King of the Cage: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Devil’s Own)
King of the Cage: Chapter 6

I stalked through the ER doors and found a rabble of O’Connors waiting. I looked at Ion, Quinn’s bodyguard.

“What happened?”

“She snuck away from me at the party. Went to another place. Thank fuck for that tracker in her phone. Some guys gave her something. I came along when they were carrying her out to the van.”

I was moving before I could stop myself. My fist met Ion’s nose with a harsh crack, and he was going down. Declan grabbed for me, but I was too furious. I lunged after Ion, punching him again and again. Hospital security ran for me, but a slow shake of the head from Declan stopped them.

“Don’t get involved, lads, if you know what’s good for you,” he advised.

I hauled Ion up. “You let her get away from you?”

Ion swallowed hard. “I didn’t expect it. She’s twenty-one, for feck’s sake… she should know better.”

I let out a twisted laugh.

“Jesus,” Declan muttered behind me.

“Oh, Ion, I didn’t know I’d be buying your mam flowers today… Too bad you didn’t think about what you’re going to put her through when I rip your goddamn head off!” I all but roared.

Ion was pale, his eyes lowered.

“Not here, boss. Kill him later… slower,” Dec suggested, giving Ion a twisted grin. “Go check on Quinnie.”

His words cut through my anger. I stepped back, dropping Ion to the floor, and scrubbed a hand down my face, chasing away the remnants of Giada’s taste. The night had gone from Heaven to Hell in a moment. “Where is she?”

Another O’Connor man standing to the side and trying his best to keep out of the firing line, pointed down the hall.

Seconds later, I jerked back the curtain of a cubicle at the end of the corridor, and Quinn jumped. She blinked up at me, her face a mess. She had long black mascara lines trailing down her cheeks and lipstick smudged around her lips. Her glittery sequined dress looked like she’d gone ten rounds with a bush, half torn and hanging off. She had a hospital gown on like a cardigan, and the sight of it was enough to boil my blood.

“Quinnie?” My eyes met hers, and her strong, wary expression immediately crumpled.

She sobbed as she took me in and raised her arms toward me. Like she always had when she’d been a wee lass, looking to her older brother to protect her.

And tonight, I’d fucking failed.

I strode over to her and hugged her. I gripped her tightly, crushing her against my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here. You’re safe,” I said like a chant, holding her close.

She shook.

Someone was going to answer for this.

When Quinn had calmed, I sat next to her bed.

I wrapped my hand around hers. “What happened?”

Quinn took a few halting breaths and then melted into my side. I draped my arm around her shoulders, hoping she could take some strength from my presence

“I don’t know. I can’t remember,” she admitted. “It’s all a blur. I seriously don’t remember anything, not just tonight, but longer… this whole week, maybe even the last one, too. It’s all hazy. The last thing I really remember was visiting Mam together. We got takeout on the way home. I remember that, and then, this now, waking up in the hospital, Ion beside himself and calling everyone.” She smoothed her hands down the covers. “I don’t know what happened.”

I jerked my head toward Declan, who lounged by the wall, keeping everyone else out. “Get Ion.”

He nodded and moved away without a word.

“Did I get hurt?” Quinn wondered.

“I don’t know. We’ll have Doc come and see you.”

Doc, otherwise known as Keiran, one of my oldest friends, and my father’s second-in-command, was the family physician. He was the only one I trusted with Quinn.

She nodded and hugged herself.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” I asked, my hands curling into hard fists at the question. People would die answering for this, but if they’d touched her… not only would Ion die a death that would take weeks, but so would everyone involved in this.

“Only my head… and my pride. I’m an O’Connor.” She let out a long, defeated sigh. “I should be smarter than this.”

“You’re plenty smart. Never blame yourself for others’ evil. They are the guilty ones, and they’ll pay the price. You have my word.”

Quin nodded and looked over at me. “When did we go and see Mam?” she asked, returning to one of the most troubling parts of this entire thing.

“Nearly three weeks ago.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and she shook her head incredulously. “It’s so odd. It’s blank. Will my memories come back?”

“I’m sure they will, Quinnie. I’m sure they will. Don’t worry about it, anyhow. Doc will check everything is okay.” I sounded far more confident than I felt. What kind of drug caused memory loss that long? It was troubling.

Ion stumbled in, with Declan right behind.

Dec pointed at the floor. “Sit.” He sounded as pissed off as I was that Quinn had nearly been hurt.

Ion grunted, shifting himself. His mouth was already swollen, and his nose clearly broken, both eyes quickly turning a pleasing purple.

Quinn clamped her hand over her mouth in horror. “Bran! It’s my fault. I snuck away, didn’t I?”

“He’s supposed to stop you. That’s literally his job, and he failed at it.” I looked at Ion. “He’s lucky he’s still breathing. Tell her.” I inclined my head toward my sister.

