Page 4

FOUR

BOZO

I’m beyond fucking pissed. That motherfucker should never have tried to hurt Grá. No one hurts her. I won’t let them. I wish I could get her dad to stop, but that fucker weighs around three-hundred pounds and is over six-foot-three. The man’s drunk as a skunk constantly.

“Where are you off to?” Dad snarls as I head toward the front door.

I’m planning on finding Anthony. That motherfucker had planned on raping Gráinne. I know he did. The fucker drugged her and tried dragging her to the bedroom. I’ll be fucking damned if I let him get away with that shit. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him earlier, but Grá needed my help. Right now, she’s fast asleep in my bed. Mam was already asleep when we came home and Dad was busy doing fuck knows what.

I pause at the door, my hand on the knob. "Out," I growl, not turning to face him.

"Out where?" Dad's voice is slurred, thick with alcohol. "It's the middle of the fucking night."

"None of your business," I snap, yanking the door open.

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy!" Dad roars, his chair scraping against the floor as he stands. "You live under my roof, you answer to me!"

I whirl around, rage boiling in my veins. "Answer to you? Like you answered to the fucking bottle all these years?"

That’s something that Gráinne and I have in common. Both of our dads are drunken assholes who get violent whenever the wind blows. Thankfully for me, as I’ve gotten older, stronger, and bigger, his violent outbursts aren’t as frequent. As for Grá, she’s small—barely five-two. She’s also timid and fragile. That motherfucker of a dad of hers is going to do some serious damage one of these days if he doesn’t lay off hurting her.

Dad's face contorts with fury. He lurches forward, but his drunken state makes him clumsy, and I easily sidestep his grab.

"I'm going out," I repeat, my voice low and dangerous. "And when I get back, you’d better not have laid a finger on Grá. You understand me?"

Before he can respond, I'm out the door, slamming it behind me. The cool night air hits my face, but it does nothing to calm the fire in my chest. My mind races as I stalk down the street, fists clenched at my sides.

Anthony. That piece of shit. I can still see Grá's terrified face when I found them. I can still hear her slurred protests as he tried to lead her away. If I hadn't shown up when I did...

I shake my head, pushing the thought away. It doesn't matter now. What matters is making sure he never tries anything like that again. With anyone.

I know where he lives. It's not far from here, just a few blocks over. As I walk, I try to plan what I'll do when I get there. Part of me wants to burst in, fists flying. But I know that's not smart. I need to be careful, calculated. Like when I count cards for Dad.

The thought of those nights at the casino makes my stomach churn. How many times did I sit there, helping him cheat, while Mam worried at home? How many times did I let myself believe it was okay because we needed the money?

No more. After tonight, things are going to change. I'll find a way to make money that doesn't involve breaking the law or putting Grá in danger. But first, I have to deal with Anthony.

I reach his street and slow my pace, scanning the houses. There's his, second from the end. A light is on in an upstairs window. Good. He's home.

As I approach the house, I force myself to take a deep breath. I need to be smart about this. No evidence, no witnesses. Just a clear message that he'll never forget.

I step onto his porch, my hand raised to knock. Whatever happens next, there's no going back. But for Grá, for her safety and peace of mind, I'll do whatever it takes.

My knuckles connect with the door, the sound echoing in the quiet night. I wait, my heart pounding, muscles tense. After what feels like an eternity, I hear footsteps approaching.

The door creaks open, and there he is. Anthony's eyes widen in surprise then narrow with suspicion. He’s home alone. He’d been bragging all night about having the house to himself. His parents are gone for the week, away on vacation.

"What the fuck do you want?" he slurs, clearly still drunk from earlier.

I don't answer. Instead, I shove past him into the house, slamming the door behind me. Before he can react, I've got him by the collar, pinning him against the wall.

"Listen carefully, you piece of shit," I growl, my face inches from his. "If you ever, EVER come near Gráinne again, I will end you. You understand?"

