“Will the accuser step forward and state your case.”
A big, ugly-looking motherfucker approached the council flanked by two of the guards from outside. He looked around at the impressive setup, squared his massive shoulders, and cleared his throat.
“Name’s Hogan, and I was with Kellan the night he was killed. We’d just come back from a meeting. I stood lookout while he exited the car. Next thing I knew, I heard a pop, pop, pop and O’Brien went down. I chased the motherfucker, but they got away. Looked around and spotted a wallet they must’ve dropped, tracked them down, and bought ’im here.”
Of all the nonsensical bullshit stories…
No way was this big dumb fuck that damn lucky.
“We will now hear from the accused,” my father proclaimed.
Three things happened at once:
A fifty-thousand-watt spotlight was cast over the asshole strapped to the chair.
The hood was yanked off his head, revealing long blond hair, bare feet, pajamas, and frightened blue eyes.
And I completely lost my shit.
CHAPTER 40
Otelia
AFTER BELLA LEFT, I sat in that conference room for what seemed like hours, struggling to free myself from that godawful chair. The plastic bindings bit into my wrists painfully until I had no choice but to stop twisting and turning for fear of severing my own hands. My throat burned from screaming around the gag, so much so, my voice was barely a whisper now. I went through a myriad of emotions while sitting and waiting for whatever to happen. I cried all the tears and choked through prayer after prayer, plea after plea, until I finally gave up and accepted the truth. No one was coming to save me.
I wanted to believe that Mac was out there, somewhere, searching frantically for me. That he’d used all his resources to scour the world on threat of bodily harm if they came up empty. I could forgive him for killing a few people, namely Bella O’Brien, if it meant my freedom. As time passed, I allowed for musings of our unlikely association, the regret of things left unsaid, the sting of his harsh betrayal, and the realization that I fell hard and fast, that if given half a chance, I’d do it all again. I took solace in those quiet moments that the promise of love was realized, and if I were destined to die, Gates would know that his wish for me had come true. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Alone, I cried myself into a fitful rest.
Sometime later, the burgeoning sound of a click, click, click as someone placed a key in the lock startled me from my slumber. Someone was coming back to kill me. I prepared myself for the inevitable gunshot to the head. Who could it be? Bella O’Brien or that asshole who broke into my house? The answer came by way of grumbled curse words, a heavy hand that grabbed the back of my neck in a steel grip, and the putrid smell of stinky aftershave as I was hoisted in the air while still strapped down. I had no idea where I was being taken, but after a few minutes, I realized we weren’t alone. I couldn’t see a damn thing in this blacked-out hood, but my ears worked just fine.
The hulking piece of shit was asked to wait before we were allowed to go any further. I heard a ding right before we were on the move again, this time inside an elevator. Instincts told me we were headed down—the dip of my stomach, the lightheadedness, the feeling of being weightless. The bag over my head wasn’t helping with the motion sickness. I swallowed back the bile in the back of my throat before the need to projectile vomit.
More talking.
Please help me.
More moving.
I want to go home.
Finally, I was lowered to the ground, immobilized. If only I knew karate, I’d bust out of these bindings, backflip off the chair into the Wu Tang stance, and fight my way out of here using the praying mantis style of kung fu. I’d show them not to mess with an angry waitress. Voices echoed around me as if we were in some sort of auditorium. Hell, we could’ve been inside the Apollo Theatre for all I knew. I felt the presence of people all around me. Their eyes bore holes through the dark fabric of the hood. I whimpered around the gag soaked through with saliva, a silent plea for someone, anyone, to take pity on me.
“Will the accuser step forward and state your case.”
Hello…who said that?
Are we in a courtroom?
Who the hell is on trial?
A throat cleared to the left of me. “Name’s Hogan, and I was with Kellan the night he was killed. We’d just come back from a meeting. I stood lookout while he exited the car. Next thing I know, I heard a pop, pop, pop and O’Brien went down. I chased the motherfucker, but they got away. Looked around and spotted a wallet they must’ve dropped, tracked them down and bought ’im here.”
This was about Kellan O’Brien’s murder.
But…what did that have to do with me?
“We will now hear from the accused.”
What fucking accused?
I was freed from the hood with a vicious yank that took some of my hair with it. Before my eyes could adjust to the brightness of the room, an inhuman roar reverberated across the stage and shook the rafters.
I’d recognize that manly bellow anywhere.
Mac was here, and he was fighting his way towards me against the outstretched hands of twenty or so armed men. They were trying in vain to corral the angry bull-like stud, but their attempts were useless. He flung them aside as if they weighed less than crumpled tissue paper. Three men lay on the ground spitting out teeth, blood spurting from their noses, stuck between incoherence and consciousness. And he just kept coming.
Take that, motherfuckers.
He’d almost made it to where I was sitting when he was swarmed by a group of men who held him down, knees to his back and neck, while he struggled to break free. I called to him through the gag. He met my stare. Tears brimmed behind my eyelids. He was so beautiful in that moment. Hearing his battle cry even though his own life was at stake was something to behold.
“I’m going to fucking kill all of you!” he roared, still struggling.
“ENOUGH!” someone yelled.
Although I’d only met him once, I identified the voice as coming from Darragh’s father, Connor. It dawned on me then that this was some sort of Irish mob trial and I was the so-called accused! Holy shit. They thought I’d killed O’Brien. That dickhead who broke into my house just accused me of being the mastermind behind a goddamn hit.
“Jaysus Christ, boyo. Ye have a fucking death wish?” a well-dressed portly man shouted as he stood from his chair.
I noticed there were five of them up there, high above everything else. The ruling class, if I had to guess. Unfortunately, that also included Bella O’Brien, and from the sour look on her face, she was not at all happy with the turn of events. Mac had so many guns pointed at his head that one wrong move, and he’d end up a splattered stain. Connor seemed to keep his cool as he took in the scene below where he sat. His son was surrounded, yet he hadn’t made a move to call off the dogs. What the fuck, pops?
“Enough of this!” a third man shouted. “Connor, I hold you personally responsible for your second in command. If he does not relent, I will order the both of you immediately removed from these proceedings and dealt with accordingly. Do I make myself clear?”
Connor waited a beat before coolly and calmly replying, “Aye.”
“Stand him the fuck up,” the man ordered.