t make your father hit you.”
I nodded once, tears stinging my eyes.
He wiped them away, kissed my lips softly.
“Go now.”
I turned and left, stumbling numbly out onto the sidewalk. I stood in the sunshine and looked around like I was seeing the world for the first time—
Because I was.
For once in my life, the specter of my father wasn’t haunting me anymore.
He was dead. Killed by Mack. And he deserved it.
Things weren’t better. Connor was still locked in the basement of a heavily guarded Lionetti safe house and every day that he stayed there was another day they tortured him. Each passing hour was one less hour he had on this Earth unless I could do something to save him.
But at least our dad was fucking dead.
I walked back toward Mack’s apartment and tried to keep myself from falling apart, because after everything that had happened, I wouldn’t let my father break me, not from the grave.
