Page 2 of Beautiful Trauma (The Irish Rogues #5)

T he present

The muscles in my arms stretched in tortuous agony as I pushed against the heavy weight on my chest. An anguished groan escaped my lips as the bar came into my line of vision. Pinching my eyes shut, I forced myself to continue straining despite the pain.

When my arms were fully extended, triumph echoed through me. Six months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to bench even half of what I did today. But after losing myself in the gym after a breakup, I’d been exceeding my expectations.

As he stood behind me at the weight bench, my bodyguard helped ease the bar onto the rack. As I glanced up at him, he gave me a beaming smile. “Nice work, sir.”

“Thanks, Andrew.” With a shake of my head, I added, “I know you’re new, but you don’t need to call me sir.”

“But, sir–”

“Despite what my brothers might have you do, my orders are not to call me sir.” Flashing him a smile, I added, “It’s just Kellan. You don’t even have to do Mr. Kavanaugh.”

He grimaced. “As you wish.”

Although he’d just come over from Belfast, Andrew had been working with our family there for years. Since he was in his mid-forties, it was even more odd hearing him call me sir.

At the sound of the elevator doors sliding open, I rose up on the bench. My younger brother, Eamon, came striding through our family’s private gym with his usual swagger.

“Hey cocksucker, your giant math brain is needed upstairs,” he greeted me.

With a snort, I replied, “Good morning to you too, Eamon.”

He tossed a towel at me. “It’s never a good morning when Callum is losing his shit before nine in the morning.”

Wincing, I said, “Someone skimming with their shipments?”

“Looks like it.”

Nodding, I stood up. As he did a slow appraisal of me, Eamon let out a low whistle. “Fuck, boyo, you’ve gone and gotten absolutely shredded,” he remarked with a look of pride.

With a chuckle, I swept the towel across my sweaty brow. “Thanks for noticing.”

His wide eyes continued taking me in. “No lie. I think you might give Quinn a run for his money.”

“I doubt that.”

I started to pull a fresh shirt over my head when Eamon’s words froze me. “I would love to see the look on Reagan’s face when she sees your revenge bod.”

My chest clenched at the mention of my ex-fiancee.

While it might’ve been six months, the wounds her infidelity had caused me had yet to heal.

Ours was more than a typical arranged marriage.

Although my uncle Seamus had brokered an alliance between me and Reagan’s family–the powerful New York Brady’s, we began dating like any normal couple would.

In the year leading up to our marriage, we fell for each other.

Or at least I did.

And then the happy facade all came tumbling down when an unknown source sent me photographs of Reagan and her bodyguard in many compromising positions.

I don’t know why I was surprised. I seemed to have a fucking gift for picking the wrong women or falling in love at the wrong time.

Like my ex Mabry. After dating a year, I was ready to get married, but she wasn’t.

She wanted to finish school and start a career.

Even though we both cared about each other very much, we just wanted different things out of life at that moment.

Then there were the ones who wanted me only for the Kavanaugh name and our wealth. Ones who only wanted to fuck me.

Since then, I’d been losing myself not only in the gym, but in random hookups that left me feeling emotionally defeated. Although I’d tried to keep my brothers in the dark about my suffering, I apparently hadn’t hidden my pain as well as I thought.

Sliding my mask back into place, I rolled my eyes at Eamon. “Like I give a shite about what she thinks.”

Eamon snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.”

He clapped me on the back. “Boyo, you’re good at a lot of things, but lying isn’t one of them.”

Feeling even more raw and exposed, I shoved him away. “Fuck you.”

Eamon pinned me with a glare. “Don’t,” he warned.

“Don’t what?” I challenged.

“Try to push me away like the others would. I know when you’re cut to the bone, mate. You and I are bonded by trauma, remember?”

I sucked in a harsh breath at his words and the haunting memories they evoked. A shudder of revulsion and regret echoed through me. Five years ago, we’d been forced at gunpoint by our degenerate of a father to oversee our beloved sister, Maeve’s, rape.

We’d been trying to save her from an arranged marriage to an odious man by helping her to escape into a new life.

When we’d been caught, our father’s punishment and deterrent for Maeve was to be “claimed” by her future husband at that moment.

Instead of being able to save her, Eamon’s and my punishment was to have to hold her down.

That day I learned you could die, yet your heart would continue breathing.

While Eamon had lost himself in drinking and womanizing, I’d tried rebuilding my broken parts with love and companionship.

After all these years, scar tissue had grown over our wounds, but they were still there.

