Nolan: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Dangerous Doms) Read online

  I know what he’s referring to. In the eighties, a reporter from American got in deep. She didn’t know to leave well enough alone, but ran story after story about the Clancy Clan until they had enough. She was found dead in bed after running her stories, an example to the rest, and everyone knew who did it.

  I don’t respond at first. Keenan continues. “Only reason I haven’t ordered a hit is because she could prove useful. An informant, as it were.”

  I don’t understand why I clench my hand into a fist, why I want to slug my brother and make him bleed. A fucking hit for a naughty girl who doesn’t know to leave well enough alone?

  There’s quiet in the room. Either they all agree with him, or they won’t speak against him.

  For fuck’s sake.

  I mull over his compromise.

  Keenan continues. “So do it. This isn’t a suggestion, Nolan.” He’s pulling rank, and goddamn it, he’s given me no choice. “Find her. Interrogate her. Report back.”

  I stifle a groan. This is an order. I have no choice. Keenan might be my brother, and he’s got enough respect for the rest of us to ask our counsel and tell us everything. But when he makes a decision, it’s iron-clad. I’m bound by blood, honor, and vows to obey.

  “Aye,” I say. “I’ll start at the club tonight.”

  Boner pumps his fist in the air and Lachlan gives me a grin. Carson looks at me thoughtfully, then goes back to his note-taking. When we disassemble, he comes to me.

  “Nolan, a word,” he says while we exit. The other men disperse, and I walk out with Carson. Those of us born McCarthy live here in this house, but the others live a little ways off.

  “Aye?”

  “Do you know where she lives?” he asks. “Do you know her family history?”

  “No.” I give him a curious look. “I’ve intentionally kept myself ignorant of anything more than the weight of her breasts and shape of her arse.”

  He snorts.

  “You do?” I ask him.

  “Aye,” he says. “My girl was best mates with a neighbor of hers a few years back.”

  “Was she?”

  He nods.

  “Something I should know?”

  “Piss fucking poor,” Carson says. “Grew up in social housing just outside of Dublin. Still has three siblings and a mother at home she provides for.”

  Aw, feck. “Don’t tell me anything that would make me sympathetic, now, Carson,” I warn him. I don’t know what I’m going to have to do with Sheena.

  “Not why I’m telling you. But I know a few things, and I thought you should know, too.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Aye. A scrapper like her, she uses her body to get what she wants. Long string of men she’s slept with, all the way to O’Gregor’s Chief.”

  I feel my eyebrows rise. “You don’t say. Well, fuck.”

  Certainly doesn’t warm me up to the girl.

  “She stops at nothing, brother. Nothing. If she thinks there’s a story, she’s all in. Does what it takes to get her money.”

  “Maybe you should be the one to question her,” I say, half teasing.

  He shrugs. “I’ll help you if you need me, but Keenan asked you.”

  I don’t argue. I know he’s right.

  “I have the articles,” Carson says. “I can send them to you.”

  “Yeah, do it,” I say with a sigh. “You ever been to The Club?”

  He grins. “No interest, brother. Got all I need at home.”

  I grin back. “Well done, you. Go, bring the pastry to your woman before she loses her mind.”

  “Aye,” he says, giving me a salute before taking off.

  I sit on a rough stone bench in the garden, watching the sun set over the water. I glance at my watch. Got about ten minutes before I’ll have to get ready to go. Tonight, I’m heading to the club.

  Chapter 2

  Sheena

  It’s hard to walk on heels with a mini skirt while carrying an armful of groceries, but I manage. I normally change before I come home—no, I can’t call this place home any more. This is my mother’s place. This isn’t my home.

  I didn’t change tonight because I didn’t have time. I have exactly one hour to drop these off, freshen up, and head into the club.

  Someone catcalls behind me, and I grit my teeth. I’ve got twenty or so more paces to get to the door.

  “Well, if it isn’t miss high and mighty.”

  Jesus, no. The very sound of my ex-boyfriend’s voice sends shivers down my spine, and not in a good way.

  “Leave me alone, Cian,” I say over my shoulder, not bothering to even turn to look at him.

