The Wedding Pact (The O'Malleys #2)(41)

Fine. He’d give Joe his goddamn fear. “Who runs the Hallorans, Joe?” Despite trying to muscle every single emotion down to where he could lock it away for what he needed to do next, he sounded so goddamn tired.

The man in the chair started to sweat. “You do, boss.”

Too little, too late. He moved closer, his feet feeling like they weighed a thousand pounds. “Me, Joe. Not my brother. You learned that lesson a little too late.” He forced the man’s fingers apart. “But you won’t forget it again.”

An hour later it was done.

James walked out of the room, his skin feeling too tight. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He stopped next to where Michael leaned against the wall, a toothpick in his mouth. “Get him cleaned up and home. He can figure out how to splint the fingers himself.” The words were foul in his mouth, and he had to resist the urge to spit.

“Sure thing, boss.” Michael pushed off and took two steps before he stopped. “You did the right thing.”

That’s what he was afraid of.

Once upon a time there’d been a right and a wrong and a clear line between them. Now everything was upside-down and backward. He lived in a reality where torturing a man was the right thing to do—the lesser of two evils—and he’d never hated himself as much as he did in that moment. But there was no getting off this crazy train—the doors had closed and they’d left the station. The only thing to do was ride it out to its conclusion and hope there were enough people left standing to make the whole thing worthwhile.

He wanted to talk to Carrigan. Just being around her was enough to hold all the shit he didn’t want to deal with at bay, but he couldn’t bring himself to call her with another man’s blood on his hands and his cries for mercy still ringing in James’s ears. No, he’d shower, go down to the weight room, and then shower again.

Maybe if he punished his body enough, he’d be able to bear the new stain on his soul.





Chapter Twelve


Cillian sat across from his father and oldest brother, waiting for the guillotine blade to fall. He damn well knew that they’d been waiting these last four months for him to pull himself out of his spiral and step into the slot they’d created for him. The family bookkeeper had been making noises about retiring for over a year now, and it was finally time for Cillian to go through the necessary training to bring him up to speed so he could take over.

Once upon a time, he hadn’t cared about the future. He’d known where his place would be, and he’d been content with that—as long as he got to experience as much as he possibly could before he was forced to take up the mantle of family responsibility. It was never something he railed against like his brother Teague, because he actually liked the work he’d be doing.

But he was having a hell of a time getting excited about it—getting excited about anything—now.

His father sat behind his massive desk, and Cillian couldn’t help thinking he looked small. Seamus O’Malley had always been larger than life, but the events of the last few months had affected him just as much as they had every other member of their family. There were new lines on his face, and his shoulders bowed as if carrying the weight of the world. For the first time in living memory, he looked old. Not that anyone had the balls to point it out.

Seamus steepled his hands. “Enough is enough.”

Ah. They weren’t here to talk to him about stepping up to be the bookkeeper. This was about Devlin. Cillian sat back and stretched his legs out, crossing them at his ankles. They could do this now, but he wasn’t about to make it easy on them. I’m not the only one who’s walking wounded, but I’m the easiest to focus on. Maybe it was better this way. If their father was determined to nail his ass to the wall, it gave his little sisters a chance to find their feet. Not Carrigan, though. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t play stupid.” This came from Aiden. He actually took a step forward, his fists clenching, before their father held up a hand to stall him.

“We’ve all mourned Devlin—”

For fuck’s sake. Cillian straightened. “Really? Because it seems to have been business as usual. Real nostalgic.” No one was saying what they were thinking—that it would have been better if he had been the one to take the bullet.

The shock of the thought nearly took his breath away. It was a truth that he’d been dancing around for months, and there was something cathartic in finally letting himself think it. It should have been me.

Devlin was the one with the world at his feet. Cillian was just going through the motions, dicking around as much as possible. Even with his destined role as accountant, he was expendable.