Page 22 of Dark Succession (The O’Malleys #1)

J ames nursed his second whiskey as time ticked by.

There were things to do and calls to make, but he hadn’t moved from this spot since Teague left hours ago.

He respected the man’s willingness to put the safety of his family before anything else—even a relative innocent.

Because whatever the family—O’Malley, Halloran, or Sheridan—none of them were truly innocents.

It just went to shine the light on his willingness to let the girl who may or may not have murdered his older brother get away.

If his old man knew, he’d lose his shit.

The skin between James’s shoulder blades twitched, as if expecting the lash.

His father wouldn’t go so far as to kill him—probably—but he had no problem exacting his punishments in blood.

James had the scars to prove it.

He downed half his whiskey, the burn in his throat doing nothing to calm his mind. He didn’t want this shit any more than Teague seemed to, but at least the other man was taking steps to put it to a stop. He sighed. The time for indecision was over.

They had to find the girl.

The door to the pub opened and a group of men streamed through, Ricky in the center of them. Their voices cut through the relative quiet of the room, their laughter too loud and too sharp. Ricky lifted his hand. “Tommy, we’re celebrating! First round’s on the house.”

What. The. Fuck?

There was nothing to celebrate. He straightened, his fingers tightening around the glass.

They were acting suspiciously like they were coming off a successful hit, but he knew for a fact he hadn’t ordered one.

He finished his whiskey and got up, moving slowly to the bar to set the glass down, leaning there while he listened to the men at Ricky’s table.

“Fuck, that guy hit hard.”

Ricky laughed. “Not for long. Did you see the look on that bitch’s face when we dropped him? I think she pissed her tiny little running shorts.” More laughter all around.

James turned, waiting for them to realize he was there.

He could rush over and start demanding answers, but one of the few useful things he’d learned from his old man was that how you entered a situation determined whether you’d come out on top or bottom.

These were his men and his brother, and as great as it’d be to pretend that this was a perfect world where the men would always respect him, that wasn’t how things worked.

Love and fear were the only two emotions that forged loyalty, and he knew better than to aim for the former.

The man facing the bar noticed him first, his left eye swollen nearly shut.

James couldn’t place his name—any of their names aside from his brother—but the man knew him.

He went silent. The guy next to him turned to see what he was looking at, and paled.

It went like that around the table, until Ricky was the only one still laughing and bragging.

His littler brother finally looked over and his grin widened. “Here to celebrate, James?”

Another tumbler of whiskey showed up at his elbow, courtesy of Tommy.

He picked it up, fighting to keep relaxed.

He knew from dealing with Brendan and their old man that there was nothing scarier than the eerie calm that preceded an explosion of violence.

He hoped like hell that he wouldn’t have to go there tonight, but Ricky was oblivious to the men exchanging leery glances around him. “What are we celebrating?”

“We whooped that O’Malley douche’s ass.” Ricky laughed, too loud in the now-silent room. “You should have seen his face. That pussy went down and didn’t get back up again.”

Motherfucker . He watched any chance of peace slide down the drain, along with his ability to walk away from his brother tonight. He had to make an example of him. God damn it. James pushed off the bar. “You beat Teague O’Malley.”

Ricky’s smile melted off his face, as if he was just now realizing there was danger. “He insulted our family.”

The idiot never stopped to consider why an O’Malley would be walking away from one of their pubs without a scratch on him.

His younger brother didn’t have the vicious streak that had made Brendan a force of nature, but he was shaping up to be just as stupid when it came to thinking things through.

James met each of the men’s gazes at the table in turn.

“Get the fuck out.” He raised his voice slightly. “ Everyone get the fuck out. Now.”

No one questioned the order, and they scattered faster than he would have credited. Then there was only him and Ricky. He wasted no time grabbing the front of his brother’s shirt and hauling him out of his chair. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Get your hands off me.”

Instead, he shook Ricky. “Answer the goddamn question.”

“He was on our turf!”

