Sully: An Irish Mafia Romance (The Brotherhood Book 3) Read online

  Rush shifts his hold on me so his hand curves around the side of my neck, his thumb gently brushing across my pulse point. He stares, fixated, at the spot his thumb caresses for a moment. I don't tear my gaze off of him, dazzled and dazed by the way his pupils dilate with each passing second. "We're a family, and we rely on the trust we have for one another. Without it, we're as good as dead. You understand, yeah?"

  I nod as I bite my lip.

  "Give me your words, baby."

  "I understand, Rush." The words leave my lips on a sigh, anticipation building in my veins. My skin feels tight, and I strain to bridge the gap between our mouths when I hear a throat clearing.

  From the obnoxious sound, I hazard a guess that it's not the first time Jack's cleared his throat. My cheeks flush in embarrassment. "Uh, sorry, Jack. I—I don't know what came over me . . ."

  "I don't think we got to that part yet, Red."

  I cut Wolf a glare, but his stupid, handsome face is doing that cocky smirk thing that makes me forget why I'm annoyed with him. And I figure since I'm already treading the awkward waters with Jack, I might as well make it worth it. I lean into Wolf and tip my face close enough to brush my lips across his.

  It has the desired effect, and in less than a second, he surges into me, deepening our kiss.

  "Alright, alright. Break it up, kids," Jack grumbles from his perch against the island.

  After a moment, I take my time pulling away from Wolf and opening my eyes. My lips part at the look on his face.

  His espresso-colored eyes promise dark fantasies that his cheeky grin attempts to cover up or hide. He stares at me for a moment longer before he pulls back and slouches into his chair, spreading his legs wide in that stupid hot way men sit.

  "Ah yes, where were we again? Oh, right. The punishment." Wolf waggles his eyebrows and grins over my head at Rush.

  "That's enough of that, boyo. I've known the girlie since she was a child. I don't need to see all of that. And don't think I missed the way you possessive assholes circle her like buzzards."

  I run my hands down my legs to give myself something to do while I cool down. I don’t know what the hell has gotten into me. First Rush in the other room and now Wolf in the kitchen? I shake my head a little and blow out a breath. Time to think of something else. "Right. About that. So you knew me as a baby, then?"

  Jack reaches behind him for his cocktail. The ice clinks against the glass as he brings it to his lips for a sip. "Aye. He brought you around a few times when you were little. Aidan Gallagher was a good man and one of the best friends I've ever had."

  "Then why don’t I remember you? Why didn’t you come around?” I ask with a tilt of my head. Before the question is even out of my mouth, I straighten in my seat. "My mom."

  Jack nods. "Aye. I never met your ma, but Aidan loved her, and that was good enough for me. They had a . . . complicated relationship."

  "Complicated how?" Rush asks.

  "Your da loved you, and he loved her, and he loved the Brotherhood. At least up until the end, then things got murky. But your ma? She didn't love anything more than she loved your da. At least that's the way Aidan told it."

  I look at the table in front of me, follow the swirls of the grain with my eyes as I mull over Jack's words. He delivered them with such tender care, it's almost worse.

  I wonder if I'll ever be at a place in my life where I can say without shame or sadness that yes, my mother didn't care for my company. And that's putting it mildly. Intellectually, I understand some people weren't meant for motherhood, and that's okay. But it’s different when it’s your mom who falls into that category.

  It's ridiculous to feel shame and unworthy from a dead man's words about a now-dead woman's feelings from almost twenty years ago, but I do. It chokes me, flushing my cheeks and sending heat radiating through my body.

  But words can hold power, regardless of who wields them. And if the speaker isn't a stranger, but a friend? A loved one? A parent? It takes a cutting remark and sharpens it for maximum impact.

  Wolf laces our fingers together, and I wonder if he's recalling the brief interactions he witnessed between my mother and me. How stilted and cold they were. I try to envision that first night from his perspective. He brought me to his house, so I wasn't entirely a surprise. But I imagine the dinner was. Watching any interaction between the two of us paints a particular photo. Most people put on a front when they're in front of mixed company, but not Lana McElroy. She didn't bend for anyone.

