Jaded Soul: A Standalone Irish Mafia Romance Read online

  And she’d turned my head so completely, I’d failed to see what was trundling around the corner.

  I don’t show Brody or his goons my frustration, though. I let his comments roll off my back as I take a step closer to them.

  All three men tense, but I keep my body lose and relaxed.

  “I figured I had time,” I reply. “After all, it’s not like you’re mafia.”

  It’s a sore subject with Brody Murtagh.

  The fucker thinks that just because he hangs out with a certain crowd, that gives him exclusive status as a mob kid.

  Completely fucking delusional.

  You don’t choose this life.

  It chooses you.

  He bares his teeth and snarls at me. “I am fucking mafia.”

  “You may roll with the big dogs,” I tell him. “That doesn’t make you one, though. More like the stray kitten they picked up off the roadside.”

  “What did you say to me, motherfucker?”

  “Brody…” The guy standing at Brody’s right shoulder throws him a cautionary glance.

  My confidence deepens.

  His two Kinahan stooges are trying to rein him in. Which means they don’t necessarily approve of this interruption. Because of course, no one in their right minds messes with our clan.

  “You heard me,” I reply carelessly. “You can’t just buy your way into the fucking mob life. Though the Kinahans have let the bar for entry drop ever lower these days, haven’t they, lads?”

  Both of Brody’s goons raise their hackles immediately.

  Am I being stupid, goading them like this? Perhaps, considering I am dealing with two hardened mafia men. Brody may be a wannabe, but his two watchdogs are for real.

  But what’s life without a little danger?

  “I’d watch your mouth, O’Sullivan. You’re not untouchable,” one of the goons threatens.

  He’s got yellowing teeth and unfortunate, curly hair that only highlights how ugly he is.

  “No one is,” I concede. “Doesn’t mean attacking me is gonna go unnoticed, however. What are you jokers doing following me and my brother around?”

  “What makes you think we were following you?” Brody snaps, giving himself away.

  I have to try really hard not to laugh.

  This guy is so fucking easy to read. He wears his emotions on his face like a fucking map of his thoughts. Makes things fun for me, though.

  “This isn’t exactly your neck of the woods.”

  “The same is true for you,” Brody points out. “And yet here you are.”

  “I have business here,” I reply. “Actual business, as opposed to your business, which seems to revolve mostly around annoying the fuck out of me.”

  “This is our territory,” Brody bites.

  I frown. “Our territory?”

  “Kinahan territory,” he clarifies. “This is our turf.”

  “Our,” I repeat again in amusement. “Are these boys alright with you bandying about the Kinahan name like that? I thought you were only leasing it.”

  He flinches at the obvious jab. I notice his hand twitch towards his jean pocket.

  So that’s where he’s hiding his little security blanket.

  Good to know.

  “You may be able to throw your weight around with Tweedledee and Tweedle-Dipshit,” I add, gesturing to each of the two stooges flanking him. “But not with me. The only reason the Kinahans even tolerate you is because Daddy dearest has them in his pocket.”

  “You fucking ass—”

  His hand goes straight for his gun, but I anticipate the move and I speak before he can even pull it out.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” I say with a knowing nod. “Reach for your gun. You don’t know the first thing about the life, do you?”

  He freezes. His hand twitches slightly before falling back to his side.

  Like I said—so fucking easy.

  “In my world,” I tell him, emphasizing the word ‘my,’ “we like to get our hands dirty.”

  “You think I’m afraid of you?” Brody demands.

  “You did show up with back-up.”

  “They’re not back-up,” he pouts like a petulant child.

  “So the three of you weren’t planning on beating me to a pulp and leaving me by the roadside?”

  I can see the wheels in his thick skull turning.

  “That wouldn’t be a fair fight,” he says after a moment.

  I smirk. “I agree.”

  Pause for dramatic effect.

  Wait for it…

  Wait for it…

  “You should have brought at least two more guys.”

