Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 37123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Conall disappeared into the London crime world, and eventually made his way to the states. I caught a job on a cargo ship and did what a lot of Irishman from the wrong side of the tracks and law do when they need to get out—I bailed the second we docked in Boston, and I never looked back.
Conall did his own thing, mostly out west for a long time. I spent years living under the table—fake IDs, working cash jobs as a bouncer or a bartender at fake-ass Irish pubs full of drunk college girls. But one day, I found myself in a real Southie shithole, overhearing a bunch of pricks trying to get into it with this one guy. I don’t make other people’s business my own, but when five fuckers with knives try and take on one fucker, I’m not gonna sit back and watch him die.
So I jumped in. It could have been the dumbest move of my life—or the last one. But between the two of us, we ended up beating the fuck out of the whole crew of wannabe tough guys. The man I helped turned out to be Owen Corden, Vice President of a motorcycle club.
He bought me a drink, and we talked bikes since I’d grown up fucking around with engines my whole life. He invited me to come around the garage a few times, and pretty soon, I was just there all the time. A month later, they tapped me for a prospect, and a year after that, I patched in and never looked back.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
I knock back the rest of my second drink and take out my phone. Fuck, I need to check in and tell Grey or Owen how fucked this operation has gotten. And it’s worse that I’ve got little miss temptation tied up naked in a bedroom testing every single ounce of my self-control. It’s that this job is supposed to be my redemption—it’s my making good with a lot of loose ends.
See, the Bastards aren’t the only ones getting fucked in the ass by Leonard. Another crew out of Southie, the O’Connor Boys, are also feeling his heat. The O’Connor Boys and the Royal Bastards are… well, not allies, and not really friends. More like business associates. We both have similar business interests, and it makes more sense to play nice than it does to fuck around with the balance. That is, until I fucked around with that balance, badly.
Not on purpose, believe me. It was almost a year ago, and I was fucked up, drunk, and in a dark place. She was all hands and too much perfume. I don’t remember shit about it, except telling her I wasn’t going to fuck her. One nights aren’t my thing, and I wanted no part of her. I was barely conscious when she ended up dragging me back to her place, telling me I was clearly about to pass out, and her bed was closer.
I have no idea why I said sure, but I did. But I never touched her, that much I know without a doubt, and that much I do remember.
…I also distinctly remember the part the next morning when I woke up to a gun in my mouth. Yeah, turns out the chick was none other than the fucking wife of Jerry O’Connor, the President of the O’Connor Boys.
Yeah, fuck me.
Somehow, I managed to not get a bullet through my teeth and bugged the fuck out of there. I caught a grazer on my shoulder on the way out, but I’m alive. Grey and Owen and the rest of the club are aware of what happened, and they know I literally just slept in a bed next to her, with my fucking jeans still on, too. But Kelly, Jerry’s wayward bride, decided to keep telling him “how good I fucked her,” for some shitty, petty way of getting back at him for infidelity on his part.
…I mean how the fuck did I get involved in this bullshit?
So, despite me and the Bastards swearing on everything we know that I never touched Kelly, Jerry’s held a bit of a grudge ever since. As in, he wants to cut my fucking head off.
Anyways, needless to say, despite it being bullshit, it’s fucked things up pretty good between us and the O’Connor Boys, business-wise, which is why this is my problem to fix. After all, the Bastards gave me everything I have. Bullshit or not, I owe it all to them. Before, I was fucking lost—a forgotten kid from Belfast with a fake ID and a shit bartending job.
So, this is my shit to fix, and the fix happens tonight. It’d just be so much fucking easier if it was Leonard tied up back there, I’ll say that.