  “Lookin’ mighty fine there, Sheena.”

  I try to mask the way I start when I hear him right behind me.

  “Give those to me, now, lass. Pretty little thing like you ought not to be carryin’ heavy things, eh?”

  He’s right next to me, reaching for the bags.

  “I’ve got them, thanks.”

  His voice hardens.

  “Give it here.”

  He’s in my space, blocking me. I’d do anything never to see his shaved head and skinny, inked neck again. How I ever thought the man was attractive is a feckin’ mystery. Now that I know him better, he resembles an underfed rat.

  Though we stand eye-to-eye when I’m wearing heels, he’s stockier than I am. More vicious. He reaches for the bags.

  “Leave off,” I say in my hardest voice. “I said I’ve got them.”

  “Course you have,” he says, his black eyes narrowing. “You’ve got everything, don’t you? Posh clothes. Fancy car. Fancy job. Aye, you’ve got this.”

  I try to walk around him, but he blocks my way.

  “Need some help, there, Sheena?”

  Relief floods through me at the sound of my brother’s voice. I look to my left to see him approaching me at a good clip. Though Tiernan’s only sixteen, and a tiny sixteen at that, he’s fierce. He’s determined to protect me, and just his presence brings a little comfort.

  “Thank you, Tiernan. I need to bring these in and get back to work.”

  Tiernan takes the bags out of my hands.

  “I told her I’d help her, boy,” Cian says.

  My brother’s cheeks flame, matching his hair as he glares at Cian. “Aye, and she told you she didn’t need it. So fuck off.”

  Cian takes a step toward Tiernan. “Or what, you fuckin’ twat? You’ll beat me up? You and what army?”

  “Leave off, Cian,” I tell him. “Go in the house, Tiernan.”

  He takes the bags, but before he leaves, he glares at Cian. I’ve got to hand it to him. He’s brave. I wish he hadn’t provoked Cian, though. The man will stop at nothing, and I fear some form of retaliation.

  I walk behind Tiernan, ignoring Cian’s curses and cruel taunts, until I get to the door.

  “Tell yer mam you frequent The Craic, then, why don’t you? Think she’d take yer filthy money then?”

  I almost falter, almost give in to a smart retort, but he isn’t worth my time.

  I don’t need him knowing I go there, dammit.

  I open the door, cringing when it creaks on its hinges. One swift kick, and anyone could knock this down. They aren’t safe here.

  It’s dark inside when I enter. The stale smell of whiskey and cigarettes lingers in the air. The sink overflows with dirty dishes, a soiled basket of laundry sits by the door, and the floor’s in need of a thorough sweep. My stomach swoops with nausea. I hate that my siblings live in such squalor. Aine Hurston, my mother by birth but the woman I’ve done my best to disown, hardly deserves even this.

  “Sheena!” Fiona hurls herself at me and gives me a huge hug. At thirteen years old, she’s moving from childhood to adolescence, but she’s still as exuberant as she was as a small child. I nearly topple over when I hug her back. I remember her as a five year old, when she still had the chubby cheeks of babyhood. She still has round cheeks, wide blue eyes, and my family’s trademark red hair. I
remember taking her onto my lap and brushing her long, gorgeous hair.

  “Ah, hello there, Fiona.” I hug her back. My throat tightens and my nose tingles. If I could, I’d pack the lot of them in the back of my car, leave, and never look back. But I can’t. The courts would never allow it, and doing so could ruin my career. And if I lose my job, I wouldn’t be able to provide for them any longer.

  It’s complicated.

  Some day, though. Some day…

  “Where’s mum, sweetie?”

  “Sleeping,” Fiona says.

  Passed out, then.

  “Fucking sleeping,” Tiernan mutters. He hates her as much as I do, though he won’t admit it. He’s old enough to know why she’s sleeping.

  “Language, Tiernan,” I whisper.

  Fiona twists a lock of hair between her fingers and bites it, looking down. I reach for her hand and gently extricate the hair from between her lips.

  “Come and help me unpack the bags, and we’ll get you a good meal, okay?” I brush her crazy, wavy hair out of her eyes.