  Or she hadn't.

  "Is it possible to miss the idea you had of someone more than you miss them?" My words are soft, and only the hum of the refrigerator fills the silence. "My mom is com—was. My mom was complicated. And I think—I think I always loved her. But I think I might've loved the idea of her, ya know?"

  Wolf twirls a lock of my hair between his fingers, drawing my attention to him. "I understand, Red. Sometimes life gives you these things that you think you need, and it's up to you to decide if you really need them. And I . . . I don't think you needed your mom. Not really."

  I nod as flashes of my mother's dead body materialize in front of my eyes. The way her eyes stared into the sky, lifeless and yet somehow still full of pain.

  I turn to look at Jack. "Do you believe in heaven?" If my question startled him, he doesn't show it.

  He takes a large swallow of his liquor—whiskey, if I had to guess. "I think—I think the world will be a darker, crueler place when you're gone, songbird."

  A wry smirk tips up the corner of my mouth. "You trying to sweet-talk me instead of answering, old man?"

  He clutches his chest with mock horror. "Not you too? What's this? I'm hardly an old man."

  I lift a shoulder in a shrug. "Feels like a good enough nickname." I pause and really look at him. "Thank you, Jack. For being there for me—and for my cousins."

  "Aye. Once upon a time, I made a promise to Aidan that I'd look out for you should anything happen to him."

  "When's the last time you spoke to him?" Rush's voice comes from right next to my ear, and I can't stop my shoulders from jumping. He's been so quiet, I wasn't sure he was going to chime in at all.

  "It's been years since I talked to Aidan, longer since we saw each other."

  "When, Jack?" Rush's intensity takes me by surprise, and suddenly, there's tension in the small room.

  Jack scratches his beard with his middle finger. "Ah, probably ten years or so since we spoke. He called me on his way out of town for a job, but that wasn't out of the ordinary. He often called to check-in when he was on his way somewhere."

  "You mean when he was on his way to kill someone."

  Jack startles, and his glass slips from his hand, but his quick reflexes catch it just before it falls too far. Whiskey sloshes over the side of the glass with the movement, but Jack doesn't flinch when it splashes against his hand.

  I hold his gaze, a challenge written in my arched brow and tight shoulders.

  "Well, I wouldn't put it quite like that. But, aye, he was a hitman."

  I nod a few times as I worry my bottom lip, looking around the room without really seeing anything. "How many people did he kill? Were they . . . I don't know, bad? Or were they good people?" I meet Jack's gaze. "Did my father have the blood of innocent people on his hands?"

  Jack shakes his head, the movement slow and measured. His gaze is soft as he holds mine. "He didn't always share that information with me, but the little bit he did, they weren't good people, Alaina. He was known as the Traveling Salesman. He traveled around like salesmen used to do years ago, only he wasn’t selling vacuums.”

  Huh. The Traveling Salesman. It’s such a random and seemingly innocent nickname to have. Marrying this idea I have of my dad, who got down on the floor and played with my barbies with me with the guy who was literally paid to kill people, is proving to be difficult.

  It's a startling reminder that we don't really know our parents. At least not when we're kids.

  And I won't ever
be able to know them. Now—now all I get is diluted memories from people who knew them decades ago. It's easy to let melancholy sink in at my morose thoughts, but strangely, I feel fine—okay, even. Some part of me recognizes that I'm still in shock, but I think underneath that, there's a well of emotion.

  My dad used to tell me that there's no easy way to do something. That the only way to get to the other side of something is to follow the steps, stay on course.

  You just have to do it. Of course, that was about my dance recital, and I was eight. But the same principle can be applied to anything—to everything, really.

  There’s no easy way to fix the damage the relationship I had with my mother caused—especially if she’s not here—except to dig deep and start doing the work.

  I’m just not exactly sure where to start.

  Chapter Eight

  Alaina

  Several phones vibrate, interrupting the quiet of the kitchen. Rush slides his hand away from the back of my neck at the same time Wolf shifts his weight to the side. They both pull their phones out of their pockets.