  It takes the idiot a minute to figure out that I’ve just insulted him and his men.

  Again.

  Sometimes, I think I’m doomed to go through life without having my humor understood or appreciated.

  “You think you can take all three of us?” Brody demands.

  I scoff. “I know I can.”

  I don’t, actually.

  Sometimes, my confidence can get the better of me. It’s a blessing and a curse.

  At least, that’s what Ma told me when I was a boy and I declared that I could scale the west wall of the Manor with only my bare hands. That ended poorly.

  I lift my hands and gesture for him to come at me.

  “Come on, little stray,” I taunt. “What are you waiting for?”

  Spurred on by the insult, he charges at me with a war cry that’s as hilarious as it is pathetic. I’m laughing when I side-step his attack and swipe his feet out from under him.

  As he keels over, I land a punch square on his oversized nose.

  With a pained screech, he falls to the ground on his side.

  His henchman watch with narrowed eyes, tense and weary. They’re unsure whether to step in or let this fight take its course.

  They are true mafia after all. And all mobsters tend to respect a good one-on-one.

  I do a little jump in place to shake out my muscles.

  Fuck, it feels good to hit something.

  Especially something as useless as the empty-headed prick I just sent to the ground.

  “Is the fight over?” I ask. “Or are you planning on getting up at any point in the next hour?”

  Brody gets to his feet, his hand clamped down over his bloodied nose. But I know I haven’t broken it. I didn’t feel the cartilage give way under my knuckles.

  “That was the last time you hit me,” he declares. “That was the last time I let you get in a punch.”

  “I like the confidence,” I tell him. “But the thing about confidence is that you need to back it up with skill.”

  “I’ve got plenty.”

  “You’ve got piss and shit,” I reply.

  Yeah, I’m trying to provoke the fucker. That’s the easiest way to win this fight.

  Some men lose all sense of themselves when they’re insulted. They concentrate more on their hurt pride than the enemy in front of them.

  He’s about to charge at me, but I’m not worried. I already know his next move.

  He’s going to come at me from the left and then feint to the right. He’s going to try and attack my legs like I did to him.

  He wants to be able to look down at me and laugh.

  I can see it in his eyes.

  Poor, delusional motherfucker.

  He gets ready, shifting his weight. I load my back foot, prepared to move as soon as—

  “Enough!”

  The tone of authority rings through the air. I have to suppress a sigh.

  Talk about a party pooper.

  I turn to glance back at my brother. He’s standing at the threshold of Padraig’s front door. Just behind him is Padraig himself.

  The drunk looks a little roughed up. But otherwise, not too much worse for the wear.

  Unlike Brody, who’s sniffling blood like a toddler with a runny nose.

  Sean walks down the steps and glares at Brody and the two Kinahan flunkies.

&nb
sp; “Get out of here now,” Sean says with deliberate slowness. “Or this is gonna turn ugly.”

  I gotta hand it to him. My brother knows how to make a threat.

  His eyes are dark with promise and his expression is as cold as Da’s.

  For a second there, the resemblance is uncanny.

  Makes me fucking shudder.

  “You don’t command us, O’Sullivan,” one of the stooges retorts.

  “This is our territory,” Brody adds.

  This time, I can’t stop the eyeroll that’s been lying in wait since the first moment I saw him.

  If it’s even possible, Sean’s expression turns even colder. He takes a step forward and the atmosphere shifts imperceptibly.

  “I think you need an etiquette lesson, boy,” Sean says, looking Brody directly in the eye.

  Sean’s twenty-four. He’s only got a couple of years on Brody. And yet the sentiment feels appropriate.

  No one can accuse my brother of being a child.

  “What are you doing on our turf?” Brody asks, trying desperately to save face in front of his new cronies.

  “That’s my business, Murtagh.”

  I glance at Padraig, who’s still standing in the shadows of his threshold. He’s clearly shitting himself, but he’s too scared to close the door on this situation.

  He probably should.

