Page 7 of Savage Promises (Quinlan Empire #2)

Shane

C onnor’s ‘torture tunnel’ is a former sleeping quarters for the cheap immigrant labor used to build the New York City subway system.

White rectangular ceramic tiles lining every wall keep the place in a perpetual chill.

Perfect for working up a sweat when pummeling someone to within an inch of their life.

The smell of mildew is thick and makes my throat close every time I come down here.

Which isn’t often. Damn allergies.

Two rows of ceiling lights cast long, jagged shadows. Someone updated the lighting before abandoning this tunnel. High bays operate on multiple switches, allowing Connor to keep the place dim in some spots and blazing bright in others.

He also installed a system of chains dangling from the ceiling. A drain sits in the center of the floor like a mouth hungry for blood. Of course, one screwdriver to open the grate, and the place will fill up with rats.

Me? I prefer working out of my half-a-million dollar trailer on the UN construction site we broke ground on a few months ago.

A deal we share with the Greeks. A peace forged with Griffin’s marriage to their princess.

I wanted to marry Lennox, but my father never would have allowed me to marry a Donnelly.

It’s been heart-wrenching to see how successful she’s become.

She went off to college and returned with her expensive degree and now she runs a high-end nightclub.

Lennox is the embodiment of the kind of woman a mob boss needs in a partner. Strong and independent.

She just has the wrong damn last name .

Garrett sits tied to a steel chair, his wrists and ankles bound with coarse rope dipped in gasoline. Blood trails from his split upper lip. Connor circles him like a predator, flexing his fists.

Rhys stands just out of the light, eyes narrowed with an assassin’s patience. He’s silent, holding a custom AR to Garrett’s head should he get loose and try to attack us.

I’m going through his phone, which is a chaotic mess of social media posts, WhatsApp messages, and porn.

“Look, I’m in debt.” Garrett spits blood. “I have a drug problem, all right? Drugs are everywhere. Don’t look at me like that.”

Connor backhands him hard enough to snap his head sharply to the left, sending a fresh trickle of blood down the side of his face. “Bullshit. No one forced you to use. You don’t see us using, do you?”

“Who’s your dealer, Garrett?” I ask him.

“None of your fucking business.”

Rhys hands me his rifle and steps forward. He rolls up his sleeves with the kind of calm that makes men piss themselves. “Wanna try talking to me that way?”

Garrett’s head drops forward, his breath ragged. “Please, Shane. For the sake of our friendship. All those years we were tight,” he begs through sickening pink-stained teeth, blood smearing his lips.

“That friendship died a long time ago and you know why.”

“Who’s living in the past now?” Garrett fights back.

All I see is Richard Donnelly’s reflection in Garrett’s bony face. The same smug entitlement.

“Astoria got too small for you. You wanted the bright lights of Manhattan. If I knew you’d turn on us, I’d have cut open a vein and threatened to bleed out unless Griffin kept you from carrying our banner.”

Garrett’s red-rimmed swollen eyes lift to mine, desperation clouding his gaze. “So what the fuck are you going to do to me?”

“That depends on you, old friend.” The words scald my throat.

Connor fists Garrett’s hair, yanking his head back. “The Albanians. Where is their armory?”

“W... Why?” he mutters.

“They scored one of the last shipments of 120mm mortar shells from Russia before the sanctions.” I’ve been dying to get my hands on those. And I suspect we’ll find more stolen weapons from other crime families in that armory.

Garrett’s lips press shut as he shakes his head of greasy hair.

Rhys leans in. “You don’t want me to ask again.”

“I know better than to tell you that,” Garrett cries out. “You won’t kill me. Not pure Irish blood. But they’ll gut me.”

Connor screams in his face, “Fuck your pure Irish blood. Look around. We got plenty. You’re gonna die tonight.”

“Connor...” My breath hitches, not thinking we’d take it this far.

“You’re testing my Celtic pride,” my brother says, landing several punches like gunshots to Garrett’s face.

He sags in the chair, blood dripping from his nose and staining his shirt.

I retreat to the darkness and watch. Like I do when I stalk and surveil the enemy. Not everything is exactly what it seems. Once in a while, we’re blindsided with a truth we never saw coming.

But Garrett isn’t that deep. He’s just grown more and more rotten. A flash of silver glinting behind Garrett’s wristwatch catches my eye.

A tag. Shit .

I step closer, my voice ice-cold. “You’re tagged?”

Garrett stammers, “It’s...it’s nothing. My father tags all of us. He’s out getting pissed, he doesn’t care about me.”