  I'm still musing about my parents, so I'm slow to pick up on the change in the air. It's not until the hair on the back of my neck stands up that I snap out of my thoughts and look between Wolf and Rush.

  "What's wrong?"

  They exchange a glance between themselves before they look at me. I get up from the chair and lean my butt against the table so I can see both of them at the same time.

  "It's Da. He just heard about Lana."

  I nod a few times and bite the corner of my lip. "Where is he anyway? I thought they both were supposed to be home." I look upward, trying to wrack my brain if Mom said anything in the Uber ride. "I can't remember if my mom said why she was here and he wasn't."

  Rush hits the button on the side of his phone to turn it off. "We still need to talk about all those . . . things your mother told you, yeah? But Da didn't say anything about where he's been. Just asked if we knew where you were. Apparently some cops showed up at Summer Knoll to notify you and ask you some questions."

  My shoulders drop, heavy with exhaustion. "Is that where we're going then—back to Boston?"

  Wolf nods, his expression thoughtful. "Eventually. We have a place here in the city for situations like this."

  "Situations where you get stabbed in some alleyway and have to get stitched up by some backroom doctor?" I arch a brow at him.

  Wolf's playboy smirk makes an appearance, and as much as his smugness gets on my nerves, that lethal smirk he sends my way is much, much worse. "Sometimes it's a bar fight that leaves us too bloody and tired to drive back home."

  My eyebrows hit my hairline. "A bar fight?"

  Wolf crosses his arms across his chest, his biceps flexing with the movement. My eyes zero in on them, and if you would've asked me six months ago if I thought the idea of a bar fight was attractive, I would've laughed in your face. But I can't deny the way my pulse picks up at the idea of Wolf sweaty and swinging punches, all those muscles coiling and releasing. My chest rises and falls faster at the thought.

  "What an interesting response, little bird." Rush's voice is close to my ear, and I tilt my head to the side. Surprise skates across my nerves at his proximity. I don't remember hearing him step closer to me.

  "And what response is that, brother?" Wolf doesn't step closer to me, but I watch in amazement as every muscle pulls taut.

  Rush skims his fingers from right under my ear, down the slope of my neck and shoulder, and down my arm. Goosebumps trail his fingers and I shiver in response.

  "Such a responsive little thing, aren't you?" Rush's breath caresses the shell of my ear, each word from his lips elicits another wave of goosebumps.

  "Jesus fucking Christ. Do I need to throw water on you three? Your brother's in the other room with a hole in his shoulder, and you three are panting after each other in my kitchen like a bunch of alley cats." Jack's harsh words cut the bubble of lust I was in.

  I startle, my cheeks heating and my shoulders tightening with embarrassment. I definitely forgot that he was even here. And he's right. What the hell was I thinking starting something with them in Jack's apartment—and with Sully laid up, no less.

  Rush doesn’t miss the flush in my face and stiffens, his hand wrapped around my wrist. A glance at Wolf, and I see he's in the same position. Eyes hard, jaw clenched, menace rolling off of them both in waves.

  Fuck.

  I hold my free hand up, palm out. "Okay, okay. You're right. Sorry, Jack."

  Jack runs a hand down his face and into his beard. "Aye, songbird." He pins me with a fatherly sort of look, all concern and hesitation like he doesn’t want to say something, but he will anyway. "And just what the hell is going on here, anyway? I thought I saw you with Wolf on your birthday." His eyes narrow on the two men next to me.

  Ah, there it is—the thing he didn’t want to wade into, but for some reason, he felt like he had to. I decide I don’t need to make it easy on him, so I shrug. “I was."

  Jack purses his lips and leans against the island behind him. “And what about all those nights with Rush then? What were those?"

  "What the fuck do you mean all those nights with Rush?" Wolf pushes to stand up straight, dropping his hands to his side. His posture is tight, and his chest rises and falls with deep breaths. He reminds me of some sort of beast, one wrong move away from snapping.

  I lick my lips and look from Jack to Wolf. I refocus on Jack. "Those were—”

  "None of your fucking business. In fact, none of this is any of your business, O'Malley," Rush says as he stands up too. His tone is firm and threatens violence.