Ion nodded hastily. “I’m lucky I’m still alive, seeing what I failed to do. I’m sorry you were hurt, I’m sorry I wasn’t there⁠—”

“Enough. Tell me what you saw, every single detail.”

Hours later, I sat in The Selkie’s Rest, the pub I lived above, and downed a shot of scotch.

“Steady there,” Dec muttered, topping up my glass.

Outside the stained-glass windows, dawn crept across the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.

“You, too.” I raised an eyebrow at the sight of him downing an extra shot.

He shrugged. “If you don’t drink when you hear about shit like tonight, when do you?”

I knocked my shot glass against his. “Too fucking right. Sláinte.”

“Isn’t it too early in the morning to be getting wrecked, you degenerates?” a deep, hoarse voice called.

Colm O’Connor, patriarch of the family, was wheeled into the pub, flanked by his usual circle of yes-men. Where my da had always been strong as an ox and filled with a deadly cunning, these days, he was a shadow of himself. Now, there was the oxygen tank beside him, and the heavy plaid blanket over his knees, and the damn illness that was eating away at his strength. He still showed his face, of course, to prove to the men that he still held total control of the family. I knew it cost him to appear so weak and frail, but he did it anyway. My da had been born a hard man, and he’d die one.

“It’s been a long night,” I told him, standing and following him to his favorite booth.

Dec lounged against the wall beside us, while Da’s men made themselves comfortable at the bar. If it was odd to be having a family meeting at five a.m., no one showed it.

“So, what happened with your sister?” Da jumped right into it.

“She was drugged at a party. Ion got her out in time before anything happened to her.”

Da’s eyes narrowed at me. “And you were…?”

“Busy,” I stated flatly, guilt licking at me. Busy eating premium-grade cunt belonging to our rivals and neglecting my fucking responsibilities. Nothing I was about to admit to. Despite my best intentions and a lifetime full of living up to my da’s low expectations of me, his disappointment could still cut deep. Luckily, having daddy issues was always in style.

Da narrowed his rheumy eyes at me and sighed. I knew that sigh. It held my sum worth as a person.

“You know who did it?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not yet. I have enough to go on, though. Some new guys, Ion had never seen them before. Not your usual, apparently. The drugs were in liquid form, and they had them in little branded bottles, handing them out to like-minded guys like sponsored merch at a trade show.” Out of my pocket, I fished the small vial Ion had managed to swipe as he’d taken Quinn out of there. I placed it on the bar top.

The little bottle was clear plastic and even had a logo stamped on the front. I hadn’t been kidding about the professional look of the stuff.

“I don’t know this mark,” Da said, fingering the bottle, sliding his thumb over the logo.

“Me neither, but I will. I’ll replace out who makes it, who distributes it, and who gave it to Quinn.”

Da nodded. “Is she hurt?”

“Only her pride.”

Da smirked. “What’s it do?” He put the bottle down.

A vague sick feeling of disgust coated my mouth as I told him what Ion had told me. “Apparently it’s not like anything we’ve seen before… it takes away free will.” I had to force the words past my lips.

Da’s eyes jumped to mine. “Come again?”

“Ion said that when he found Quinn, she was sitting, staring at a wall. A whole row of women were doing the same. They were highly… biddable,” I spat.

Da’s fist curved into a ball. “They made your sister do something she didn’t want to?”

“I don’t think so. Ion caught up pretty quickly. Quinn doesn’t remember. This fucking shit causes some kind of memory loss. The last thing she knows for sure was over three weeks ago.”

Da’s forehead furrowed, and he shook his head. “Just when you think the world can’t get any more lost… something new comes along and proves you wrong.”

I was quiet, letting him process what had nearly happened.

“We need to stop this shit,” I spoke when he sighed.

“Your sister wasn’t hurt, so why bother?” Da asked.

I stared at him. “Because there are some lines that shouldn’t be crossed… Whether you agree with me or not, we both know it’s true.”

Da shook his head again. “This is your problem, Bran, and it always has been. Stay in your lane.”

I shook my head. “No. Not this time,” I argued with him.

“It’s not any time with you,” Da muttered darkly.

After a while, he shrugged, rolling his shoulders back and cracking his soft-sounding bones. “I’ll trust you to take care of that. It’s not the only reason I’m here.”

Da seemed to shrug off the conversation about the drugs. I’d hardly expect more, honestly. Colm O’Connor was certainly not morally against drug dealing and was a businessman at heart. The only thing that would bother him was if it affected his bottom line.

“You trust me to take care of it?” I echoed. “Call the presses… it’s a big day for little old me.”

Da’s expression melted into annoyance. “Well, taking care of your sister is one of the only things you’ve never fucked up… until tonight. I trust you’ll do what you have to, to make it right. You never did like to see her cry.” He said the last with a tone that implied that caring if Quinn shed tears was evidence of my irreparable weakness.

