Wed to the Bad Boy(127)

“You agreed to do me a favor if I did one for you. Gotta make sure it is a good deal. I’m a crook, but I ain’t no cheat.” He grinned. “Besides, been a while since I cracked some skulls, too much of this business shit, not enough muscle building.”

I turned and looked at Layla, who was none too pleased, but rather than saying anything she just gave me an icy stare.

“So, it’s decided? The two of you are going to go into this together? What about me?” Her nostrils flared.

“You need to stay safe. This is doling out justice, Layla. We have to do it.”

I had a feeling she wasn’t buying it.

But that was where we differed, and I wasn’t going to back down now.

I had to have blood.





Layla

I don’t want to do this anymore. It was too much, too soon. I should’ve stayed in Chicago. I should’ve refused to attend the funeral.

It was a spiral of shit that I couldn’t possibly climb out of, and now Cullen was doing something foolish. He was always barging into shit and making decisions without even thinking it through. He never consulted Bones, he didn’t even fucking call them and tell him what he was doing before he left. It was going to have consequences. Going against the MC and siding with the fucking Irish Mob.

How stupid could he be?

I knew I had to do something on my own to stop this shit storm from getting too big and too dangerous.

Maybe that was why I was at the house, rooting around in Sean’s drawers. I don’t know what I was trying to find, my sanity maybe? I just wanted something, something of his to remind me of what we were fighting for.

That’s when I saw it. A little note tucked into the corner of the drawer. A little note.

Lala,

Don’t come home. It’s not safe. Bones.

Sean

Bones. What did this mean? I wasn’t sure, but I needed to focus on Cullen and his plans for HB.

What if Cullen was walking into a trap of Strike’s own devising? What if they were both walking into a trap?

I couldn’t go to the MC. I didn’t trust them. Not all of them, anyways. Besides, I wouldn’t betray Cullen to people I barely trusted. There was something about the way Bones looked at me, the way he dealt with this whole thing that had me doubting him. No, only a couple of them could help him now.

I could trust my uncle and DeMarcus. And that was it.

That was all I had. But it would have to be enough. I needed to get to them. Needed to get their help.





Chapter 13

Cullen

“And you’re sure this is where he lives?” This was probably stupid as fuck, going into this back alley with Strike and following him up to a little piece of shit shack barely holding on to its bricks.

“It’s his ma’s place and he’s been stayin’ here. Unless he’s with one of his women, it’s where he’ll be.”

I knocked hard on the door. It was the front door of an alley house, so it was about as stable as you’d expect it, weeds growing up around the North Braddock home, threatening to strangle the house take over.

“What?” The voice of an old woman yelled, her years of smoking clearly chipping away at any softness, leaving behind a rough rumble instead.

“Mrs. McCartney? It’s me, Liam O’Brien. I just wanted to check on you, ma’am. See how you are doing.” I watched as the facade of politeness washed over Strike, changing him entirely. No more was he the mob boss, but he was a sweet boy, the kind you imagined offering to wash your dishes after dinner.

He was damn good.

“Willem said if you came around I was to turn you down, said you wanted trouble. But I don’t want no trouble with yer Pa. Whatever yinz boys is doin’, that’s on you. Not me.”

“Wise woman,” he complimented her.

“Me and my friend here, we need to speak to your boy. He’s been missin’ a lot of work, and I’m afraid he’ll lose his job at the distribution center if I can’t get ahold of him.”

That money must’ve been all she was getting, at least besides her welfare checks, because when she opened the door, finally, I could see the look of desperation in her eyes.

“You’d let him keep his job? He said he was fired.”

“No such thing. I’m sure it is all just a big misunderstanding, Mrs. McCartney. That’s what I am here about. So if you could just—”

“He’s down at Patty’s pub, over in Wilkinsburg. Probably playin’ pool with them boys he likes to gamble with.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” I swear, if he had a hat, he would’ve tipped it.

“And they just tell you what they want to know?” I asked.

“If they don’t, they know someone will be around later, and they won’t be so nice.” He said, grinning.