Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(39)

“Aye. Careful out there, Red.” Celt dropped his feet down. “You know how we Irish are.”

Yeah, that was the last thing he needed to worry about.

Parting Glass Tavern, he had heard of it, and not because of its connection with the Irishman he was tracking.

It seemed the McCarthy boy wasn’t the only one that knew and had a thing for the owner.





Chapter Seventeen





Thunder boomed, lightning streaking across the night sky in jagged arcs, briefly illuminating the dark room Reagan stood in. For the better part of two weeks, rain had constantly poured. While she didn’t think herself to be superstitious, she couldn’t help but think perhaps this was mother nature’s way of telling her that waiting in the cold, damp basement for a man that had been dogging at her heels for the last six months was not where she was meant to be.

As far as days went, hers had already gone downhill early in the morning when she had received a call from her bank, informing her that she was late on the lease, again, for the space that was home to her family’s pub. She could have told the man the truth. That times were hard—not to mention the salaries she owed the few employees she had, plus her own bills, rent, and helping out her family.

Or the little fact that more than half the neighborhood was being shaken down by the very men she was in the room with…

But they wouldn’t care about that, only when she was going to send in the check.

Reagan could still remember the good days when The Parting Glass Tavern had thrived. Her parents’ marriage had improved—but that could have also been because her dad had cut back on his drinking—her brother, Jimmy, had come back around after keeping his distance for years. And more than anything, she had finally been able to move out of her childhood home and was now providing for herself.

All had been well until her dad’s drinking had caught back up with him. She didn’t mind working the sixteen-hour days, not even the stress that it put her under trying to run a pub by herself now that her mom and dad were practically nonexistent, but she did mind that once again, her dad’s problem was going to ruin them.

That was if the McCarthy family didn’t ruin them first.

There were a plethora of crime families that called New York home. Russians, Albanians, Italians, and Colombians to name a few, but in Hell’s Kitchen, where working class Irish families lived and thrived, it was only those of similar blood that could spark fear in the natives. Some weren’t necessarily bad, could even say they were decent people by watching after the neighborhood, making sure that any problems that came about were dealt with quickly and quietly.

And when Johnny D from apartment 316 got in that jam for stealing a car from a rich tourist, it was the Flanagan crime family that had gotten him out of t.

But the McCarthys? They only cared about the profit—the bottom line. And if that meant tearing through the streets, hurting people and breaking things to make sure it was understood they were the ones in charge, they did it.

Ever since they had transplanted from Dublin to Hell’s Kitchen ten months ago—where their base of operations was still located—everyone, at one time or another, had felt the unforgiving hand they extended. At first, they had approached under the guise of protection, promising that for a price, they would make sure that no one would harm their businesses. While Reagan hadn’t needed such protection—not when she had a bartender/cook that looked like he could bench a semi-truck and live—but she had understood the lure all the same with the local gangs always making a fuss.

For a while the McCarthy boys had seemed content with this, but soon, not even six months later, they’d demanded payment from everyone.

But not from Reagan, and at first, she hadn’t understood why.

Until later when she learned she was off-limits.

Across the room, standing in the doorway was Liam McCarthy, the youngest of the McCarthy clan, and the man that had been relentlessly trying to force her into a relationship for the first two months they had moved into the city before she had finally given in. As though he felt her gaze on him, he glanced back with what he thought was a charming smile before turning his attention back to whatever his brother, Rourke, was saying.

Reagan could still remember that first day she and the brothers had crossed paths. It had been a late night, one where she had sent everyone home for the night while she finished up running the numbers and cleaning the bar. She had been in the back office, going over the books when she heard the sharp rap at the doors. Liam, Rourke, and two of their ‘friends’ had stood on the other side, Liam giving her a friendly wave as she approached.

The neighborhood wasn’t that big, so she had seen the brothers around, but mostly Liam. He was the nicer of the two, never seen without a smile, and from what Reagan understood, he wasn’t as deep in the family business as he brother was. Word was, he only did the books, but she had learned rather soon that wasn’t true.

Liam had been charming, seemingly wanting to get to know her, but she knew just by their visit to the pub that it wasn’t about him trying to get to know her. Her first assumption was that it was now her turn to pay up for a service she didn’t want.

In a community like theirs, word had gotten around about who and how the extortion took place. Most that whispered about the brothers often said it was Rourke who came for the money, so for that reason, Reagan knew something was off when it was Liam doing the talking.