Da snapped his fingers and pointed one at me. “Not that.”
“What?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Whatever it is you’re thinkin’. Don’t.” Da’s command was law.
Huffing, I relented. “I’ll keep them in line.”
“Good, lad.”
I escaped as the old friends said their long-winded goodbyes. They would be in there another ten minutes, chatting about the weather, the sports, and the price of gas, saying “So long” every few minutes. I didn’t have time for that shite.
I had a grumbling pack of soldiers to whip into shape, a feeble alliance to uphold, and a bride….
A fucking beautiful bride, who I didn’t trust one bit.
Chapter 9 – Liam
“Sláinte!” the lads called out, raising their pints.
My molars clacked together with enough force to break them.
What a bleeding dog and pony show. Funerals made me grumpy. They weren’t for the dead. They were already wrapped in eternal glory—or fighting in the prison yard of damnation. No, funerals were for the living, a final goodbye and a chance to get stinking drunk.
I sat deep in the booth of the Galway Arms. This was one of many joints we owned. Since the damage to the bomb pub—The Prancing Pint—was significant, we were down in revenue. Which meant laundering the funds had to be more carefully spread through our other pubs and eateries. Tonight, the lads drank for free, which served two purposes. It made my father look fucking grand, and it skewed the numbers a hair in our favor.
And it worked. The craic was ninety tonight.
“If Johny-boy drinks anymore, he’ll be calling you out for a fight,” Kevin drawled, falling onto the bench across from me. His stupid mustache twitched. “He’s already making threats.”
“Let him.” I eyed my second cousin once removed across the pub. “He’ll end up right next to his brother sooner than the good lord planned.”
Kevin snorted, and the air made the hairs on his lip dance. He was another McDonagh cousin, a first, but three times removed. Like many of the lads drinking and singing dirges tonight, he’d grown up on the same block as I had. We knew entirely too much about one another, had shared in larks, then in sins. What bound us was more than community. It was the clan we called our own.
I took a long sip of my stout, tapping my phone to see the time.
“Going somewhere?” Kevin observed.
The waitress, a pretty gal by the name of Bridgit, stopped by our booth and deposited two shots of Jameson. Kevin gave her a wink, a pat on the ass, and sent her squealing back to the bar.
“No.” I set my beer down on the table.
Kevin pushed a shot glass across the scarred oak. “Funny, you have that look about you.”
“And what look is that?”
“Like you have business.” He lifted his glass and with a salute, drained it. He winced, shaking his head and making a face.
What a little bitch.
I was tempted to show him how it was done, but I did have plans for the night. And they didn’t involve a bottle of good whiskey. I pushed my shot back to him.
“Thanks, but I’m grand.”
“Come on, Liam. Lighten up.” But Kevin didn’t offer me the shot, slugging it back instead. “Jaysus, mate, he’s got it out for you.”
I shot a look to Johny, who was badly singing at the top of his lungs, shooting scathing glances at me. “He’d be stupider than he looks if he tried.”
“It was his brother. Show a little remorse.”
