Mafia Games by Vi Carter

CHAPTER SEVEN

RICHARD

 

“Stand up.” I take a step away from Eamon’s dead body, which lies at my feet. I move away from the blood-smeared glass so I can see Claire.

Her head snaps up, and she’s crawling away from me.

A laugh bubbles up my throat, but it dies quickly as she curls herself into a ball.

“Stand up, Claire. Don’t make me come in there because if I do, I can promise you, it won’t be nice.”

Her spine is rod straight as she stands swiftly. Like the clear waters of some foreign holiday resort advertised on television, blue eyes stare at me.

“Take off your clothes.” My command has my cock hardening. I take another step around the box to get a better view of her for when she removes the dress; so far, she hasn’t. Maybe she wants me to come in.

Threatening her twice isn’t wise. The first time should be enough. I move to the door panel, and she sheds her dress, the white material pools around her ankles.

“It’s off.” Her voice is high-pitched.

I take my time starting from the tip of her toes all the way up her long legs; a few cuts still bleed. My fingers twitch with a need to clean her small wounds. Going into the box isn’t an option. An old scar on her knee has a story that I want to hear. Her thighs are tightly pressed closed, a few more cuts mar the flesh, but they aren’t bleeding.

White panties have my cock pushing against my zipper. My gaze drags across her flat stomach that has a few cuts all the way up to her perfect breasts that fill her white bra. I let my lip drag up as I reach her eyes. The ocean blue is a light behind her lashes.

“You’ve made a mess, Claire.”

She shivers at my voice, and I step away from the door and move so I’m closer to her.

“I want you to run yourself a bath.”

She drags her bottom lip in between her teeth. The action isn’t meant to be sexual, but it draws me to her mouth. When she releases her lip, a droplet of blood is visible from how hard she must have bitten the plush flesh. The urge to lick the blood off has me exhaling.

She takes my heavy breaths as a warning and walks promptly to the tub that she fills. I’m also glad to see that the feet of the tub are no longer gold.

She keeps glancing at me over her shoulder like she’s hoping I’m gone.

No such luck.

She fills up the tub and turns off the taps.

“Get in.”

She doesn’t turn to me; I’m faced with her back. My mind is stuck on her bleeding lip. She’s ready to step in when I stop her. “Take off your panties and bra.”

She lowers her foot to the ground. Her shoulders are taut with anger, no doubt. I hadn’t expected her to try to escape. I hadn’t expected her to fight so hard. I hadn’t expected to want her so badly.

The bra falls to the floor before she brushes her long blonde hair across her back. It brushes the small of her back, and my gaze drops lower as she gets out of her panties and steps into the tub, but not before I get to see her perfectly round ass.

She hisses, and I move around the glass so I can see her face. I know she tracks me. Her head slightly moves as I move around the box so I can see her properly. She draws her legs up to her chest, covering herself. I could demand her to lower her legs.

“I will have the doctor come to check your cuts later.”

She’s ready to object but doesn’t. Instead, she says nothing at all. I observe her as she stays huddled in the water. Annoyance grips me, and I feel the rush in my veins. I want to react. The thought flitters through my mind, and it’s a split second, but it’s enough to make me pause, and I don’t react to my emotions.

My fingers relax, my hands uncurl from the fists they had tightened themselves into. This is what my father can do. This is what he wants me to do. Control my emotions, my impulses. The first reaction isn’t always the right one.

The phone in my pocket buzzes. I didn’t want to be disturbed, but Davy’s name flashes on the screen. He’s upstairs. I don’t believe he’s worried about Eamon; something else must be wrong.

I take the phone out of my pocket and notice how Claire’s head moves, but she’s not looking directly at me. Yet, she’s listening.

With a flick of a button, I could cut off all sound to her, but I don’t. I answer the phone.

“Jack is here.” Davy’s voice is stiff. He doesn’t get wound up easily; Jack is on his shit list, along with most people.

“I’ll be up.” My cock is hard, and standing here watching Claire bathe this long is punishment enough. I hang up the phone.

Claire’s gaze finally reaches mine, and she flinches before dipping her head.

I leave Claire and go upstairs to see what Jack wants.