Disgusted, James shoved him back into the chair hard enough that it almost toppled over backward. “And you never stopped to think that maybe there was a reason for that, did you? He was here to meet with me so we could attempt to resolve this shit peacefully.”

“Peacefully.” Ricky’s lip curled. “Those fuckers spit in our face. They deserve to pay.”

“You sound like our old man.”

“Maybe because he’s got some balls. Brendan did, too.” He made a show of looking James up and down. “The old man is right—you’re as much a pussy as the O’Malleys and Sheridans. Even more so, because at least they’re willing to fight.”

The decision played out before James, lightning fast. He could yell at his fool brother and hope to God it was enough to make him see reason.

Or he could make damn sure Ricky never crossed him again.

He was the heir now. He couldn’t afford to spend the rest of his life cleaning up his brother’s messes, or worse, constantly looking over his shoulder .

Fear or love.

It was painfully obvious that love wouldn’t do it—hadn’t done it despite the fact that they’d always been close.

The only way to stop this shit in its tracks was to cut it off at the source.

He hauled Ricky out of his seat again and dragged the struggling man toward the back room.

His brother realized their destination and fought harder.

“What the hell? Jesus, James, I was just screwing with you. Stop. Holy shit, stop .”

James shoved him through the door and followed him inside, kicking it shut behind him, feeling like he tore off a ragged chunk of his soul in the process.

He took a deep breath, the scent of old blood and fear almost enough to make him gag.

“I don’t give a fuck if you hate every damn decision I’m making, you don’t move without my permission.

Hell, you don’t even breathe unless I give the okay. You got it?”

“Yeah, James. I get it. I swear I do.” His brother nodded frantically, his hands still outstretched as if that would really save either of them from what was coming.

James rolled his shoulders. “You know the drill, Ricky. Canes or the whip?”

Teague woke up in waves of pain. He felt like a train had hit him—maybe two.

It hurt to breathe, and he had no illusions about the fun times ahead when he actually moved.

He cracked open his eyes, finding himself in a dim room that he’d never seen before.

He looked around as much as possible without moving his head, taking in the delicate four- poster bed and white canopy that wouldn’t look out of place in a fairy tale.

Everything was white—the dresser, the vanity, the walls.

“You’re awake.”

He gritted his teeth and turned his head to see Callie standing in the doorway that seemed to lead into a bathroom. Fuck, that hurt. “I thought I might be in heaven, but now I’m sure.”

She gave a tired smile. “At least you still have your charm.”

“I have more than that. Come here and—” He winced at the sharp pain that shot through him when he lifted his arm. “On second thought, maybe I’ll just lie here.”

“Smart.” She crossed to carefully sit on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know you’re in pain, but do you feel like you’re going to be sick? Or dizzy?”

Signs of a concussion. He took careful stock, because while being tough was great for impressing the people around him, it wouldn’t do him any good if he passed out the second he sat up.

“No. My face feels like someone took a two-by-four to it, and I’m pretty sure those assholes kicked me once I was down, but nothing more serious than that. ”

“That’s plenty serious.”

He’d dealt with worse, albeit not often. Teague looked around the room again. “Not that I’m complaining, exactly, how but did I get here?”

“You don’t remember?”

He didn’t remember anything after that coward hit him in the back of the head.

From the state of his body, they must have kept beating him for a while, and then transported him somewhere.

There was no other reason for him being in what he figured must be Callie’s room.

“I suspect I was unconscious at the time.”

She looked away, twisting at the edge of the comforter. “You were dumped in front of me by an SUV registered to Ricky Halloran.”

“Fuck.” He closed his eyes, trying to get a hold of his anger.

That little shit had always been a troublemaker, even if he was nowhere near as dangerous as Brendan.

Or he hadn’t been. It looked like he was gunning for the rep, and he wasn’t smart enough to pull it off without getting himself killed.

Jumping Teague in Halloran territory right after he met with James?

Dumping Teague’s unconscious body from his own goddamn SUV?

He was an idiot.