“I think you need to leave now, Darragh, go back to what you cherish most.”
CHAPTER 30
Otelia
I FELT GUTTED.
My limbs ached from sitting on the hard-ass floor, but I just couldn’t bring myself to move. Mac had listened to my private message, well, most of it, anyways. I knew it wasn’t his fault, yet I felt robbed, pilfered of the last remaining part of Gates that solely belonged to me. He had no right to that segment of my life, none whatsoever. We weren’t dating or engaged to be married; in fact, we were little more than strangers who happened to fuck after a heated argument. That placed him squarely in the one-night stand category, if I were being honest.
When he’d showed up here tonight, I decided to allow him inside my home. And why not? I’d already let him inside my body. What was one more mistake? He looked so normal in his leisure clothes, leather jacket and jeans, he could’ve been any upstanding man waiting patiently for his woman to get off work. It was enough that I was fooled into forgetting who he really was. After listening to that message, he’d reminded me why I didn’t belong in his world of chaos.
He stood over me until one of his goons arrived a short time later carrying an armful of ice cream tubs. What couldn’t fit in the freezer, he deposited in the trash can with an unnecessary amount of force. I remained silent through his little meltdown while blistering mad at his audacity. He was a thief. A thief who refused to leave once he’d shattered my heart without a single care.
“Get the fuck up,” he growled somewhere nearby.
“Go straight to hell, Mac,” I hissed. “The door is that way. I’m sure you remember how to get there, take a left at Eat Shit Street, then veer south where the road ends.”
Strong arms lifted me to my feet and dropped my round ass on the sofa with a plop. I had very little fight left in me after being accused of whoring myself behind a dead man’s back. The joke was on him though. How do you betray a memory?
“Explain,” he demanded.
“Fuck. You.”
“Oh, we’ll get to that part, kitty cat. Now start talking, or I promise you, the sting of my hand across your ass will loosen your tongue and have you sore for a week. I’m not fucking around, Otelia.”
Did this asshole honestly expect me to start spilling my guts because he assumed the worst? Did I hear that right? He had the nerve to stand there all high and mighty when he too had secrets. The hypocrisy was real with this one.
“Tell you what, Mr. Man. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” I snapped.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Bella fucking O’Brien,” I spat. “Don’t bother with the intro. I already heard it from her husband. Get to the good shit, Mac. I’d hate to have to use my imagination.”
Checkmate, motherfucker.
Ball was in his court.
“Bella and I were together from the time we were twelve until a week before she married Kallum,” he shared. “I hadn’t seen her in years before she showed up at a party my parents were giving in Boston. She tried to talk to me, and I left.” Golly wow.
They really did have a long history.
Had she cheated on him?
“Your turn.” He sat next to me, expectantly. “Get talking, Otelia.”
“Gates was my high school sweetheart. We were your quintessential teenage couple—star football player, blond cheerleader, popular crowd. Lifetime could’ve made a movie about us if our story had a happy ending.” I shrugged.
Darragh resumed his part.
“Bella came to me one day and told me she had chosen someone else, someone with more pull, greater authority, and a higher position within the organization. I was limited, she said, since there was zero chance of me ever taking over as the head of my family. I’m the youngest. It’s not my place. Her decision was final, and I couldn’t do fucking shit about it but watch and learn.” His eyes darkened in the dimness of the light and brimmed with consternation. I knew it was hard for him to admit that Bella considered him the lesser man.
I decided to give him a little more.
“Gates was diagnosed with cancer our senior year. He died before we graduated, and what you heard on the phone was the last message he left for me before his prognosis. I never had the heart to delete it.”
“Fuck.” He rubbed a dejected hand down his face.
“Yeah…” I agreed.
“Was that the reason why you dropped out of high school, Otelia?” he recalled.
“Yes and no,” I hedged.
This was always the hardest part.
“It was after I miscarried our child shortly after his death that I decided to disappear. I had just enough money saved to make it to Remington, and I’ve been here ever since. Their deaths…I couldn’t do fucking shit about it but watch and learn.”
“Motherfucker,” he growled. “I didn’t…” Regret pinched his brow, but I knew from experience that he would never apologize. We were beyond that now, anyway. Well beyond.
First love denied.
Love forever lost.
It tethered us in some strange way. The promise of eternity and its failure to deliver turned me into a lonely waitress and him into an underground fight club owner. Business warmed his bed and his heart, a poor replacement for love, but it was his choice. Whereas I searched for that special feeling with my eyes wide open, Mac closed his to even the possibility. Opposite sides of the same fucked-up coin.
Typical of a non-believer, Mac sat next to me in deep contemplation. Our association wasn’t built on this type of soul-bearing, ball-busting, heart-stopping tragedy. I’d taken a big chance by opening up to him, and he did the same. Until tonight, it was fear, oral sex, more fear, angry sex, and the threat of a mutual enemy that kept us in each other’s company. Not a lot of wiggle room for two people on the opposite ends of the entanglement spectrum. When I’d told Maribel, what happened between the two of us, her perspective was rather shocking in its inner beauty. She, of all people, knew that it wasn’t the start of the relationship that mattered, but the finish.
“Gates wanted you to be happy, Odie,” she’s said. “Love isn’t logical. It doesn’t fit neatly into a box according to everyone’s standards. It’s passion and heartache, fight and folly, but you know what? It’s so worth it in the end. Don’t let what MacCabe did to all of us dictate whether or not you decide to take a chance. Everyone makes mistakes, and we all fall short.”
I wish I shared her optimism.
Mac and I went on like this. Back and forth, we shared our ups and downs, trials and tribulations. I learned more about mob life and expectations, all of which I found as fascinating as the man sitting next to me. Mac wasn’t a ruthless asshole for the sake of being an asshole. That skank, Bella, had hurt him deeply, and he’d set out to prove to her and everyone else how wrong they were to underestimate him. He wasn’t content with what was handed to him; he fought back using the only tools he had. The sound knowledge that men would pay for what they wanted, even for their women, no matter the cost. As the words flowed, I began to feel a kinship with Mac. We both suffered and adapted our lives accordingly. Bella’s rejection of love had molded him into Frankenstein’s monster. He was her greatest creation.