Mob Bride (The O’Rourke Brotherhood #5)

Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Shane

This is about as good an idea as a Green Card marriage, except those can end when the person gets their Permanent Resident status. The things the feds would charge Carrie and me with have no statute of limitation, and even though it would protect us from having to testify against each other, there’re other people who’d testify. They’d see us locked up, then throw a party. But this is one of the few things I can do to help protect Carrie, so I will.

It should make her untouchable, but my family history’s proven we tend to fuck that up and ruin Christmas for the whole family. Things are getting better, though, since we’ve shown the other syndicates we’re reformed. Now that Uncle Don is gone, and that shitbag Declan didn’t get more than a blink of the eye in charge, we’ve reestablished some sense of homeostasis. Or at least created a new one that works for most of us.

It’s not the way it was back in the day when women and children were one-hundred percent off-limits, but we’re getting there. I’d say they’re ninety-six percent off-limits, which is better than the zero percent they were during Dillan’s predecessors.

If I marry Carrie and the other syndicates understand there’s no limit to what I’ll do to protect her—and that goes the same for the rest of the members of my family—then maybe there’ll be a scant number of people willing to testify against us. And those who do, know there’s a target on them. Just like those fuckers who manhandled Sean will die—just not today or tomorrow—so will anybody who dares testify against us. We’ll wait long enough for it to not be an obvious connection, and then they’ll be gone. It’ll look like natural causes. We’ve gotten very good at that.

It’s not ideal to start a marriage this way. But if I hadn’t truly believed this is where we’re heading, I never would have pursued her. I’ve known that all along, but I haven’t said it because I haven’t wanted to get my hopes up she’d feel the same way and want the same things I do. I know she suggested this out of necessity, not love. But who knows?

Maybe we’ll make it work and have a happily ever after. That or we’ll be the first couple in my family’s history to get a divorce. Not exactly the first I want to be known for. But that’s neither here nor there. We’ll make the most out of it and do what we can. That’s why I agreed to this.

I’m waiting for Dillan to get back. Then they should release me. I’ve got a new set of fingerprints on file. Not that it’s changed since I was fifteen. That was the last time I got booked for anything. It’s not like some movie where I’ve scraped off my fingerprints to leave nothing there, or somehow implanted a new set to confuse them. It’s just good ole me. What you see is what you get, at least with my fingerprints.

“Okay. Paperwork’s taken care of.”

“Am I released on my own recognizance? Do they expect me to hand over my passport?” I ask this in all seriousness, since it’s a good likelihood that’s the temporary outcome until an arraignment or a trial.

“No, they have no real probable cause, so I forced their hand. They have to cut you loose.”

“I can live with that. Where’s Carrie now?”

I sent my reply to her proposal, then Dillan took his phone when he stepped out. I don’t know what may have happened while he was dealing with my paperwork. No one’s said anything about her actually going to Central Booking.

“I texted Cormac.”

“Do you know what they’ve been asking her?”

They’ll try harder with Carrie. While they attempt to wait it out with Sean, they’ll keep her in there and try to scare her.

“I haven’t heard from him yet. All I know is they took her in a separate interrogation room like they did you and Sean. As best I know, Cormac’s still with her, even though they tried to separate Seamus and Sean.”

“I bet that didn’t go over so well.”

“No, I’d say it didn’t. Seamus started writing names and making phone calls.”

“Speaking of phone calls, where are our dads?”

“I don’t know. I left a message for mine, but I haven’t heard from him yet.”

That inspires no relief in me when they’re supposed to be pulling strings for us. I wonder if they’re getting to Judge Hartman finally, since he’s the one who signed that warrant to search my house.

He’s the one who’s always behind all of this. I’m curious to know what Phil or Hunt—I learned that’s Spencer’s first name—fed him to convince him to sign the warrant. It doesn’t take much, but even he knows he has to have some solid ground to stand on, or else he’ll lose the bench.