Anthony tries to struggle, but I'm stronger, fueled by rage and adrenaline. "Get off me, you psycho!" he spits.

I slam him against the wall again, harder this time. "Do. You. Understand?"

Fear flickers in his eyes. Good. That's what I want to see.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he mumbles. "Just let me go, man."

But I'm not done. I throw a punch, the sound crunching against his nose confirms that I’ve broken it. Anthony crumples to the floor, blood gushing from his nose. I stand over him, fists still clenched, breathing heavily.

"That's for drugging her," I snarl.

He tries to scramble away, but I grab him by the shirt and haul him up. My next punch lands squarely on his jaw, snapping his head back.

"And that's for trying to take advantage of her."

Anthony slumps against the wall, dazed and bleeding. Part of me wants to keep going, to make him feel every ounce of fear and helplessness that Grá must have felt. But I force myself to stop. I've made my point. I know if I go further, I’ll be the one who lands himself in trouble, and I’ve got Grá to think about right now.

I lean in close, my voice low and menacing. "If I ever hear about you trying anything like this again—with Grá or any other girl—I'll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life. Got it?"

He nods weakly, unable to speak through the blood and pain.

I step back, my hands shaking with adrenaline. "Clean yourself up," I mutter. "And remember—I'm watching you."

As I turn to leave, he calls out, "You're fucking crazy. You know that?"

I pause at the door, looking back at him. "Maybe," I say. "But I'm not the one who tries to rape unconscious girls."

The cool night air hits me as I start the walk home. My knuckles throb, and I know they'll be bruised tomorrow. How will I explain that to Grá? To Mam?

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. One problem at a time. Right now, I need to get home, make sure Grá is okay, and figure out our next move. Because one thing's for certain —we can't keep living like this. Something has to change. She can’t live in that house with her dad any longer. He’s going to do something he’ll regret and I’ll end up killing the fucker.

As I approach my house, I see the living room light is still on. Dad's probably passed out in his chair by now. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever comes next. No matter what, I'll protect Grá. And somehow, some way, we'll find a way out of this mess. We have to.

I quietly let myself in, relieved to find the living room empty. As I pass the kitchen, I hear a soft voice.

"Connor?"

I freeze. It's Gráinne. She’s sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of her. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her face pale.

"Hey," I say softly, moving to sit beside her. "You okay?"

She nods then shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "I was so scared when I woke up and you were gone," she whispers.

Guilt washes over me. In my anger, I hadn't thought about how she'd feel waking up alone. "I'm sorry," I say, taking her hand. "I just... I had to take care of something."

She looks at me, her eyes searching my face. "Anthony?" she asks quietly.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

Gráinne squeezes my hand and gives me a soft smile. “Thank you.”

I give her hand a gentle squeeze. "Always, Grá. I'll always protect you."

“I can’t believe this shit,” I snap, glaring at my dad who’s standing across the kitchen from me.

“Watch your mouth,” he grunts. “Don’t forget who the fuck you’re talking to.”

“Of course you sent her back,” I growl, my anger paramount. I’m beyond angry. I woke up this morning to no Gráinne and Dad smirking. Grá’s dad was here first thing this morning demanding that his daughter be returned home. Of course, my dad loved it and sent her packing.

“You’d better watch yourself, Connor. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your precious Gráinne now, would you?”

My blood runs cold at his words. I take a step toward him, fists clenched. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Dad smirks, leaning back in his chair. "Just that her old man seemed pretty upset this morning. Who knows what he might do if he gets it in his head that you're a bad influence on his little girl?"

"You bastard," I snarl. "You know what he does to her. How could you send her back there?"

"It's not our problem," Dad says dismissively. "Besides, we've got our own issues to deal with. Speaking of which, when are we hitting the casino again?"

I stare at him in disbelief. "Are you fucking kidding me? After everything that's happened, that's what you're worried about?"

"Watch your tone, boy," Dad warns, his eyes narrowing. "Don't forget who puts food on the table around here."