The moment I step out of the basement, he’s there pacing in front of the door.

“You’ve blood on you.” Jack’s words drag my attention to my shirt sleeve.

“You’re right. I do.” I let my lip move slightly like I might smile, but I don’t. I remove my suit jacket and hand it to Davy, who doesn’t look overly impressed to be my coat rack, but he wisely doesn’t complain.

Jack doesn’t ask any more questions about the blood.

“What did you say to Mam?”

I remove my cufflinks and place them in my pocket. I glare at Jack while I pass him and make my way upstairs. His footsteps click behind me.

“She was crying, Richard.”

“And why do you think it’s my fault?” My voice is emotionless. Once I reach the wide landing, I start to unbutton my shirt and enter the master bedroom.

“Three years, Richard.”

I turn to Jack as I pull off my shirt. “I was busy doing business in the Czech Republic.” The lie slips so easily off my tongue.

“Rough times in the Czech Republic?” Jack’s voice doesn’t hold the same amount of anger it had a few seconds ago.

I’ve turned my back to him. “I did it myself.” I know his dissolving anger is because of all the scars on my chest and stomach. Stepping into the closet, I select a fresh t-shirt. Covering up my past in the snug material, I leave the room. “What do you want me to do?”

He’s my big brother, but right now, he’s a fucking stranger. One I want out of my home.

“You’re a dickhead.” He shakes his head. “You didn’t have to leave.”

He is referring to my homecoming. After my toast to the family, things had gone downhill. My mother wouldn’t stop trying to force food down my throat, and Darragh grew drunker as the time passed. I had enough and left with my mother on my heels, asking me to wait for Dana, my sister, to arrive. If my sister had thought anything of me, she would have been there.

“You already have everyone half afraid to breathe around you.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “What the fuck is your point, Jack?”

His temper flares like I knew it would. I drop my arms, wanting him to hit me.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but it’s not adding up.”

He’s waiting for an answer. An answer I won’t give him. Not a truthful one, anyway.

“I’m back here to rule with you and father.”

Jack grinds his teeth. “You, rule?”

His tone is pissing me off. “Yes, Jack. Isn’t that what Kings do?”

Jack runs a hand across his face. “Look. A lot of shit happened since you’ve been gone.”

“Tell me,” I say. Removing my phone and cufflinks from my pocket, I place them on the glass table top of my dresser. I see my reflection and relax my jaw.

“Finn, first of all.”

I grin. It’s a grin I can’t stop. “Yeah, father told me.”

“Did he tell you I was there?”

I look at Jack now and let my grin turn into a full smile. “Did it damage you seeing your uncle getting shot? Are you damaged from it? Do you need therapy?”

Jack snorts. “Still the same, Richard. I thought three years would have helped you shake off some of that cockiness and anger.”

My anger has only grown.

“Again, Jack, I’m wondering what you are doing here.”

“It’s about Shay.”

I laugh. This keeps getting better. “Not about mother anymore?” I ask as I leave my room. Jack follows.

“It’s about both of them. I just want you to be a bit kinder to Mother.”

I grit my teeth. I didn’t want to argue about this. It would end up being a fucking pointless venture. “I’ll do my best.” I enter the living room and move towards the bar. Lifting the panel, I step behind the counter and lower the panel back down into place.

“Did she do something wrong?” Jack sounds exasperated.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask, removing two glasses from the shelf above my head.

“Yeah, whatever. Richard, I’m trying to fix things here.”

I take down a bottle of brandy and fill both our glasses. I place them on the bar. “No, she did nothing wrong.”

She did nothing.

Jack joins me at the bar and picks up the brandy. I don’t pick up mine. I don’t want to numb the turmoil in me. I watch Jack drink half his down, and when he sees I haven’t drunk mine, he quickly spits the content back into his glass. His face pales. “Did you poison it?”

“You think so little of me.” I pick up my glass of brandy and take a large swallow.

I want to see shame fill Jack’s eyes, but we O’ Reagans don’t seem to own that one particular emotion.

Jack pushes the glass back toward me and faces away from the bar. “Shay’s brother died a few years back, cage fighting. Do you remember it?” Jack turns to me.

I take another swallow of the brandy before answering. “Yes. I do.”

