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One day and my entire world has turned upside down.
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Graham and Saoirse meet me at the warehouse. I glance at Saoirse as we walk in, looking for a flicker of reaction as she strides in, this time in her heeled sandals instead of the biker boots she’d worn the night before. As much as she’d fit in last night, she looks entirely out of place now, and looking at her, I can’t help but wonder how I didn’t see it.
True, she’s grown up a great deal, but now that I know, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her.
A man’s cock truly is his worst enemy at times.
“What’s this?” Jacob asks as the three of us enter the large room where meetings are held. There’s a round table in the center of it—no engravings or mottoes or any of that crap—just a table and the men gathered around it, Jacob sitting to the right of where I normally do.
“There’s something I need to tell you all,” I say clearly, leaving Graham and Saoirse at the back of the room as I circle around the table to my chair, waiting to sit down as I look at the gathered men.
“What is it, William?” Quint, my trusted enforcer, looks up at me, frowning. “Is it something to do with the bird from last night? What’s she doing here?”
“It’s something to do with it, yes.” I place my hands on the table, letting out a breath. “You all trust me, yes? I’ve done my best to lead you well and fairly, to treat every man equally according to his worth and nothing else. There’s no kingdom here, only loyalty and striving for the good of all. I’ve never given you a reason to doubt me.”
“Never.” Jacob looks at me, narrowing his eyes, and I can see Quint turning towards me, the rest of the men, too. “What’s this about, William?”
“My name isn’t William Davies,” I say it clearly, letting the words hang in the air, seeing them dawn on each man’s face as he hears them. I let go of my English accent then and say the next words with the same clarity, my throat tightening as I do so.
“I’m Connor McGregor, Irishman and once the heir to the table of the Irish Kings in Boston. I haven’t been honest with you about that, but I want to tell you now that I did it with good reason, and I hope you’ll hear that with sincerity.”
Every man at the table, with the exception of Jacob and Quint, starts talking over each other, their words indiscernible in the din. Finally, Jacob speaks up, louder than all of them, half-rising from his seat.
“Quiet!” he shouts. “Let’s hear his reasoning, at least.”
“You’re telling me we’ve been led by an Irishman, all this time?” Charlie speaks up from the back of the table, his eyes narrowed.
“An Irishman who’s kept your coffers full and let you sleep easy at night,” Jacob retorts. “I said, we’ll hear his reasoning.”
From across the room, I see Graham raise his eyebrows, Saoirse still and silent next to him.
“I left Boston, and my family and inheritance, of my own accord,” I say quietly, looking around the table. “I disagreed with my father’s plans, with the direction he wanted to take the Kings. He would not be swayed, no matter what I said, and I wanted no part of what he was building. I didn’t want the kingdom that would be passed down to me. I didn’t want the infighting or backstabbing, the hierarchy and ancient ways of doing things. I wanted freedom, and I took it with my own two hands.”
I meet each man’s eyes in turn, my own voice rising. “Each of you here knows that feeling. Each of you has left behind a lawful life, sometimes family, jobs, and security, in search of a freedom that comes from untethering yourself from the expectations of society and starting anew. I didn’t come to London planning to build what we’ve created here, but I saw an opportunity. An opportunity for a brotherhood built not on blood or a name, but on loyalty, on common interest, and a desire to live our lives on our own terms. Whether my name is Connor McGregor or William Davies, I don’t see that it matters. Everything else I’ve done here has been honest and forthright. Each of you is here on your own merit, not because of the blood that runs through your veins, blue or not. William Davies is the man I became when I left Connor McGregor behind, and that’s the man who speaks to you now, as a brother and a leader both.
The table has quieted down by the time I finish speaking, and I can see nods of assent.
“You still haven’t said what this has to do with them,” Charlie speaks up, jerking his head towards Graham and Saoirse. “So what is it? Are they from Boston?”
“They are,” I confirm, and there’s a rumble of conversation again, silenced only by Jacob and Quint’s glares. “I did my best to leave it behind, boys. I mean that. But there’s no past that can’t be unearthed if someone is willing to dig far enough, and these two came armed with some sturdy shovels.” I glance around the table. “I consider us all brothers here. But my brother, by blood, back in Boston, took the seat that I was once meant to hold. And the mistakes he’s made there have put his life in danger. I’ve been given a choice—to go back and take my place as heir, and spare him or stay here and know that his blood is on my hands.”
The silence that hangs over the room is heavy, almost oppressive. I can see the wheels turning in every man’s mind, considering. Finally, as I’d thought he might, Jacob is the one to speak up.
“It’s a jarring tale to hear, to be sure,” he says. “But every man here has sworn loyalty, to you and to each other, to the death if need be. Whether we swore that oath to a man whose true name was William Davies or no, I don’t think it much matters. We built this brotherhood on the idea that a man can be whoever he wishes, and we wouldn’t be right to go back on that now.” Jacob looks around the table and back at me, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m with you, William or Connor, whatever you call yourself. To the end.”
“To the end.” Quint stands too, and then it’s a chorus, each man standing in turn, all the way to Charlie.
“Bloody hell,” he spits. “To the end,” he adds, standing to his feet. “Why the hell not? I’ve done worse things than follow an Irishman.”
“Wait one bloody minute.” Graham steps forward then, halfway to the table before Quint’s glare stops him in his tracks, his white brows knitting together angrily. “You can’t mean to bring your gang back to Boston and integrate them into the Kings, to make us a part of this—this—”
I smirk, holding my ground as I stare at Graham from across the table, from my position there. “I think you might have misunderstood, Graham, what you were getting yourself and the Kings into exactly when you came here to drag me back by my scruff, as it were.”
Slowly I step around the table, stopping a few feet from Graham as I stare him down. “We’re on my turf now. And I tell you this, I’m not my father or Liam, to treat your counsel as if it were gold—though clearly, my brother stopped doing that, as well. The Kings will bend tomywill if I take back the table.”
“They won’t stand for Englishmen at it—” Graham starts to say, and Charlie breaks away from his seat, three others of my men backing him up as they move towards Graham.
“Watch your tongue,Irishman,” Charlie growls, and I hold up a hand, glancing back for Jacob and Quint to control the situation.
“It’s better than a half-breed Russian sitting at the head of it, aye?” I look at Graham coolly, waiting for that to sink in. “You might have all but run the Kings through my father and then Liam, leaning on years of tradition to bolster your position, but if you haven’t figured it out yet, hear me now.” I step closer, my eyes narrowing. “I’m no great lover of traditions, Graham, and your half-reign ends the moment I step foot back in Boston. You can sit at my right hand, you can pretend to be my mouthpiece and speak all you please, but whether I listen or not will be my choice.”
I glare at him, at Saoirse, and back to Graham again. “Get out,” I say clearly, my voice carrying. “When you’re ready to do things my way, let me know, or go back to Boston.”
I smile coldly at him then, echoing the words he’d said to me. “Either way, it’s your choice.”
