Page 3 of Scandal

With Michael behind me, I headed toward the bar, noting the fact several burly men who’d been standing watching whatever sports game was on had moved away. They weren’t providing space as much as allowing their voices to be heard without opening their caustic mouths. The first bartender turned away, the male purposely heading toward the other end of the bar.

I appreciated the fact the freckle-faced woman sauntered straight to the open space, placing her hands on the bar. With her red hair and dazzling light green eyes, she personified the Irish pub perfectly. But the look of scorn on her face was yet another reminder we weren’t welcome in their world even with the deal proctored two decades before.

“Jonny.”

Her voice held contempt, yet the Callahans’ only daughter eyed me with the same appreciation that I had with her from time to time. She knew better than to fuck with me.

“Erin.”

She flicked her gaze over my shoulder to Michael then grabbed a single shot glass, slamming the dense crystal on the bar. Then she grabbed her finest bottle of Irish whiskey, pouring me a shot. There was no offer for my Capo as he wasn’t here to drink, merely to watch my back.

I powered back the liquid, savoring not only the flavor but the smoothness as it quenched my parched throat. As soon as I returned the glass to the bar, I cocked my head.

“What do you want?” she asked, pulling the bottle away as if I’d reach out and grab it.

“I’m here for a game of poker.”

She knew exactly why I was here. She’d likely been told by her father.

For a few seconds, her usual mask fell, allowing me to see a hint of concern as well as surprise in her eyes. Then she took a deep breath. This was her bar, yet her brother had acted as if he’d owned the place for years. When she nodded toward the back room, the scorn returned, but there was also a slight smile curling on her luscious lips. Sean was family, which prevented her from providing the kind of discipline only a pissed-off Irish woman could dish out.

As soon as I turned toward the private space, several men pushed their way in front of me, acting as if they were little more than Neanderthals ready to intervene.

“Back down,” Erin told them. “Our guest has business with Sean.” Her lilting accent floated above their deep growls. They acted as if they weren’t going to comply then backed away, preventing me from needing to use violence. I wasn’t in the mood.

I took my time heading for the door, not bothering to knock.

The four men surrounding Sean were shocked to see my entrance, fear and rage crawling through the thick cords in theirnecks. They jerked to a standing position, immediately reaching for their weapons.

I shifted my suit jacket, allowing them to see I was carrying, lifting my eyebrows in a dare for one of them to reach for their weapon. They would be dead before they could wrap their thick fingers around the handles of their Glocks. They knew it as well as anyone. I’d been trained by experts, considered an elite marksman, capable of taking out ten moving targets in six seconds flat.

Sean exhaled as his only reaction to my presence, but I could smell his fear. Terror had a distinct odor, a stench that was recognizable from a few yards away. I took a chair from one of the players, sitting down across from Sean.

“What are you doing here?” Sean asked, trying to regain his composure.

“Looking for a heads-up poker game.” The game meant for two was one I knew well. It was also one I’d never lost when playing.

Sean glared at me for a few seconds before studying Michael. He was no fool. He knew exactly what this meant. He nodded toward one of the men, who was obviously the dealer.

“What are we betting on?” he asked, still antsy.

I pulled out a wad of cash, although this was merely the starter money. “Ten thousand to start.”

He huffed as if I had to be kidding then gave me a single nod. Within seconds, one of the other soldiers placed cash on the table.

As the cards were shuffled, we both remained quiet. Only when several had been dealt did I finally address the situation. “Itwould seem you’ve been a bad boy, Sean. You ignored the treaty established by your father.”

He snorted as he checked his first cards, barely able to look me in the eye. “It was necessary to keep our business afloat in the States.”

Both organizations had ventured across the border, enjoying the perks of having rich and powerful American men as our clients. Whereas the James family had stayed mainly in the northeast, the Callahans had ventured further south. What Sean had done in the process was interrupt a supply chain. Then he’d had the audacity to poach several of my clients.

That wasn’t acceptable on anyone’s terms.

He’d also managed to get himself into financial trouble, his heavy gambling habit placing him in a difficult situation with a member of the Bratva, their behind closed doors games of poker brutal in comparison.

“By stealing clients.”

He’d obviously believed he’d covered up his mess, laying blame on another organization. “I raise you five G’s.”

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