Even though Maeve was blissfully happy now and married to the man she loved, we could never forget. The scars remained for all of us.

Staring into Eamon’s determined eyes, I exhaled a resigned sigh. “What is it you want me to say? That you’re right, that I’ve been working out because of Reagan? That as hard as I try, I still think about her.” I swallowed hard. “That I still feel something for her?”

Eamon gave me a regretful look. “Despite always wanting to be right, I sure as hell don’t want to be about this.”

I swept my hand over my face. “I know you’re not that big of a bastard.”

With a cheeky smile to cut the tension, he replied, “I have my moments.”

A welcomed laugh burst from my lips. “That’s true.”

Eamon’s expression sobered. “I just want you to be free of that bitch and to be happy. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, boyo.”

The ding of Eamon’s phone brought us both out of our emotions. With a grunt, he reached for his phone. “What do you bet it’s Callum telling us to hurry the fuck up?”

Chuckling, I replied, “Come on. Let’s go.”

Instead of showering and slipping into a crisp black suit like I usually did before going to our family office, I headed to the elevator in my workout gear.

Four years ago, my brothers had purchased five floors in an up-and-coming residential building a few blocks from our home base.

My older brothers, Quinn and Dare, had immediately taken over two floors for their apartments. I’d followed about a year later.

When we got upstairs, Callum sat at the head of the conference table. Quinn and Dare were noticeably absent. After I slid in beside him, Callum wrinkled his nose. “You stink, boyo.”

“Fuck you. It’s not like your request gave me time to clean up,” I playfully replied.

Callum slid the pile of manila folders in front of him over to me. “We’re short twenty-five hundred from this week’s take.”

Nodding, I picked up the first folder of our warehouse records.

While my Finance degree set me apart from my older brothers and their Business degrees, I’d been handling the books since I was in high school.

My bastard father loved to goad me by saying that a head for numbers was the only thing that saved a waste of a cock like me.

My teachers praised me for my above-average math skills, but my father weaponized it as a way to make me feel less of a man than my brothers.

While I scanned over the spreadsheets, Callum scrolled on his phone as Eamon paced around the table while tossing a baseball up and down. After only a few minutes, I leaned forward in my chair.

Narrowing my eyes over a particular column, I shook my head. “It’s Lowry.”

With a snarl, Callum shot out of his chair. “That fucker.”

Peering over my shoulder, Eamon asked, “How bad?”

Numbers floated around in my head as I calculated the damage. “Considering what he did this week, I’d wager probably six to seven thousand over the last couple of months.”

“That dirty fucker!” Callum roared.

Eamon shot me a wicked grin. “Guess Quinn is paying him a visit today.”

Callum shook his head. “I need you two to handle this.”

I cocked my brows at him. As our head enforcer, Quinn always took care of the torture part of the business along with some of our soldiers.

From time to time, one of us would also help him.

Since I didn’t have much of a taste for blood and brutality, I usually sat torture sessions out and let Dare and Eamon handle it.

“What’s wrong with Quinn?” I asked.

Callum chuckled. “It’s not him. He’s absolutely knackered from Rian having colic.”

Two months ago, Quinn and his wife had welcomed their first child–a son that they honored by naming him after our cousin, Rian, who lost his life in the same bombing that left Quinn scarred.

Eamon snorted. “You’re telling me a wee wain has knackered a beast like Quinn?”

Callum narrowed his eyes. “You have no idea the physical and emotional hold a wain has over you.”

While Eamon scoffed, I held up a hand. “We will gladly help him out.”

“I know both he and I appreciate it,” Callum said.

“When would you like for us to take care of it?” I asked.

Callum’s expression darkened. “Now.”

Glancing down at my attire, I replied, “Like this?” I teased.

With a roll of his eyes, Callum replied, “Take care of your smelly arse and then get down there ASAP.

Grinning, I replied, “Got it.” Jerking my head at Eamon, I said, “Let’s go.”

As I started to rise out of my chair, Callum grabbed my arm. “Be diligent, but make sure he not only lives, but that he’ll heal.”

Cocking my brows at him, I replied, “Tell that to Eamon, not me.”

While a maniacal gleam burned in Eamon’s eyes, Callum shook his head. “I’m telling you so you’ll stop him if things get out of hand.”

Eamon grunted. “You’re no fun, Cal.”

“And you’re too much of a wildcard.” Jabbing a finger at Eamon, Callum replied, “Crippled or dead men aren’t able to get the shipments we need to pay us back.”