He nods his head like it’s great that we are on the same page. He steps up to the fireplace. “It wasn’t a fight; it was a setup. The cage master had been paid to take out Shay’s brother.”

I knew all this. I remain silent.

“Shay tracked down the cage master and got a photo of a guy who had paid her to set this all up.”

Jack touches a mahogany clock that ticks away on the mantel. “It was a ploy to stop Connor and Shay from fighting there. They were costing the establishment money by winning all the fights.”

Connor, our half-uncle, who my father hated, was a savage with his fists. I grew up wanting personal lessons with him. I wanted to be as brutal with my fists as he was, but my father wouldn’t hear of it. I spent most of my childhood admiring Connor from a distance and feeling jealous of Shay for having a father who could kill with his fists.

“Frankie was his name,” I say after a moment.

Surprise lights up Jack’s eyes because I remembered Shay’s brother’s name.

I don’t think I will ever forget his name.

“Well, Shay found out that the uncharted territory that the fight club is on was sold.”

I wait.

“The buyer is this guy. He’s the one who paid to have Frankie killed.” Jack takes something out of his jacket pocket and walks across to me. A photo slides across the bar and stops at my drink. A picture of a man with shoulder-length hair and a very distinctive tattoo walks away from a building. The teardrop tattoo on his cheek and the ink along his neck should make finding him easy.

“Did you find him?” I ask and pick up my glass and take a drink.

Disappointment has Jack taking the photo back and tucking it into his pocket. “No. I was hoping you might recognize him.”

I did.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you.” There is enough truth in that sentence to make Jack believe me. “So now we are helping the North solve old crimes?” I ask and grin at Jack, who runs his hand across his face again.

I take my brandy with me and leave the bar. Moving across the room, I sit down on the couch. Jack returns to the unlit fireplace.

“It’s not about the North anymore, Richard. It’s about us Kings. Shay is a King and needs our help.”

I wish we were all that loyal and willing to help each other.

“Did you ask Father?”

Jack’s gaze darts away from me. I take a drink. Of course, he didn’t. He is afraid of dear old Father. I don’t blame him. Father has been hard on both of us. Jack got it a bit softer than I did.

When I look at Jack, all I see is our mother, and I’m like our father. Maybe that’s what makes Jack soft, our mother’s genes.

“You should ask him, Jack. I’m sure he won’t bite.”

Jack tilts his head from left to right in irritation. “I’m not afraid of him, Richard. I just can’t tell if he’s lying. So I won’t really know.”

Jack has me paying more attention. He has grown over the last three years. I take a drink. “I can’t tell either.” I’m honest for the first time in a long time. “But if you ask, and he knows something, Father will react. So look out for his reaction to your question.”

Jack walks away from the fireplace and sits on the edge of the seat across from me. His gaze is intense as he leans in towards me like we are sharing a secret. “Explain that to me.”

I pause. “When Father doesn’t like us getting close to the truth, he normally does something to turn us off that path. So keep note of his movements over the next few days after you question him. Your answer is normally in there somewhere.”

Jack sits back in the seat, and I finish my drink.

“You sound like you are speaking from experience.”

“I am.” I roll the glass in between my hands.

“What did you find out?”

“Be careful, Jack.”

My warning registers with Jack. He answers with a nod of his head. The silence stretches out. The quiet is a place I’m comfortable in.

Jack isn’t and sees the need to fill the silence with senseless babble. “So, how was the Czech Republic?”

I want someone to see past all my fucking lies. I stare at my brother, wanting to tell him the truth that for three years, I was locked away from the world.

A knock on the living room door has me holding all my words back. I get up from the couch as Davy half opens the door.

“Doc is here.”

A nod of my head has him leaving. “Thanks for coming by.” I compose myself as I turn to Jack.

He’s still sitting, watching me. “I’m dismissed?” He smirks, but it’s filled with annoyance.

Did he really want me to answer that? He still hasn’t moved, so apparently, he does. “I have other things that require my attention.”

He stands up. “You sound just like him.” His nostrils flare, and he walks past me. He’s speaking of Father.

I might look like him, sound like him, but I am not my father.

I am not a monster, and they would soon see that.