"Food on the table?" I laugh bitterly. "You mean the money I help you cheat for? The money that's tearing this family apart?"

Dad stands up suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor. "You ungrateful little shit," he growls. "After everything I've done for you?—"

"Done for me?" I interrupt, my voice rising. "You mean dragging me into your illegal schemes? Using me to fuel your gambling addiction? Yeah, thanks a lot, Dad."

His face contorts with rage, and for a moment, I think he might hit me. But then he just shakes his head, disgust clear in his eyes. “Unless you want Lorcan to come after us. After all, we owe him twenty grand.”

I bite back a curse. Fucking Dad. He’s so fucking useless. He’s leveled up from Blackjack to playing poker. Something he knows I’m good at. I learned by watching the games while he was gambling our money away. I actually watched good players play, learning their tells and how to play the game the right way.

The games are run by an organization called Na Cártaí Dubha, which means The Black Cards in English. Lorcan Black runs the organization and does so with an iron fist. No one messes with his games. If they do, they’ll pay the price.

"The fuck have you done?" I hiss. "Seriously? What the fuck are you playing at?"

Dad's face twists into a sneer. "Watch your mouth, boy. I did what I had to do to keep us afloat. You think it's easy to provide for this family?"

"Providing?" I scoff. "You mean gambling away every cent we have and then some? Christ, Dad, twenty grand to Lorcan Black? Do you have a death wish? And you didn’t provide jack shit for this family. That’s me. I’m the one who’s ensuring that we have a roof over our heads. I’m the one who’s earning the money. Not you."

"Semantics," Dad mutters, not meeting my eyes. "I know what the fuck I’m doing. I just hit a bit of bad luck."

I run my hands through my hair, fighting the urge to scream. "Bad luck? Dad, there’s no fucking way you’ve lost twenty grand playing just poker." He’s stupid, fucking useless, but he’s not that fucking bad. “What else?”

"Blackjack,” he grunts. “We’ll get that money back."

“ We ?” I hiss. “I’m not doing shit. You’re the idiot who got us into this mess.”

“You fucking are!” Dad roars, slamming his fist on the table. "I'm not an idiot!"

"Could've fooled me," I mutter.

Dad's eyes flash dangerously. "You watch yourself, boy. I'm still your father."

"Yeah? Then start acting like it!" I shout back. "A real father wouldn't put his family in danger like this. A real father wouldn't send an abused girl back to her tormentor. A real father?—"

The punch comes out of nowhere, the sound echoing in the small kitchen. My cheek stings, and I taste blood where my teeth cut into my lip.

"That's enough," Dad growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't know the first thing about being a man, let alone a father. Now, you're going to help me get this money, or so help me God, I'll tell Lorcan exactly who's been helping me count cards all these years. How do you think he'd feel about that, huh? You’ve taken a good bit from his casino."

I stare at him, my blood running cold. He wouldn't. He couldn't. But the look in his eyes tells me he absolutely would. If he spills to Lorcan, there’s no fucking way either of us would survive the night.

"You're bluffing," I say, but my voice wavers.

Dad smirks, knowing he's got me. "Want to test that theory? Go ahead, call my bluff. See what happens to you. To your precious Gráinne."

At the mention of Grá's name, something inside me snaps. Before I know what I'm doing, I've got Dad by the collar, slamming him against the wall.

"You leave her out of this," I snarl. "You hear me? You so much as breathe her name again, and I'll?—"

"You'll what?" Dad challenges, his breath hot on my face. "Kill me? Go ahead. See how far that gets you with Lorcan."

I release him, stepping back. My hands are shaking. I clench them into fists to stop the trembling.

"Fine," I say through gritted teeth. "I'll help you, but fuck, you’re no longer blood.”

He grins, and it’s triumphant and sadistic. “Never thought of you as such anyway,” he grunts. “Fucking freak.”

I’ll kill him. If he dares touch Gráinne, or even set into motion something happening to her, I’m going to kill him.