“Besides,” he continued, “I hear you were causing trouble at the wedding last night?” Da wheezed. His voice was thin nowadays, thanks to the hole in his throat, left by throat surgery.

“It was a friendly little round. The Italians signed off on it. It was playful.” I shrugged.

“You broke the younger Sepriano’s nose in three places,” Da muttered.

“Yeah, and I wanted to break his neck, so he got off lightly.”

Da tutted and then coughed. “Still making things hard, at your age. Sepriano is an all right kid, working his way up in city council, and could be useful one day.”

“He’s a cunt,” I said simply.

I waited as my dad spluttered out a chuckle and then gathered his breath.

“Then he’ll fit right in in politics. I didn’t come here just to talk about him. I have an ask of you.”

“An ask? It’s been a while since you asked anything of me at all,” I pointed out.

“Then you can understand how important this is to me. This brewing tension with the De Sanctis family is no good for us. It’s bad business all around.”

“And?”

“In my day, there were only a few ways to settle bad blood. First was an all-out war, and like I’ve always said, that’s bad business. The second? Marriage.”

I stared at my dad for a beat. Fucking marriage again. As soon as I became an adult, my da had been looking for a way to give my existence meaning in the family. His chosen method was to marry me off to some unsuspecting mobster’s daughter, to consolidate O’Connor power. My refusal to entertain such a marriage, and my inability to stay the fuck out of prison, had messed with his plans.

“So, a De Sanctis family marriage? Renato, while handsome as sin, is taken, sadly — that was his wedding I was at — and besides, I don’t think I’m his type.”

Da sighed, adjusting the oxygen tubes in his nose.

“Don’t be an eejit. It’s high time you tied the knot and we had some family heirs. Quinn’s too young. Killian’s locked up, and Ronan, well, he’s not blood. It’s down to you. Your marriage will end the tensions between the De Sanctises and O’Connors. Finally, a contribution to the family that you can actually manage.”

“I’m not marriage material. I’ve told you that before. I’m not interested,” I said stiffly.

I’d thought my da had dragged his old bones here at daybreak to talk about Quinn. I hadn’t expected to be blindsided by my father pushing an arranged marriage. More fool me. I should have guessed that if Da wanted to see me, it meant trouble.

Da watched me for a long while and then shrugged. “Okay, then. I know I said Quinn is young, but she’s not that young. I’ll replace a powerful player for her to marry… maybe the Turks, that would give us a decent power boost against the Italians. A good husband will keep her out of trouble. No more sneaking off to parties and escaping her bodyguard.”

“You wouldn’t. You dote on that girl. She’s the only thing left in your cold, dead heart. You’re trying to manipulate me, and it won’t work. You won’t force her to do anything.”

I sat back, giving off the picture of perfect ease, but inside I was tense. I wasn’t nearly as confident as I made out.

“You think because I love her, I won’t force her to do what’s best for the family? If you’re not sure, look at your mother… She didn’t want to marry me, no doubt she told you.” He glanced at the picture over the bar. It was a watercolor painting my mam had done of the old farm outside Dublin, where the O’Connor family had first lived. He seemed lost in thought as he stared at it.

“She never said so directly,” I admitted, fascinated to get a glimpse of my father’s perspective on his ill-fated marriage to my mam. “How did you make her?”

Da’s voice was soft, traveling through time. “I stole her skin.”

Stole her skin? Before I could question that odd comment, he coughed. One of his men drifted closer.

“You should go home,” he said to Da.

Da nodded and let the man turn his wheelchair.

“Renato will never go for it,” I told him flatly. “Whatever sacrificial lamb you have in mind to force to become an O’Connor, Renato will never agree.”

“You’re right. That’s why we don’t give him a choice. You marry the girl, and then we work things out. Ask for forgiveness, never permission.”

“Who are you even talking about? Sofia is long married, to Nikolai. As we both know. He doesn’t share.”

“Yes, unfortunately there was only one De Sanctis girl. I’m thinking of the Santoris. Elio Santori’s little sister, to be exact.”

My heart suddenly beat hard. That feeling of fate, pressing down on all sides of me, closing in. An inevitable path appearing beneath my feet… to become a man like my father after all. I’d vowed a long time ago to never be like him.

My da coughed again, the sound similar to what I’d imagine hacking up a lung might sound like. He cleared his throat and glared at me weakly.

“You know what you have to do and what I expect of you. I know you’ve pretty much ducked out on O’Connor life, so this is the one thing I’ll ask of you. If you care about your sister, you’ll do it. Marry the Santori woman and do it quick. There’s no time to waste.”

Da was wheeled toward the door. “Get it done, Brandon, and make me proud. You have a real chance, this time. Make me proud.”

And then he was out the door, his security surrounding him, leaving me there to stare after him.

Níl aon comhtharlúintí ann, níl ann ach cinniúint.

There are no coincidences, only fate.