Page 34 of Corrupted Pleasure

Fuck, wrong choice of words. Even before I heard his next words, I knew I fucked up.

“What family?” he barked out. “You have no wife. No children.”

“I have two children and a niece,” I reminded him.

“You have a niece.” I could hear his scowl even over the phone line. A damn ocean between us wasn’t enough. “Those children are not yours.”

My father only understood blood. If you weren’t blood, you were nothing. Regardless of who you were and what you had done for him.

“Liam, unless you marry,” he grumbled, “ … you can’t retain control of the Irish in New York and here in Ireland.” I kept my mouth shut. Arguing with my father was like going to war. I was too tired for that shit today. “The Irish here are very traditional. They’ll see you as a futureless leader.” He had a point there, though I didn’t voice my agreement. “Wynter has been kept sheltered. Aisling wanted to give her a different life.”

It was my turn to scoff. Now he cared about Aisling and what she wanted. He was two decades too late. Though I agreed with him on Wynter. She wasn’t built, nor meant, for the criminal underworld. Just as her mother wasn’t. Aisling lived it and paid a high price for it.

“Killian can lead when I’m gone.” I was wasting my breath, because I knew he wouldn’t acknowledge him.

“Those two are not your biological children, Liam. Be reasonable. Find a wife, get her pregnant, and then do whatever you want. It will keep your sister and niece protected.”

Just like my father did whatever he wanted once he got his son. After all, it was how Aisling came to be.

“Go to sleep, Athair. It’s late there,” I answered instead. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Or maybe I could get a week's reprieve before I talked to him again.

I ended the call and leaned back in my chair. I was still in my downtown office. My shell for the legal business. I swung around in my chair, my eyes locking on the wall of windows overlooking the city that never slept.

Manhattan. New York City.

This had been my playground for as long as I could remember, but I understood my father’s point. Unfortunately.

You fought power with power. By becoming more powerful. My best friend and his wife could attest to it. They paid for it with their lives. The memory of that day from twenty years ago kicked in and I swore to this day, I could feel the heat of those flames on my skin.

The flames burned, the heat of them licking my skin.

Dread filled my chest.

Nobody could survive this. The smell of gasoline lingered in the air and mixed with the rage I felt burning in my veins.

They killed my best friend and his wife. My godson. Their newborn daughter. All dead.

I failed them. I should have gotten here sooner.

The ashen taste of smoke lingered on my tongue as my heart squeezed tightly in my chest. The last year had been hard.

First my sister. And now this!

“Why didn’t you run, Aiden?” I whispered quietly, my voice carrying in the hot breeze. March in Ireland was cold, but the rage burning inside of me and the inferno in front of me felt like I stood among the fires of hell. Except this was the ninth circle of Hell caused by treachery. And fuck, my chest felt frozen.

My fists balled by my sides and I rushed forward. I had to get in, see if I could retrieve their bodies. They deserved to be buried properly. Not like this. I owed them that much since my family started this war with the Russians.

I rushed to the rain catcher barrel that Aiden’s wife insisted on. Even in this remote, hideaway cabin, she insisted on environmentally friendly methods. Taking my shirt off, I dipped it into the water then pulled it back on and I charged forward.

Despite the heat surrounding me, the metal of the handgun that was tucked in the back of my pants was cool against my skin. Grounding me. Pushing me forward.

The fire spread too quickly as I sought out the bodies of my best friend and his family.

Flames devoured the wooden staircase leading to the second floor. It was the only way up so I searched through the living room. Nothing. Then I rushed into the kitchen and that was where I saw Aiden and Ava. Both laid in a pool of their own blood, their hands reaching out to each other.

Lowering onto my knees, I searched for a pulse. First, I pressed my fingers against Ava’s bruised and bloodied neck. Nothing. I shifted to Aiden, whose face was almost unrecognizable. My blood boiled and my heartbeat pounded in my ears.