King of the Cage: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Devil’s Own)

I held up the vial of drugs I’d taken off Enrico and turned to the man strapped to the chair in the center of the room.

“Rico, you’ve been a naughty boy.”

Enrico wasn’t looking too hot. He was my guest, deep in the underground garages of Hell’s Kitchen, where many an enemy of the O’Connor family had been laid to rest.

Declan had duct-taped a towel around the side of his head to stop the bleeding from his severed ear. The towel was nearly soaked through at this point.

The fucker was losing a lot of blood, so I had to make this quick.

“Yeah, so what? Z Juice is everywhere these days, if you know the right people.”

“Is that right? Who would the right people be to get my hands on this?” I asked.

Enrico coughed, the sound wet and nasty. Torture was so messy. I loved it.

“The kind of people you’d never meet.” He sneered at me.

I chuckled. “Are you trying to pull the superiority card now, at the hour of your death?” I demanded. “Get a fucking grip and answer my questions, if you want to drag yourself out of here alive.”

Enrico sighed. “Whatever. I got it from my brother, Aldo — he’s connected.”

“To what family?” I thought the Seprianos had moved away from their old mobster roots as they’d shifted into politics.

“Not Mafia scum… he’s connected higher up than that. He’s connected to the kind of people who play with people like you as if they’re toys in a dollhouse. People with real power. They don’t deal the drug… they make it, and they’re picky about who they deal to. O’Connors wouldn’t make the cut.”

I leaned forward, interested. Now we were getting somewhere. “And they are?”

“My brother’s investment group,” Enrico said.

I waited for the punch line to that particularly funny statement. None came.

“Are you shitting me?” I jerked my head toward Declan. “Get my hatchet.”

“I’m serious!” Enrico cried when Declan handed me my favorite weapon. It had my initials engraved on the hilt and everything.

“So, you’re telling me a bunch of old, upper-crust investment bankers are spreading Zombie Juice around the city?”

Enrico shook his head. “It’s not just old dudes. Aldo is a member, too. There are lots of young guys… young but with potential. The members list, it would put a White House fundraiser party to shame. Everyone who is anyone in this city is a member. They don’t just produce Z Juice, they created it, along with a whole slew of other experimental drugs.”

“Why?” I placed the tip of my hatchet against his knee and lightly tapped it.

“To make money? To provide the kind of experiences their members demand… Do you know how you attract high-net-worth individuals to your society? Offer them experiences no one else can,” Enrico muttered.

“If your brother is a member, why aren’t you?”

“It’s not like that. You have to pass the tests. Membership isn’t a given. Everyone has to pass the tests.”

“So, you failed? Not even having a brother inside could help? You really are a loser, aren’t you, Enrico,” I couldn’t help but goad.

Declan picked up the bottle and waved it in front of Enrico’s face. “Is that what this logo is?”

Enrico nodded.

“What’s it called?”

“The Enclave.”

“Who are the members? I want a list.”

“I’m not even a member! I don’t know anything else about it. The membership is top secret, only those on the inside know who else is a member, and even then, there are masks and shit.”

“Masks? Now I know you’re making up bedtime stories. No way powerful people in the city are running around playing with drugs, wearing masks. You’re telling me porky pies, Enrico, and I don’t understand why. Are you trying to protect your brother?”

Enrico shook his head. “No. I mean, he doesn’t need me to protect him. He’s not the one in charge.”

“Then you can’t really help me, Enrico… which means you’re not useful to me anymore, and I can only sentence you based on what I do know that you’ve done,” I said, getting up.

Declan messed around with a water bottle and handed it to me.

“You said you wouldn’t kill me, today,” Enrico panted, his eyes wild. He glanced around the dark, dingy room.

“I did, and I’m a man of my word.” I went to Enrico and placed my hatchet blade at his throat. “Now, drink up.”

He looked at me and then at the bottle.

“Is that…” he stuttered, fear coloring his every word.

“What do you think, Rico? I don’t know much about investment groups or circle jerk secret societies… but I do believe in an eye for an eye. Now, open wide.”

Declan gripped Enrico from behind and shoved his fingers into the corners of his mouth, forcing him to open up. He gagged, his tongue lolling helplessly. I poured the contents of the bottle down his throat.

Once it was done, I tossed the bottle away and stepped back. Enrico coughed and spluttered, his eyes panicked and wide.

“I wonder how long it takes to work?” Declan said with curiosity. He pulled a small notepad out of his pocket, and a stubby pencil.

“What are you doing?” I lit a cigarette.

“Taking notes for Doc,” Declan said, like that was a completely normal thing to be doing at this moment.

His bloodstained hand gripping the pencil struck me as the funniest shit, as the nicotine crashed into my overstressed system.

I threw my head back and laughed.

Then Declan only made it worse by fishing glasses out of his pocket and putting them on, completing the transformation into a tattooed, bloodstained star pupil.

I turned back to Enrico. We’d given him a hell of a dose, and it looked like it was already working.

“Hold your breath,” I instructed him harshly.

He complied. After a minute or so, his eyes bulged, and his face turned puce.

“It’s definitely working,” Declan said. “That was like five minutes from consumption to effect.” He scribbled away.

Clamping my cigarette between my teeth, I approached Enrico and cut his ties loose.

“Let’s see what this can really do.”

I took my hatchet and handed it to him. I was prepared to defend myself, in case he was faking.

“Cut your finger off,” I instructed him calmly and stepped back, watching with interest.

Enrico complied.

The thunk was loud, and it was the only sound produced. Enrico didn’t so much as gasp when the digit rolled to the floor.

