Page 12 of Savage Promises
Like, crawl into the lap of your older brother’s best friend.
Upon returning to the bar, I catch my reflection in the mirrored shelves. With my high cheekbones and perfectmakeup, I barely recognize the girl who begged Shane Quinlan to kiss her six years ago.
I’m not that girl anymore.
CHAPTER FIVE
Shane
Connor’s ‘torture tunnel’ is a former sleeping quarters for the cheap immigrant labor used to build the New York City subway system. White rectangular ceramic tiles lining every wall keep the place in a perpetual chill. Perfect for working up a sweat when pummeling someone to within an inch of their life. The smell of mildew is thick and makes my throat close every time I come down here.
Which isn’t often. Damn allergies.
Two rows of ceiling lights cast long, jagged shadows. Someone updated the lighting before abandoning this tunnel. High bays operate on multiple switches, allowing Connor to keep the place dim in some spots and blazing bright in others.
He also installed a system of chains dangling from the ceiling. A drain sits in the center of the floor like a mouth hungry for blood. Of course, one screwdriver to open the grate, and the place will fill up with rats.
Me? I prefer working out of my half-a-million dollar trailer on the UN construction site we broke ground on a few months ago.
A deal we share with the Greeks. A peace forged with Griffin’s marriage to their princess. I wanted to marry Lennox, but my father never would have allowed me to marry a Donnelly. It’s been heart-wrenching to see how successful she’s become. She went off to college and returned with her expensive degree and now she runs a high-end nightclub. Lennox is the embodiment of the kind of woman a mob boss needs in a partner. Strong and independent.
She just has the wrong damn last name.
Garrett sits tied to a steel chair, his wrists and ankles bound with coarse rope dipped in gasoline. Blood trails from his split upper lip. Connor circles him like a predator, flexing his fists.
Rhys stands just out of the light, eyes narrowed with an assassin’s patience. He’s silent, holding a custom AR to Garrett’s head should he get loose and try to attack us.
I’m going through his phone, which is a chaotic mess of social media posts, WhatsApp messages, and porn.
“Look, I’m in debt.” Garrett spits blood. “I have a drug problem, all right? Drugs are everywhere. Don’t look at me like that.”
Connor backhands him hard enough to snap his head sharply to the left, sending a fresh trickle of blood down the side of his face. “Bullshit. No one forced you to use. You don’t see us using, do you?”
“Who’s your dealer, Garrett?” I ask him.
“None of your fucking business.”
Rhys hands me his rifle and steps forward. He rolls up his sleeves with the kind of calm that makes men piss themselves. “Wanna try talking to me that way?”
Garrett’s head drops forward, his breath ragged. “Please, Shane. For the sake of our friendship. All those years we were tight,” he begs through sickening pink-stained teeth, blood smearing his lips.
“That friendship died a long time ago and you know why.”
“Who’s living in the past now?” Garrett fights back.
All I see is Richard Donnelly’s reflection in Garrett’s bony face. The same smug entitlement.
“Astoria got too small for you. You wanted the bright lights of Manhattan. If I knew you’d turn on us, I’d have cut open a vein and threatened to bleed out unless Griffin kept you from carrying our banner.”
Garrett’s red-rimmed swollen eyes lift to mine,desperation clouding his gaze. “So what the fuck are you going to do to me?”
“That depends on you, old friend.” The words scald my throat.
Connor fists Garrett’s hair, yanking his head back. “The Albanians. Where is their armory?”
“W... Why?” he mutters.
“They scored one of the last shipments of 120mm mortar shells from Russia before the sanctions.” I’ve been dying to get my hands on those. And I suspect we’ll find more stolen weapons from other crime families in that armory.