  And I think he realizes the same thing when one of the stooges looks up and catches sight of him in the doorway.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Padraig Connelly. Why am I not fucking surprised?”

  Sean doesn’t even glance behind at Padraig, but I notice Brody’s eyes flash with recognition.

  Padraig’s eyes go wide at the unwanted attention. “I, uh… Mr. O’Sullivan was just leaving.”

  “There’s only one reason the O’Sullivans would deign to pay scum like you a visit,” the greasy-haired stooge continues. “They’ve come to collect.”

  Brody’s listening hard to the exchange. A second later, his face flushes with fury.

  “Padraig Connelly, you owe my father money,” he says accusingly. “How dare you pay these assholes without first settling your debt to my family?”

  “He hasn’t paid shit,” Sean interrupts. “But he will.”

  Brody scoffs. “Is this how the O’Sullivans conduct their business? You come to collect and walk away with nothing but empty promises? I’ll show you how the Kinahans get shit done.”

  I snort at the fact that he’s still referring to himself as Kinahan.

  He definitely hears the insult, but he chooses to pretend that he doesn’t. Perhaps he’s not a total fucking idiot.

  “Padraig,” he says, raising his voice, “get your old, drunken ass down here.”

  I exchange a glance with Sean.

  This is not our business. If Padraig has debt with the Murtagh lad, that’s his burden to bear.

  But I can tell Sean isn’t willing to stand aside, either.

  He acts aloof most of the time.

  Deep down, though, he’s got a fucking hero complex.

  “Mr. Murtagh,” Padraig stammers, “please… I don’t have your father’s money.”

  “My father’s money is my fucking money,” Brody snarls, striding forward.

  He grabs Padraig by the collar and drags him out of the shadows of the doorway. He pushes the stout man forward until they’re practically nose to nose.

  “And I expect to be paid right fucking now. Or else I’m gonna—”

  “Get your hands off my father!”

  Aw, fucking hell.

  I spin around as Saoirse appears from around the house. Clearly, she’s been listening in on the whole interaction. Her eyes are hard as she steps out into the front yard, gaze trained on Brody.

  The Murtagh son of a bitch takes her in as though she’s a mirage.

  I sincerely hope my mouth wasn’t hanging open the first time I saw her the way his is. He looks like a rabid dog.

  Saoirse lunges forward and yanks her pa away from Brody. He’s so shocked by her sudden appearance that his hands drop to the side, releasing Padraig.

  “You’re trespassing,” Saoirse tells him icily. “Leave now or I’ll call the police.”

  I gotta hand it to her: the girl’s got balls.

  She stands tall, her back straight and her gaze unflinching as she takes in all the men standing in her front yard.

  All of whom are armed.

  All of whom are at least a foot taller than she is.

  None of whom she gives a fuck about.

  She doesn’t seem to care in the least about the massive odds against her as she takes a step forward, shielding her father with her own slight frame.

  “Who are you?” Brody asks.

  I don’t like the expression in his eyes one bit.

  There’s definitely interest.

  But more disturbing, there’s desire. An obvious need for possession.

  I saw her first, motherfucker.

  “She is not your concern,” I interrupt, inserting myself in the middle of a fight that’s not mine.

  Sean is cautioning me with his eyes, but I ignore him. I’m not about to let Brody fucking Murtagh crash our party and then strut around like he owns this goddamn city.

  His father may be Mister High-and-Mighty-Politician.

  But the son is nothing more than a stain on my boot heel.

  Brody looks at me. A slow smile spreads across his face.

  “She mean anything to you, O’Sullivan?” he asks innocently.

  I force a smile onto my face. “She’s as much a pain in my ass as you are. Does that qualify?”

  I don’t glance at Saoirse. I’ve already put too many cards on the table by stepping in to defend her like some overprotective boyfriend.

  “Hm,” Brody says. “Then you won’t mind if I do this?”

  He reaches up with one hand and grazes Saoirse’s cheek. She’s so stunned by the action that she stands there silently for two seconds.

