The Aftermath (The Hurricane, #2)(11)
The picture it came with made me want to vomit. She must have been about seventeen when it was taken. In it, she was unconscious on the floor so I assumed he’d knocked her out. What made me sick was the hand in the photo that had pushed down her shirt and her bra to caress her breast.
“What else did he do when I was asleep or unconscious? How many other photos does he have? Or worse, what if there are videos?” she mumbled into my neck.
I squeezed her to me tightly but I didn’t have a single word of compassion to give her. What could I possibly say that would make this cluster f*ck any better? The only thing I knew how to do when people tried to hurt me and mine was to hurt back. Without that option, I was helpless. And it was f*cking killing me.
After wiping away the tears, Em went to the bathroom to clean herself up. Before she came back, the guys jumped in and I slid the letter and picture into my back pocket. There were some things they didn’t need to see.
“What the f*ck did she want?” Kier asked.
“She’s delivering a letter Frank’s sent from prison but apparently that’s secondary to her being sorry for everything and wanting the opportunity to get to know her daughter better.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Liam commented.
“What do you want to do, Con?” Tommy asked me.
I sighed deeply as I answered him. “It’s her ma so it’s her choice. But if that bitch thinks that I’ll allow her to break Em a second time, she’s got another thing coming.”
“The sooner Frank’s trial is over the better,” Kieran said. “I don’t think any of us will rest easy until this thing is done.”
“There’s something else,” I told them. “Turns out that Frank took pictures when he abused Em. Now he’s sending them to her to mess with us. ” A collection of “f*cks” sounded around the table before Kieran spoke up.
“And her f*cking mother is delivering them?” Kieran asked angrily.
“The last one was mailed but without Frank’s fingerprints, there was nothing to tie it to him. Unless her ma testifies that Frank gave her this letter and that it hasn’t been tampered with, the police ain’t likely to be inclined to do anything about this one either,” I said.
“So what now?” Liam asked, like I had all the f*cking answers.
“We sit tight and wait for the trial. There’s nothing else we can do.”
Chapter 4
“Con, this is Heath Earnshaw. Heath, this is Cormac O’Connell, otherwise known as Con.” It wasn’t often that I met people my size, but this guy that Danny introduced was almost exactly my build. With his brown hair that was almost military short and tanned skin, he could have been my stunt double. I didn’t mind new people training at the gym—Danny always kept the number under control so it didn’t get too busy—but something about the way he’d introduced me to him had me instantly suspicious, like I should know exactly who he was. He held out his hand and said, “Nice to meet you.” Great. He was American as well. Em loved American accents, and I was insecure enough to be pissed off about him being here. My girl only had eyes for me, but that didn’t mean that I wanted anyone trying to turn her head.
“How are ya?” I asked him, shaking his hand. Okay, so it might have been a firmer handshake than I’d usually use but I was starting this pissing contest like I meant it to go on. He gave me a knowing smirk, like he was mildly amused by my childishness, and stepped back.
“Heath is your new manager. I’ll carry on training ya but Heath here will be helping with your training where he can and organizing and promoting your fights.” You had to be kidding me. I ground my teeth together, not wanting to disrespect Danny, but I was pissed that he thought Heath could handle my career better than he could.
“Can I have a word, Danny?” I said, needing badly to let off steam. Danny sighed, like he knew I was going to be a pain in the arse.
“Fine,” he barked. “My office now. You too, Heath. This involves you.” It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I needed a private word with him, but f*ck it. I was pissed, and this kid was getting both barrels. As soon as the door closed, Danny pulled out a rollie and lit it. Inhaling deeply, he blew out the smoke, sighed, then let rip at me. “Right then. You’ve got something to say, Con, let’s have it.”
Crossing my arms across my chest defensively, I looked at the guy, whose face was completely stoic, then turned to address Danny. “I don’t get why you think a kid, that’s only a couple of years older than me, can manage my career better than you. And why an American?”
“Heath? You wanna answer that question?” Danny said.
Heath’s stance mirrored my own as he tried selling himself to me. “I’ve been boxing since I was sixteen and promoting for almost ten years, eight years of which I’ve been contracted to one of the most premier sports agencies in the US. I hold several amateur boxing titles and I have a business degree from UCLA.”
Okay, so his résumé was pretty impressive, but fancy degrees didn’t do anything for me. “Boxing isn’t just a sport for me. It’s a f*cking religion. And the team I’ve got around me now? They’re not just a team. There’s no freeloaders or fair-weather players here. Every one of these boys is f*cking family. Now you swan in here and expect me to let you into my family and trust you with my future. Well excuse-the-f*ck out of me for being so skeptical.”