I chuckled darkly. “Oh, Rico, we are going to have so much fun.”

Later, I washed the blood of the dead man from my skin. Enrico Sepriano was no longer of this Earth, and my da was going to be pissed about it, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. As soon as I’d known he was spiking people’s drinks with Z Juice, he’d been marked for death. I’d promised Quinn I’d stamp out the people associated with the drug that had nearly hurt her. I was nothing if not a vengeful fucker.

After the shower, I wrapped a towel around my hips and lit a cigarette, leaning over the old, chipped sink in the bathroom to stare in the mirror. My wet hair dripped down my shoulders, sending beads of water across my tattooed chest.

Each inked mark was a story. A success or failure, a disappointment. A tapestry of a life lived recklessly and fearlessly. It had been a long, long time since I’d felt like I had anything to lose. I had a gut feeling that that simple truth was about to change.

Giada Santori.

My wee selkie.

The woman my da wanted me to marry at all costs.

The woman who had crawled inside my head.

I exhaled a long plume of smoke and clamped the butt between my teeth so I could tie my wet hair back. I recalled the moment where Dec had gone to light up in Giada’s apartment, and my selkie had shot him a look that could have killed to stop him. I stubbed my cigarette out on the tile.

My phone vibrated on the sink, and I checked the message.

Z Juice in Hade Harbor. I’ve got a lead. Come up here, and let’s talk to some guys about it. N

So, Niko was doing his own digging. He wouldn’t like it in his little corner of the country. He wouldn’t stand for it. Nikolai Chernov would stamp Z Juice out in Maine, and God help the person who got in his way. His kids lived in that city. That meant Hade Harbor and the rest of Maine was under the Palach’s control.

And New York? Did that fall to me? Was I the only person who cared enough to stop it here? If so, the city had a piss-poor champion. A man who’d only ever failed at the things he’d cared about. Then again, I hadn’t cared about much of anything at all in my life. Nothing had ever been that important to me.

Until now.

After getting dressed, I headed over to my father’s house. My apartment above the pub was only a few doors up from the house I’d grown up in in Hell’s Kitchen. House wasn’t a good description for the sprawling abode that took up nearly a block, but it wasn’t nice enough inside to call it anything else.

A rabbit’s warren of connected apartments, some with knocked-through walls, others simply with holes. Colm O’Connor, patriarch of the family, had never cared much for keeping up appearances. Other things were more important, like making money and deals. My da was a lifelong gambler, and he hated to lose. He saw every day as a competition against some new enemy. It was exhausting.

Quinn was in the kitchen when I got in.

“Is that what you’re wearing to see Ma?” She wrinkled her button nose at my usual outfit of dark jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket. Right, today was visiting day.

“I can’t come. I’ve got somewhere to go.”

“Where?”

“Maine. Niko found that same shit you got drugged with in his town. Heads will roll for that.” I poured myself a cup of coffee from the machine on the counter and downed the bitter tar. Considering the cook of the house usually made her brew Irish, with a liberal helping of rye, no one much noticed the taste of the coffee.

“Really? What does it mean?” Quinn asked, chewing her lip.

“It means we find out as much as we can, from whoever we can, and then we do something about it.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. I had plenty to go on from Enrico Sepriano’s confession, and yet, nowhere tangible to start. How did I make contact with The Enclave? Sure, Aldo Sepriano was a member, but he was much better secured than his brother and would be harder to lean on. Also, if he didn’t know shit, how did I find out who the real power players were?

Quinn touched my arm. “I’ll tell Ma you’re asking for her.”

“Yeah, and she’ll say ‘who?’ Don’t bother upsetting her,” I muttered. “I want you home and safe while I’m gone. No parties for a while, no going out socially. Go to class, and come back, and take Ion with you,” I reminded her.

She rolled her eyes, but her heart wasn’t in it.

“I mean it, Quinn. If he loses you again, that’s on him. If you value his life, just know, you’re responsible for it. You ditch him again? He’s a dead man.”

Quinn frowned and pulled away from me. “Stop being an arsehole. You’re not Killian or Ronan.”

No, I’m not. They would have never let you be in danger in the first place.

“I’m not kidding. Ion will be the first to go if I hear you’ve snuck out or stayed out late. This isn’t the time for a teenage rebellion.”

“I’m twenty-one,” Quinn reminded me in a scathing tone.

“Yeah, that’s right. You’re only twenty-one. Declan’s in charge when Da isn’t around, got it?”

She rolled her eyes again and turned away but didn’t disagree.

“When will you be back?” she grumbled.

“Soon. I can’t stay away long. I’ve got to see about a girl,” I told her and gave her my tried-and-true cheeky grin that I knew would make her smile.

Declan lounged in the doorway when I left the kitchen.

“Thanks for making me the babysitter,” he grunted as I passed him.

“You’re welcome, pal. Just remember, something happens to Quinn, Ion’s first, and then it’s you… so do a good fucking job.”

Declan waved his phone at me. “Cian wants to know what to do about Santori. You really want him to pack up his surveillance and leave her to her own devices?”

I stared at him a beat. Leave her to her own devices? That ship had sailed. Regardless, if we were meant to have been enemies with benefits, that had changed last night when she’d got down on her knees for me and looked up at me with those huge black eyes. It had changed when she’d let me see her searching for her friend and taking no prisoners. She’d slipped under my skin. She lived there now.

“What do you think?” I deadpanned.

Dec smirked and nodded, like he’d already called it.

“Got it. We’ll keep an eye on the missus for you.”