  Two long, arduous seconds.

  And then she snaps.

  She snaps so hard that she actually beats me to the punch.

  She steps forward and brings her knee straight up into Brody’s groin. I hear a nasty crackle.

  He moans low, practically inhuman. And his face goes pink as he keels over.

  A snort of laughter escapes my lips as I watch the idiot hit the pavement, clutching his balls for dear life.

  “Nice kick,” I tell Saoirse approvingly.

  “You want the next one?”

  I take a step back immediately. “Maybe another time.”

  “I want all of you off our property right fucking now,” she snarls, looking at the Kinahan goons first before her gaze veers to Sean and me.

  “You bitch!” Brody manages to gasp from the ground.

  Apparently, she hadn’t kicked him hard enough. The bastard is already managing to clamber to his feet. I thought for sure he’d be down for the count.

  One of his stooges hoists him upright. As soon as he’s on his own two feet, he turns to Saoirse with vengeance in his eyes.

  “You want to call the fucking police?” he demands, spit flying from his mouth. “Go right ahead. Do you know who my father is?”

  I cringe instantly on his behalf. Of course he’d use his father.

  What other weapons does the spoiled little rich kid have at his disposal?

  “I don’t give a good goddamn fuck who your father is,” Saoirse hisses.

  “Saoirse!” Padraig cautions again.

  This time, there’s real panic in his tone. It’s on the edge of desperation. But it doesn’t move Saoirse one bit.

  She spares a glance at her father. I notice the disappointment flare in her eyes before she looks away again.

  “You don’t strike me as a stupid bimbo,” Brody says, forcing the attention on him again. “So you should know who Brian Murtagh is.”

  I’m so annoyed with the phrase “stupid bimbo” that I almost miss Saoirse’s expressio
n.

  She definitely knows who the man is.

  Brody sees it, too. He nods.

  “That’s right. He’s the politician running this fucking city. Do you know who works for him?” Brody continues. “Everyone. That includes the fucking cops. So go ahead. Make the call.”

  Shit.

  “That’s enough, Murtagh,” Sean intercedes. “Padraig doesn’t have the money to pay either one of us today. We’ll have to come back later.”

  “Later?” Brody repeats. “I want my money now.”

  Sean’s eyes flicker towards Saoirse. Then he shrugs. “It’s your debt to forgive or not. Just leave the girl alone. She’s got nothing to do with any of this.”

  Saoirse realizes exactly what Sean’s words imply.

  “No,” she says immediately, stepping in front of Padraig. “I won’t let you hurt my father.”

  “How about we make a deal?” Brody suggests. “I’m willing to forgive your father’s debt to me…”

  My heart sinks. This is not gonna be good.

  “…and all you have to do is take on the debt yourself.”

  Her eyes go wide for a moment. The hope in them reveals just how young she is. How innocent. How naïve.

  “I can do that,” she says immediately. “Just give me a few weeks and I’ll find a way to get your money to—”

  Brody laughs loudly, cutting off her words.

  “Money?” he taunts. “I don’t want your money. That’s not the kind of payment I’m after.”

  She freezes as the color drains from her face.

  Her eyes flicker to mine for the briefest of seconds. Hopeful. Desperate.

  Then Brody’s oozing voice cuts back in.

  “I want you to spread your legs for me and scream my name,” he croons. “But I’m a generous man. I’m willing to give you a choice. You can suck my cock if you’d rather not give up that tight little pussy just yet.”

  The red of her hair suddenly seems all the brighter against her pale skin.

  “I’d sooner cut off my own arm and eat it,” she spits at him.

  His eyes narrow. I know he’s underestimated the sting of rejection. Especially with his enemies standing right here watching it all go down.

  “That can always be arranged,” he hisses.

  I make eye contact with Sean.

  My intention is all there in my gaze. And even if it wasn’t, I know Sean will understand. That’s the benefit of being raised by a man like Ronan O’Sullivan.