Even if he’d had a choice in the matter.
“Looks like you’re having a good time.”
He knew that voice. Teague turned around, staring at the mouth of the alley until one shadow detached from the wall and sauntered over. “What are you doing here?”
John Finch leaned against the wall in nearly the same place where Callista had just been. “You should have called.”
“I didn’t think the goddamn feds would care one way or another who I got engaged to.” He was lying through his teeth. They wanted to know every detail he could provide, no matter how insignificant he found it.
“We care about everything you do.” Finch pinned him with those steely gray eyes. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”
Yeah, because he’d been seriously reconsidering the whole thing. It seemed like a great plan to slip information to the cops from time to time—anything to weaken his father’s hold on their portion of Boston. If he ended up in jail, it would free Teague and the rest of his family.
Or so he’d thought.
After months of tips and insider information, nothing had happened. Nothing. He knew these investigations took time, but he’d given them more than enough to put Seamus away for years—and still they wanted more. They didn’t care that his father would be only too happy to kill him if he ever found out what Teague was doing. Hell, Teague didn’t particularly care about that, either. He just wanted the man to go down in flames. He shook out another cigarette and lit up.
“Those things will kill you, you know.”
“There are worse ways to go.”
“You’ve got that right.” Finch laughed, but the sound died nearly before it’d begun. “We need to talk. Sooner rather than later.”
He debated telling the man to fuck off, but if Finch was desperate enough to waylay him here, where anyone could catch them talking, then he was desperate enough to keep popping up. “I’ll call you.”
“Do that.” He turned and started walking toward the street. “By the way—congratulations on your engagement.”
Teague watched him walk away, wondering why the hell the fed sounded so damn pleased by this development.
James Halloran followed his younger brother, Ricky, into their father’s office. His last remaining brother. The monster that had woken in his chest at the news of Brendan’s death only seemed to get more vicious with each hour that passed. It didn’t matter if he was inside or under the open sky—there just wasn’t enough fucking air. All he wanted was some time and space to come to terms with the new order of the world. A world that didn’t have his older brother in it.
He knew well enough that Brendan has his faults—more faults than virtues, though James would never say as much to anyone outside their immediate family. But to kill him like that…There was no honor in that death. He shook his head and closed the door behind him. Right. Because honor would make this hellish situation so much fucking better.
Their father sat in his great chair before a roaring fire, his gaze trained on some memory that seemed a million miles away. James stopped walking, wishing he could leave the old man alone. The news of Brendan’s death was horrific enough, but what he had to report now was going to send Victor over the edge.
And he’d take what was left of their family with him.
Ricky, the idiot, had no such reservations. “We have news.”
Victor shook himself and seemed to come back to them. “You’ve found out who’s killed your brother.”
“No, but—”
“Then why are you here?” He practically roared it, his voice loud enough to have come from a man twice his size.
Ricky shrank back, like a dog that’d been kicked one too many times, and it was everything James could do not to join him. For all his sins, Brendan had always stood between his younger brothers and their father, and now he was gone. Christ, every time he thought that, the claws shredding his chest seemed to grow. He stepped forward, all too aware that he was about to put himself into the warpath. “There’s something else.”
“Then stop standing there with your thumb up your ass, and spit it out.”
Easier said than done. He took a deep breath. “The Sheridan girl—the one who was supposed to marry Brendan—is now marrying Teague O’Malley. They’re announcing it tonight.” Possibly right this second.
Victor’s cane hit the floor with a meaty thump, and he pushed himself to his feet. “Tonight.”
It wasn’t a question but he answered it anyway. “Yes.”
“That bastard didn’t even give me the courtesy of informing me himself.” He turned to the fire again, muttering under his breath. “Should have passed the girl to one of the other boys. Both worthless pieces of shit, but that’s the proper way to do things.”