He’s been sitting comfortably for the past twenty years. He definitely doesn’t want to lose that position because the moment he does, he becomes a target to every syndicate. He knows we can’t do much to him now. He’s banking on if he dies or disappears, it’ll all point back to us, since we’re the ones he goes after most frequently. It means we put up with him and thumb our noses at him every time he reaches a little too far.

Dillan and I watch Angela come into the room they took me to, so they could separate me from Sean and Carrie. We never left the DEA office, so Central Booking won’t be my hotel tonight. That’s certainly not somewhere I’d like to accumulate points because there’s no trading them in for an upgrade.

“Mr. O’Rourke, you’re free to go. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience, my Great-Aunt Fanny.”

“Be that as it may, Mr. O’Rourke, we apologize for interrupting your day.”

I’ll take it, since it’s better than nothing. “What about Carys?”

“What about her? For someone who’s not involved with her, you seem awfully concerned about her.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? She’s done nothing but her job, and almost died for it several times. Now all of you turn on her. What’s being done to call off whatever Bartlomiej ordered?”

“He’s dead. Anything he put in place is gone.”

Dillan and I snort, but I won’t argue with her, since this room is likely bugged. I’m pretty certain it is, even though the red light in the corner went off when Dillan said he wanted to speak to his client privately, as opposed to his cousin. For people like us, the ears never go away. Admitting the hit will stick until Carrie’s dead or someone changes their next leader’s mind will only confirm we know more about the inner workings of syndicates than we’ll acknowledge. It only opens up more questions none of us wish to answer.

“What are you going to do to protect Carys until you’re certain the Poles won’t retaliate?”

“I’d think that would be your problem now.”

Problem?

“I thought you and Carys were friends.”

“We were, but I’m not friends with people who sleep with mobsters. She’s done that at least twice.”

I shoot her a disbelieving look. She laughs at me.

“You really believe she never fucked Bartlomiej in all that time? You really think her virgin act lasted? I never took you for a naive man, but apparently she has you just as pussy-whipped as she got Bartlomiej. There’s no way she did that without putting out.”

If I didn’t know Carrie as well as I feel I do, Angela’s words would create the doubt she’s trying to stir, but I don’t believe her. I don’t believe Carrie lied to me about this. I choose to believe she didn’t. More fool am I if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe so.

I think she would have admitted that long ago. I’ll tell her what Angela said, and I’ll read her reaction. My family trained me to sniff out a liar, any and everywhere. She’s been evasive. She’s bent the truth, but she hasn’t truly lied to me yet. I don’t believe she’d start now.

I wanted her to explain her comment, but now my expression is impassive. I won’t let her think she’s rattled me since she hasn’t. Let’s see what she goes back and reports to Stevie and Philly. Angie ranks about as high on my list of trustworthy people as they do. I get she has a job to do, but she doesn’t have to be so gleeful while selling Carrie out. She’s playing the game we all do when we interrogate someone, but her game isn’t as good as mine.

“Thank you for letting me know, Agent. I’ll be sure to remember you so graciously educated me on this.”

She can take my thanks however she wants. I said nothing verifiably threatening, so she’s shite out of luck trying to prove that. She nods and puts papers on the table in front of me and hands me a pen. You better believe I go through it with a fine-tooth comb, then hand it to Dillan, who takes twice as long as I do. Not because he needs to, but to make sure they understand we aren’t taking this matter lightly.

It would be wonderful if you could easily sue the government for wrongful detention and harassment. It’s pathetically cliché how they’ve given themselves immunity from breaking their own laws. Yet, they think we’re the reprobates. We have our own system of laws we adhere to, and when we don’t, justice is much swifter. We’ve all seen that.

In my fucking case, the Cartel was swifter than us, and they stole my right to get back at Bartlomiej and Jacek. But that doesn’t mean we won’t still strike the Poles. This isn’t over by any stretch now I’m involved. Whoever steps into their boss’s role needs to come in understanding what’s waiting for them, and exactly the shitstorm their predecessors left them in. This will carry on for months, and depending on how they respond to their first warning, it may take years before I’m satisfied.