  “’Tis a mess, this hair of mine,” she mutters.

  “Would you like me to plait it before I go?”

  She grins. “Please, Sheena?”

  “Of course. Now go!”

  She runs off to fetch the brush.

  A loud, long wail comes from the other room. There’s only two bedrooms, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom here, so we know when the baby’s up.

  “I’ll get him,” Tiernan says, shoving his hands in his pockets and trudging off to where baby Sam’s crib sits in the tiny, cramped living room. He comes in a few minutes later with the baby on his hip. One-year-old Sam’s diaper droops, and he’s still sniffling, but when he sees me, he reaches his chubby arms out for me. I won’t lie, it breaks my heart a little.

  I move quickly. My mother could get up at any minute, and I don’t want to listen to her yammer on about me and my stuck-up ways. I change the baby’s diaper, wipe his little face, brush and braid Fiona’s hair, and feed them some soup I bought from the shops.

  “Thanks, Sheena,” Tiernan says.

  I put the groceries away and quickly tidy the kitchen. “Wish I had time to clean up the dishes for you.”

  He shakes his head. “Leave it. I’d have done them myself but I just got back from work.” I hate that he’s working. Not only is he too young for a job, but the littlest ones are left unattended in his absence.

  “What job do you have now?”

  Since he was eight years old, Tiernan’s found little jobs to do here and there. He brings in money and gives some to my mother. I hate that he has to. He should have years of childhood in front of him, but they’ve been stripped away. He stands on the cusp of manhood, and it isn’t fair.

  “Been making some deliveries,” he says. “Here and there.”

  Fiona sits on the floor cross-legged, the baby between her legs drinking a bottle.

  I could’ve slapped my mother when I found out she was pregnant.

  A few years back, we lost my father, and my mother took to drink. He’d roll over in his grave to see the squalor they live in now. Though dirt poor, my father was a good man, a boxer who earned his living with his fists.

  But I know who killed him. And they will pay for what they’ve done.

  My mother went from one man to the next, spreading her legs for the next arsehole who’d pay the rent. The worst of the lot resurfaced last year, early release from jail. They had a one-night stand, and now the result of that night’s sitting in front of me.

  It isn’t his fault, though. I can’t deny he’s adorable, the chubby little thing.

  “Deliveries?” I ask Tiernan. “What sort?”

  But before he can answer, I hear her. Her feet hit the floor and a second later, there’s the strike of a lighter. Fiona looks at me with wide eyes, and Tiernan’s jaw clenches. The baby gulps greedily at his bottle, unaware of what’s about to happen.

  “Go,” Tiernan whispers. “I’ve got this.”

  “We both do,” Fiona whispers.

  I shake my head. I don’t want her taking her anger out on them. And I don’t run from anything.

  The heavy sounds of her footsteps approach. Fiona bites her lip. I continue cleaning up the kitchen as if it doesn’t make me nauseous to hear her coming.

  “Thought I heard you out here.” My mother’s behind me, and I keep my back deliberately to her.

  “Aye,” I say, wiping the counters down. “Brought some groceries, but I’ll be leaving shortly.”

  “We don’t need your handouts, you know. You can leave now.”

  It’s how it always starts, every argument. The last time I came, she threw a teacup at my head and nearly hit me, because I had the nerve to bring Fiona new shoes.

  It wasn’t always like this. Before the baby, we were at least civil. But I was the one that saw to her boyfriend’s recent arrest, and she knows it.

  I may not be able to get the courts to grant me custody, but I’ll be damned if I see the son of a bitch raise his hand to anyone. One black eye to Tiernan, and I pulled every fucking favor I had to get the son of a bitch’s arse sent back to jail. I was successful, and she hasn’t forgiven me.

  “I know,” I say, trying to keep the mood light. I don’t want to fight with her. Not tonight. Not in front of my brothers and sister. “But I like to visit them, and I like to give them a little treat now and then.”

  She scoffs. “Bollox. You like to show off, is what you do.”

  My temper flares, and I keep it in check with difficulty. It’s my downfall, every fucking time.

