Page 2 of Royal Beast (Royals of the Underworld #1)

KELLAN

T he pungent scent of fish lingers in the air as my younger brother Rory and I stand side-by-side on the docks, watching from a distance as the police lead several of our men away in handcuffs.

“This stinks,” Rory says, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s the fish,” I quip, but Rory shakes his head.

“It isn’t that. This whole situation reeks of a setup.”

It’s barely six in the morning, and instead of being in our office, we’re here in Harborview District, hands in our pockets as we watch the police raid our biggest warehouse.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, turning to my brother. I study his steely blue eyes and notice the tic in his jaw as he crosses his arms, the fabric of his black suit jacket pulling taut.

“I’m thinking that Chief Banes was having lunch with me just last week and now he’s standing over there with the others. Why is he suddenly leading the raid on this place?” Rory’s eyes are hard and his posture is rigid, anger coursing through him.

This place was the heart of our car operations with parts that came straight from Japan or Europe, lifted before they ever touched legitimate hands. The police are swarming the area, boxing up parts and bagging items as if it were the scene of a serial killer’s latest murder.

We’re screwed.

“Hey, Boss,” Frankie says, strolling up with an air of nonchalance. He leans in close. “Word is that just two days ago, a little birdie saw Banes having lunch with the Kremlin.”

Rory’s fists clench and I feel my lip curl.

“I told you this reeked,” Rory says, his tone steely. “This has Kremlin fingerprints all over it. That rat fucking bastard!”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t make sense. Our alliance with the Russians has been going strong for ten fucking years, Rory. Why would he start shit with us after all this time? Why now?”

“We gotta get to the bottom of it,” Rory declares. A few stray officers are standing nearby, keeping an eye on us. I growl, hands balling into fists by my sides.

“The police have nothing on us,” Rory reassures me, though it doesn’t stop me from wanting to go over there and knock a few heads together. “We need to talk to Volkov’s people,” he adds. “Don’t you have a friend over there?”

“Yeah,” I say, forcing myself to relax my hands as I spot Finn climbing out of his car and heading our way. I can feel the anger, always there beneath the surface, waiting for an excuse to break free. But I can’t lose it, not now. Not when everything is falling apart around us.

“I came as soon as I heard, boys,” Finn says. Finnian Leahy is our father’s former bodyguard and one of the few people we trust implicitly in this dangerous world. “How could this shit even happen?”

“We think it’s the Bratva,” I tell him, jaw tightening as I glance at Rory.

Finn gapes at us, his mouth hanging slack. “That’s pure madness! I thought the alliance was still on?”

“I’m sending Kellan to go talk to one of them,” Rory tells him. “We need answers.”

“I’ll go with you,” Finn volunteers, stepping forward.

“Good.” Rory nods curtly. “I’m off to bail our boys out,” he declares. “Report back to me whatever you hear.”

We part ways, and Finn and I head across town, to the Vitality Bank building. The impressively large brick building has a cozy, historic feel with stone archways and a large decorative lion in the center of the roofline. It houses the upper echelon of the Russian elite.

There’s a chill to the atmosphere as we walk inside. People going about their business suddenly turn and veer in a different direction when they spot us, and no one will make eye contact.

“I’d like to speak to Aleksey Mikhailov,” I say to the receptionist. Just then, Aleksey steps out of the elevator.

I raise my hand in greeting, but he stops short, his face impassive. Thick eyebrows arch upward as he gives me a once-over.

“What can I do for you, Brannagan?” he asks with a mild Russian accent.

“We came to meet with you,” I tell him, confusion washing over me at the hostility in his body language.

“I’m a very busy man,” he says. “You’ll have to make an appointment.”

“God fucking Christ, Aleksey, you’ve known me since high school. Can’t you give us five minutes of your time?” My shoulders tense and I breathe slowly in and out, trying to keep my temper in check.

Aleksey sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before gesturing for us to follow him. We head for the elevator bank, the ride up to the fifteenth floor as silent as a grave.

Finn and I take seats in the leather armchairs opposite Aleksey’s mahogany desk while he sinks into his tall leather chair and faces us, steepling his fingers together.

“Five minutes,” he says, gesturing for me to begin.

“What the hell is going on?” I blurt out, unable to hold back. Aleksey raises a single eyebrow as Finn reaches out, placing a calming hand on my arm.

“Pardon?” Aleksey asks, blinking wide-eyed at me.

I stare at him for a beat, narrowing my eyes. “You fucking coward, you know what I’m talking about.” Before I can say another word, Finn jumps in.

“What Kellan is referring to, Mr. Mikhailov, is the raid on the Harborview warehouse this morning. We believe your boss is the one who orchestrated it, and we want to know why.”

Finn’s voice is calm, his presence a soothing balm when I need it most.

Aleksey gives us a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t recall any of my associates having anything to do with police matters. I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Brannagan.”

“Bullshit!” I spit out, already halfway out of my seat. “You know damn well that raid has Volkov’s fingerprints all over it. Why else would the police have been there at the ass-crack of dawn? We know Volkov had lunch with the police chief just two days ago. And now we’re being raided!”