Connor yanks off the watch and tosses it to me. “Son of a fuckhead.”

“Why wasn’t I told your father is tagging his crew?” I holler, only I would have approved that. “Your father may be off drinking, but if he knows you’re here, he’ll come guns blazing for you. He knows what we do to people here.”

The words barely leave my lips when Connor immediately calls Griffin. The boss.

After a few beats to answer since it’s late, Connor speaks into his phone. “I have Garrett Donnelly in my tunnel. You should get down here.” He then gives our brother a rundown of what we found.

“Fuck.” I shake my head. “I knew this was going to be a long night.”

“My team followed him,” Connor keeps talking to Griffin. “Shane is going through his phone.”

My brother looks up. The sound of engines echoes above the tunnel. The vibration shudders through the walls.

“Copy that,” Rhys says to the guard he posted outside via a secured hand-held radio and turns to my brother. “Donnelly Senior closing in, Connor.”

“Aw fuck, Old Man Donnelly is here already,” Connor announces bitterly to Griffin on the phone.

“Stop!” Richard Donnelly marches down the tunnel’s ramp at a swift pace with his hands in the air. “I’m not armed. I just want my son.”

I wish this weren’t happening. But then his figure looms large in the room and I curse that it’s real.

“Put Richard on the phone,” Griffin demands, loud enough for me to hear without the speaker setting on.

Connor hands over his cell, and Richard snaps it from his grip.

“Griffin, son, there’s been some kind of mistake.” Donnelly’s old Irish accent made Fergus O’Rourke trust him. “My boy—”

“Your boy was caught red-handed,” Griffin yells.

“He told me to my face that ATF seized an entire truckload of guns that cost tens of thousands of dollars when he really sold it to the Albanian cell. He’s not a boy.

He’s a fucking man. And a thief. You know better than anyone what people like us do to thieves, Mr. Donnelly. ”

“Our family goes way back, Quinlan,” Richard chokes out, but it’s a hollow reminder since he and my da had been feuding for years.

The call goes on mute for a moment. I suspect Griffin is telling his wife Ava what happened. Heck, he might send her to kill both Donnellys.

Jealousy spears through me like a blade.

The idea of having a woman so close, so in sync, is a distant dream.

Someone who knows all my secrets, the best and worst sides of me.

Is there a woman who can handle me? And still drop to her knees for me?

There was only one I imagined, but I can never have her. It’s impossible.

“I will pay back whatever you lost,” Richard offers when Griffin returns. “Let me discipline my son on this one.”

“Not good enough,” Griffin roars.

Richard purses his lips, looking at his son beat to shit. He clears his throat and says, “Then I will offer you something else to prove we’re loyal to you, Griffin. Can I meet you in your office tomorrow?”

“No. Talk to me now. What do you propose?” Griffin is seriously entertaining some kind of compensation.

Unbelievable .

“My daughter Neve,” he says, low and controlled. “When she is eighteen, she will make a fine wife.”

A shudder runs down my spine. Neve. I fucking forgot about Neve because she was just a child when Garrett and I were close.

“Griffin?” Richard attempts to rush my brother’s contemplation. “Are you still there? We’ve had our differences in the past, but I’m sure you know the value of our pure blood. And Neve is still a virgin.”

“Put Connor on the phone.” Griffin’s request shoots my eyes to Connor, who would be next in line to take a wife. “I’ll have him join us tomorrow and—”

“No. He’s an animal,” Richard boldly criticizes the guy calling the shots on his son’s punishment. “This torture tunnel is disgusting. I was thinking... Shane would be a good match for my Neve.”

I nearly drop Garrett’s phone. Richard can not be serious.

“Hold on.” Griffin chokes out and the line goes silent again. When he returns, he says, “I’ll be at your house in an hour, Donnelly. But Garrett stays in my custody until we settle this.”

When the line goes dead, Richard turns to me with a hand over his heart. “I will tell your brother the same thing when I meet with him. It was your father’s wish that our families unite. We made our peace before he left this world.”

I want to punch Richard Donnelly in the face even more since we can’t confirm what Da wanted. He’s dead. We read his will, and we were each given letters from him. Mine said nothing about marrying Neve fucking Donnelly.

I glance at Garrett. “Where is the Albanian armory?”

“Garrett, stay quiet until I have a deal with Griffin,” Richard Donnelly insists .

I’m ready to put a bullet in both their heads when next, my phone is ringing with a call from Griffin.

Fucking fuck!