  “Go,” Tiernan repeats softly. “I’ve got this.”

  “Not until I know you’re okay,” I say in a whisper.

  “She won’t touch me,” he says. “I can handle this. Don’t worry.”

  But I do. I worry about all of them. I can’t sleep at night knowing they’re still under her roof. Wondering if they have food in their bellies.

  Children shouldn’t be raised in squalor. I ought to know.

  I take a look at the time on my phone. I really should be going. I feel guilty, though, leaving them for what one could argue is a selfish reason.

  But I can’t save them. And I have a job to do.

  I ignore mum’s ranting and bend to kiss Fiona on her cheek.

  “Thank you, Sheena,” she says, giving me a smile. I pat the baby’s head and stand.

  My mother’s rifling through the groceries I’ve brought. “Just what I thought,” she mutters. “All high end, posh stuff. A reminder of how much better you are than us.”

  I want to tell her to go fuck herself, to shove those chocolate-dipped biscuits up her scrawny arse. Even a year or so ago, I would’ve. But not today. I have to go, and I don’t want her taking her rage out on the children.

  “You’re welcome,” I say as pleasantly as I can, turning to leave, when I feel her grab me by the hair. I stifle a scream. I don’t want to startle Fiona. I’ve learned a thing or two the past few years, though. I swivel with my arm bent and raised. She’s weak. I easily smack her away.

  “Don’t touch me,” I warn. “You really don’t want to do that.”

  And she doesn’t. She knows I won’t take it.

  Her eyes widen. It breaks my heart to see eyes that mirror my own, gray-flecked green. She was a pretty woman once, long before alcohol and misery aged her. She isn’t even forty years old, having birthed me in her teens, but she’s got the face and body of a much older woman.

  The tattered gray top she wears sags on her, the black leggings filthy. She’s barefoot, her feet smudged with dirt, and there are track marks on her arms. I still, noting the details. This is a new fucking conundrum.

  I grab her wrist and spin her arm over, but she yanks it away. “Go,” she spits. “Get your fancy arse out of here, and don’t come back.”

  I step away and shake my head. “I’ll be back,” I say to Fiona, whose eyes have welled with tears at my mother’s words. I give her a reassuring smil
e.

  I wait until I turn the corner, half hoping Cian comes out again. Even in heels and a skirt, I feel like I could take him right now. But he doesn’t resurface.

  I walk to my car and think. Maybe I could get custody. If my mother’s shooting up and neglecting them, I might have a case against her. And I’ve made connections in my line of work. Connections that could help.

  But if I were to take them, how would I finish the job I’ve set out to do? It requires flexibility and compromise. The very job I have to do tonight means if I’m successful, I won’t return home. And I can’t take men home if the children are there.

  A part of me wants to call a friend to listen to me, to help me decide what to do. But I’ve hidden my past from the few friends I have. I don’t let on who I was or where I came from. The squalor of my past remains in my past, and I’ll do whatever I can to keep it that way.

  Tonight, I’m going to The Craic. It’s party night at the club. It’ll draw all sorts, and I could get a lead on a story.

  And I have a mission.

  I avoided going there for a while, after one of the leads I followed blackmailed me. I was honestly scared. I knew my job as an investigative reporter was dangerous. I knew I treaded in shark-infested waters. But I’d managed to avoid getting caught and hurt so many times, I’d almost convinced myself I was invincible.

  I was not.

  I am not.

  But after the incident at the club, I decided I wouldn’t run with my tail between my legs. I’d do what I had to. I’d get my work done. I wouldn’t let a bully and a run-in with danger push me away from doing my job.

  So I went back, but I’m much more careful about who I interact with.

  I tell myself I go back because I won’t cower in fear. But I know there’s another reason, one I don’t like to admit.

  Nolan McCarthy.

  I hate him. I’ve been tracking his family for years, and he’s onto me. He caught me on their property last year, he threatened and punished me, and I know I was lucky I got out alive. The McCarthy family is one of the most powerful mobs in all of Ireland. Spies don’t live to see the light of day, and I know this.