“It’s very rude to accuse Anatoly Volkov of such things,” Aleksey scolds. “I’ve had enough, Brannagan. I think it’s time for you two to leave.” He glances over my shoulder where a burly guard is already reaching into his jacket pocket.

“We’re leaving,” Finn says, grabbing my arm. “But this isn’t over, Mikhailov.”

“In the future, I’d be careful accusing a powerful man like Anatoly Volkov of such outlandish conspiracies, gentlemen,” Aleksey adds. “You don’t want to make any more enemies around here.”

“I can’t believe the balls on that man,” I fume as we head to the office.

Rory is there when we arrive. Finn and I explain what happened, Rory’s brows furrowing deeper and deeper the more we talk.

“This is horseshit,” he grinds out. “Volkov isn’t getting away with this.”

“We should retaliate,” I suggest. “There’s a warehouse in Briarwood that is always shut down at night, no security. We should burn the place down and send a message not to fuck with the Irish.”

Rory’s mouth curves up into a sly grin. “Good idea. Let’s do it.”

Finn nods slowly. “I think it’s a strong and pivotal message. Your father would approve.”

Once it’s decided, Rory sets the plan in motion while I get to work on some business deals.

Though I try to focus on the task at hand, my thoughts keep playing back to the events of the day, and by five o’clock, I’m sick of stewing in my own thoughts. I head for Black Sheep Tavern, needing a drink to clear my head.

As I settle onto a barstool, Seamus, the bartender, gives me a wave from where he’s cleaning a glass. “Pint of Blackrock,” I tell him, and he nods, reaching for a glass and heading over to the tap.

Fuck. What the hell happened today? I still have no answers, but I know we’re not letting the situation lie. No one undermines us and gets away with it.

The place starts getting louder as more people pile in, conversation settling to a dull roar in the background.

I’m sitting at a small table in the corner, trying to lie low and hoping to go unnoticed.

Seamus brings me my pint. I take the first sip, the bitter taste doing little to quell my racing thoughts. Everything is too much, too loud.

Leaning back in my chair, I close my eyes, trying to breathe through the noise. Suddenly, a voice cuts through the clamor, low but clear enough to pull me out of my reverie.

“… can’t believe you let Flynn’s debts get that high.”

I open my eyes and sit up a little, my interest piqued. Are they talking about Max Flynn?

“Well, he was good for it, until he wasn’t,” comes the reply, a voice much older, gruffer.

My attention sharpens. The bastard is always good for it until he isn’t. I lean in, trying to make out more over the din of the crowd.

“How was I supposed to know the idiot sold his house and now has no money left?” The voice becomes familiar. Niall “The Fixer” snorts as he takes a drink.

My body goes rigid. Did Max really sell their house? Shit. How much debt does the man owe? Irritation surges again as I realize I missed Max falling back into the gambling hole this time.

Fuck.

My mind reels, flashing back to a cold, rainy night four years ago.

Max had shown up at the Black Sheep along with his daughter, Darcy.

I’d been instantly intrigued by the beautiful, curvy girl with dark hair.

One look at her icy blue eyes and I was utterly captivated.

We talked all night and then found ourselves falling into bed together before she took off in the wee hours of the morning.

I’d tried to see her again after that night, but she blew me off. I knew it was because of who I was and the world I lived in, so I tried to forget about her. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get Darcy out of my head.

I lean in, straining to catch their words over the noise of the crowd, hoping to catch more of their conversation just to make sure I wasn’t hearing things incorrectly.

“So, yeah, the bastard sold the house and is broke,’ Niall mutters, voice thick with disdain. “Can you believe it?” My jaw tightens. Fucking Max, always in debt. Niall’s next words make my blood run cold. ‘We’re going after the daughter now.”

The words hang in the air, triggering something primal inside me. I try to breathe through the rage. Finn would tell me to wait, to think. But knowing Darcy could be in danger makes it impossible.

I’m standing up before I even register the movement, enraged that he’d even consider hurting Darcy like that. Those aren’t Brannagan family values.

“Since when do we go after women and children?” I demand, sneering at Niall. He rolls his eyes.

“Relax, Boss, we’re just gonna pay her a friendly visit,” he replies, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “But if she gets mouthy with us, that’s when we’ll have to get rough,” he adds.

The smirk he’s wearing pushes my buttons and my fist flies out, connecting with Niall’s jaw. “You’re a twisted bastard, Gallagher! We don’t fuckin’ do shit like that and you damn well know it!”

I don’t know if I’m more angry at Niall or Max. They’re both assholes, as far as I’m concerned, but right now, Max is on my shit-list. He’s put Darcy’s life in danger and I’m not going to stand for it.

I’m about to deck Niall again just to vent my anger when my phone buzzes. I reach for it, wondering if it’s Rory with news about the Russians.

“Brannagan.” My tone is clipped, irritation still surging, but the voice on the other end stops me short.

“Kellan, it’s Darcy Flynn.”

Her voice is wispy, like a ghost from the past I thought I’d buried.

“Can we meet to talk?”

My breath catches for a second, the fight already forgotten.