  "Ah, it's O'Malley now, boyo, yeah? Huh. I would've thought you would've told your brothers about your weekly visits to the pub to see our songbird." The smile on Jack's face is cruel and calculated. It's a look I've never seen on him before—and never about me, indirect or otherwise.

  "What the fuck is he talking about, Rush?" Wolf takes a step closer to us, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

  I push to my feet and stand between them, hands touching each of their chests. “Let's just all relax. It's been a . . . really, really long day. Let’s—”

  "Not now, Red. I wanna hear what my brother has to say,” Wolf says through gritted teeth.

  I bristle at his dismissal, and it's enough to fan the flames of my rage. I thought I had it buried from earlier, but I guess I need to do a better job of controlling it.

  "Yeah, boyo, tell your brother how you came into my pub every week to listen to her sing." Jack's smug smile grates on my nerves. Instead of defusing the situation, he’s throwing gasoline on it.

  "You've been with her for the last year?" Wolf tilts his head, his eyebrows bunched together.

  My stomach roils, and the icy fingers of dread tiptoe up my spine. I open my mouth to explain the situation or, at the very least, defuse it, but before I can get a single word out, Rush steps out from behind me. And in one smooth movement, he pulls his gun from his shoulder holster and steps in front of Jack, gun tapping against his leg.

  "Somethin’ you wanna say, old man? Or did you forget who you were talking to?" Rush tilts his head to the side, the move more menacing than curious. "Because it seems like you're trying to create a problem between my brother and me. And you know what they call me, right?"

  I take a step to the right, closer to Wolf. I want to see the expressions on their faces. I'm not sure which way this is going to play out, but I hope, for everyone's sake, that it doesn't end in bloodshed. I don't know if I can take any more today.

  Jack's jaw is clenched and his stare is cold as he looks at Rush. "Aye. You're the fixer. You fix the Brotherhood's problems."

  "Aye, I do. I like you, O'Malley, I always have. And I don't want you to become a problem, yeah?"

  No one says anything for a moment, and I hold my breath in anticipation. I'm tempted to wade in. Despite the little bomb he just dropped on us, Jack's always been there for me. For years.<
br />
  Whether he realizes it or not, I'm handing over control to him. I'm trusting Rush not to do anything irreversible. And for a girl like me, that's a big ask.

  Jack sighs and breaks his stare-off with Rush, looking to the side for a moment. "I just don't want anything to happen to her. And you boys are trouble, always have been. The two of you—"

  "Three."

  All four of our heads whip to the doorway at the sound. Sully leans against the doorframe, his face pale and his dirty-blond hair disheveled. He's still one of the most beautiful men I've ever laid eyes on. My heart leaps into my throat at the sight of him.

  "If you're going to insult us, might as well include me too, yeah, Jack? After all, if it weren't for me, she never would've stepped foot inside O'Malley's." Sully pins me with his ocean-blue-eyed stare. "Ain’t that right, princess?"

  I stare, transfixed at the first man I ever loved—aside from my father, of course. Tears well in my eyes, and I blink quickly, sending one trailing down my cheek.

  “Oh fuck. What the fuck did you do to her?” Sully growls the words through clenched teeth.

  I swipe the tear away and quicken my steps until I’m right in front of him. “I’m fine. Just relieved to see you awake.” I scan him from head to toe. I'm not sure what I'm looking for, but I can't stop myself. "How are you feeling? You should be lying down still."

  "I'm fine, Lainey." His voice, so soft and low, meant only for my ears, pierces my heart in the most welcome of ways.

  I roll onto the balls of my feet, stopping myself from touching him, even though everything inside begs me to run my hands over him and make sure he's whole—as whole as he can be. I meet his gaze, and suddenly, I’m overcome with emotion. It's slow, like the tide in the mornings until it's all I can see and feel.

  "James." There's more emotion packed into that one word than I've ever felt before. "I'm so glad you're okay." My voice catches on the last word, and I have to clear my throat a couple of times.

  "I don't want any trouble with the Fitzgeralds—or the Brotherhood. I'm just looking out for Aidan's girl."