“My client will sign this. I want my copies in triplicate.”

“Triplicate? Mr. O’Rourke, do you think you’re going to get a carbon copy?”

“No, I think I want to send a copy to Judge Hartman to make sure he realizes he no longer has the power to persecute Ms. Pritchard according to this agreement. I’d like to keep one for my records and have one to send to whomever when I need it most. A bird in the hand, and all that.”

The agreement doesn’t force me to confess in order to keep Carrie off their radar. It’s an agreement that sets both of us free. It states there’re no charges formally filed against us, while reserving the right to pursue legal prosecution in the future. It also states Carrie’s release isn’t dependent upon her confession to any of my alleged crimes either. Since they didn’t charge us with anything, and they aren’t holding us as witnesses, they can’t detain us.

They could hold her for professional misconduct, but they must not have the evidence they need to take it past an accusation she could flip into a case for harassment. They can’t even claim she was consorting with a known convict because no one’s been arrested as an adult. My record as a juvenile was expunged.

Grandda made certain of that right before he died. One of the few things he generously did for the other guys and me. He could have let the few charges of petty theft for pickpocketing and a couple for grand larceny since I jacked cars stick as a lesson to us. However, he didn’t. He saw down the road that having a record wouldn’t serve us when we stepped into leadership. We try to stay off of the government’s radar. Even more importantly, having a record is bad for business. It makes people wary to do deals with you when they believe you’re going to get caught.

I’m eager to see Carrie, but I maintain my calm appearance as I wait in the hallway for her. It’s a relief when I spot Sean coming out of the room next door to mine. The only reason they can tell us apart is because Seamus and Dillan had to officially put their names on the documents as our legal counsel. Otherwise, it would tempt us to let them take Sean and let me go, only for them to find out later they swooped up the wrong one of us.

Law enforcement’s questioned us before, and we’ve done the same thing, which complicates police procedurals. It forces them to admit they went after an O’Rourke—any O’Rourke—when they get the wrong one of us. They loathe explaining their mistakes to their superiors when the fingerprints don’t match. They’re one of the few things that aren’t one-hundred percent identical between the two of us. They always have to let the wrongfully detained brother off.

It royally pisses them off when we’re courteous and cooperative. They’d love to pin us with resisting, evading, or striking one of them. It definitely chaps the FBI’s arses when that happens because they’re the ones gunning for us the most. The Attorney General’s office would love nothing more than to convict any of us in the syndicate families, and there’s little we love more than fucking them over.

The weight of the world lifts from my shoulders when Carrie steps out of the interrogation room. I want to open my arms to her and hug her, but that hardly works if we’re trying to refute the claim we’re romantically involved. At least I can offer her a smile when we get to the underground parking lot, still escorted by agents.

The cars are still waiting for us, except one of them is now a limo. I’ll never get too old to have a wave of relief sweep me away when I see my dad. My mom always makes me feel emotionally safe, but my dad makes me feel physically safe, too.

Though I will say, my mom is much more apt to wage a vendetta than any of us men. My aunts are the same, so that sense of physical safety is immediate with my dad, but when I think long term, it’s my mom and aunts. They’ll make sure no one touches a hair on our heads ever again if we come back anything less than their perfect weans—children—they birthed.

When I look at Carrie as my dad walks toward us, I sense she’ll be just as protective if we last and have kids. I never imagined I’d say yes to a proposal without having said or heard I love you first.

I don’t let go of Carrie’s hand as Da hugs me. I know he feels my sigh because he squeezes tighter. Sean does the same thing, and I know my dad squeezed him, too. It’s harder for our mom to wrap her arms around both of us than it is for my dad, but they both manage. There’s never a first and second with this sort of reunion, and neither of us ever wants to make them wait because neither of us can.

