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“I’ll tell you what, Artie. Seeing as you owe me five large, I’ll take your pinky,” Mickey says. His man drops to bended knee, pressing his weight onto dad’s elbow. Dad howls while the man grabs at his hand. “Next month, it’s seven and a quarter. If you miss another payment, well, my son, it will be a thumb.”
Something about seeing dad like this strips the joy from my situation. The thought of watching him squirm is sweeter than the act. As much as it pains me to do it, I open the door and step out.
“Dad, is everything okay?” I ask.
Mickey turns to me with a wide-eyed expression. His jaw nearly shatters through the floor and into Mr. O’Leary’s living room downstairs.
“Everything’s fine, Brianna. Go back to your room,” Dad says.
The three men stare at me as if they’ve seen a ghost.
“I don’t wanna.” I pretend to wipe sleep sand from my eyes. “Who are these people?”
Mickey gets up from his seat and kills his cigarette in whatever glass of cheap booze dad had on the side table.
“We were having some fun,” Mickey says. He taps dad’s shoulder with the heel of his shoe. “Isn’t that right, Artie?”
“A good ribbing between old friends,” Dad says. The man holding him in place releases his grip and dad pulls himself to his feet, rotating his shoulder to loosen the muscle.
“Well, we should be going. We’ll be in touch, Artie.” Mickey doesn’t wait for a response while he treads past me. Our eyes never break contact until he disappears into the corridor. This is the closest I’ve gotten to him; all I want is more.
Does that make me just as bad as him? Or am I worse for watching him belittle my father and still want him to have me?
Chapter 2
Mickey
Fuck, I hate this part of town. It reeks of poverty and depression.
I ought to thank my lucky stars, I don’t stay in this shit hole. In a different life, I probably would’ve. Although, I’d be hooked to the needle and shooting off to the stars, forgetting this god-awful life existed.
It’s a damn shame what happened to the mick communities of New York. In the ’70s, we had the Westies kicking ass for the cause. The Irish mob has had a strong presence in these parts since the nineteenth century, and until recently, we were going strong. Before the Ivans and Italians relegated us to the slums.
But with the bad comes the good. Suppose it wasn’t for our fall, I’d still be in Ireland, cracking skulls for the boss. Not here in America, watching Brianna Declan wait tables in her skimpy outfit. One fucking eyeful of her left me so pussy-whipped, I couldn’t stop myself from coming to this seedy bar, drinking their piss-warm beer, and shoveling down their shitty food. Brianna’s a redheaded firecracker, eager to please and soft around the edges.
She will be mine.
“There’s no point in denying it, Johnny boy, that old kooz gave you the clap,” Victor says. My crew of four erupts into hearty belly laughter at Johnny’s itch.
“At least I got some.” Johnny whacks the air as if he’s slapping an ass. “Only woman you’ve touched since you got to America is the picture of your mum. A cuddle and kiss before bed is what I’ve heard.”
“Speak of me mum again, and I’ll slap that smug grin right off your face.” Victor waggles a firm finger in front of Johnny.
I ought to stop them from tearing one another apart, but I can’t. Not when Brianna’s bent over the bar, and her black skirt rides so high that I can see the thin white panties covering her flesh. If she moves a little further, I’ll be able to see right between her legs. Every fiber of my being begs for a glimpse of what’s tucked beneath the fabric. The thought stiffens my dick against my inner thigh, but my wish dies when she gets what she needs and stands upright.
So close. Now I must bear the weight of an erection beside my most trusted.
“You get that finger outta my face, or you’re gonna lose it.” Johnny slaps Victor’s hand.
“Alright, alright, simmer down, you salty bastards. We ain’t here to talk shit about Johnny’s cock or Vic’s scrumptious mum,” I say. Neither man turns their aggression my way, but they know I’m joking. “We’ve got to talk about the Italians, don’t we?”
“You sure this is the place for it, Mickey?”
No. A bar in the slums is hardly the place to talk about death and destruction, but it’s where I’ve chosen. I entered the Declan residence wanting money and left needing Brianna at my side. Now that I’ve found my woman, I’m not wasting a second away from her.
“I’m sure. These are our people, no point in holding our tongues.” I lean back in my chair and scan the bar room, trying to keep my gawking at Brianna inconspicuous.
She stops at a table with a hop and a bounce, her perky tits jiggling in her tight, black shirt. No bra? Naughty devil. She doesn’t leave much to the imagination beneath the low-cut skirt and the tank top. Brianna understands what drives a man’s wallet. Good on her for knowing it, but this shit will stop when I claim her. No one gets to see that perfect body but me.