When Carrie tries to give us some space so I can wrap my arm around my dad instead of just Sean’s back, I don’t want to let go because I have an irrational fear she’ll disappear if I do. But she shakes her hand loose. Sean has an arm around Da and an arm around me. Now I do the same. She was right. This feels way better, but I turn my head to watch her.

“Sean, Nikki’s already home. I called and let her know. She’s ready to fire up her computer and bring the entire American government to its knees.”

My sister-in-law has the same national security grad degree my brother does, and it’s come in handy more than once. I know Sean feels guilty she cut her trip short by a day, but I’m certain he’s relieved to know she’s still okay. She flew on our family jet, so there weren’t any gate agents blocking her way. She didn’t go through customs like other people would. Let’s just say we have a fast-track pass for things like that.

“Thanks, Da. I’ll call her when I get in the car.”

They took our phones, but they had to give them back upon our release. Since Carrie isn’t carrying one, I’m not worried they found anything on hers. Sean made sure all of ours are so encrypted, it looks like the only thing we do with them is play Candy Crush. I don’t even understand that game.

I watch as everybody heads to all the cars but one. They’re saving a town car for Carrie and me. Thank God because I can’t last another minute. The moment the door closes, we’re on each other. Clothes go flying everywhere within the limited space. The privacy glass is always automatically up in any town car or limo. It doesn’t come down unless the passenger makes it.

The drivers can signal us, and then we can drop it. By now, anybody who drives for our family—and my guess is anybody who drives for any of the other syndicates—knows better than to drop the glass unexpectedly on a couple in the backseat. It wouldn’t surprise me if half my generation was conceived in a town car.

I smile when I see she still doesn’t have any panties on. She had none to put back on, but it makes me happy, nonetheless.

“Daddy, this pussy is yours.”

“You’re right. It is mine. And I’ll do whatever the fuck I feel like doing to it. And right now, I’m starving. I never had breakfast.”

“Daddy, I’m just as hungry.”

I examine the surrounding space. The seat’s too short for me to lie on my back easily and let her climb over me, facing the opposite direction.

“That marvelous idea may have to wait until we’re home, cailín .”

“I know, Daddy. It doesn’t mean that’s not what I want.”

Instead, I press her backwards on the seat. I start with her forehead and kiss my way down the entire length of her body. All the way down her arms to each fingertip. Down her legs to the top of her foot which she twitches.

I realize she’s ticklish. I run my thumbnail up the arch of each foot, and she squirms.

“I will tuck that little nugget away from later, cailín .”

“I’m sure you will, Daddy. Another divine way to torture me.”

“Maybe.” I waggle my eyebrows at her, and she laughs.

Oh, how I love the sound of it. I haven’t heard it nearly often enough, but it’s smoother than the finest bourbon, richer than the finest wine.

It goes straight to my balls and makes them ache, but I’m not ready to fuck her yet. Otherwise, this will be over way too soon. I’d embarrass myself because I’d barely be inside her before I came. I need time to calm my dick down, so I feast on her. I lick her from stem to stern. I press my tongue into her pussy, flicking it back and forth until she’s writhing on the seat, trying to press my head closer to her. I pull away and shoot her a warning glare. She immediately puts her hands over her head and tucks them to hold on to the edge of the seat.

“Good girl.”

The happiness I see when I say that makes me want to find a reason to say it every day for the rest of our lives.

I go back to what I was doing, and she squirms again. Not because she’s ticklish. This is for a different reason. It’s because she’s fighting not to come without my permission. I sense she’s nearing frustration rather than enjoying the edging.

“Daddy, may I come? I really need to.”

There’s a tremble to her voice. I shift up to rest my elbows just above her shoulders. Her legs open even wider to accommodate my hips between them. Then I’m inside her.

Thank God.

We laugh when we sigh at the same time. An instant later, we’re kissing. She draws back at first, not liking the taste of herself, but it doesn’t stop her. There’s nothing to say with words right now. We say it all with our bodies.

We’re saying what we should have before she proposed. What we should say before “I do.” But neither of us is ready for that. Are either of us ready for marriage?