Corrupted Union(9)
Author: Jill Ramsower

 

I didn’t necessarily learn anything new from the article, but it did make me wonder about Wellington’s initial move into shipping. I couldn’t recall if he’d come from money, and if so, how much. Had he invested his own money for the project, or had a bank been involved? Or maybe private investors? Dad might be more open to telling me what he knew about Wellington’s background than he had been in discussing possible criminal activities.

 

I skimmed a few more articles before abandoning that line of inquiry to pursue one I had even less business looking into. I typed the name Keir Byrne into the Google search bar. Nothing. This time, I entered Byrne family Irish Mafia. Was that what it was called? Wasn’t the Mafia an Italian thing? I had no idea, but the internet seemed to understand. The first result was an article dated only a few months ago titled “Coincidence or Assassination?” It had my attention.

 

 

 

One of the leaders of the powerful Byrne family was shot and killed last night outside a club owned by his Irish family, a known faction of organized crime in the city. Brody Byrne, one of three sons to the notorious Patrick Byrne, was fifty-eight when bullets from a passing car ended his life.

 

While Mafia-type criminal activity hasn’t been in the forefront of the news in recent decades, the death certainly has all the hallmark indications of a hit. Byrne left behind a wife and three grown children. Authorities are looking into the death, but according to Police Commissioner Paul Cooke, drive-by shootings have one of the lowest rates of prosecution due to the evidentiary challenges.

 

 

 

The man pictured bore a striking resemblance to Keir. Similar blue eyes. Same ruthless glint. Would that be Keir’s fate one day? How dangerous was the life he led?

 

Dad said he wasn’t scared of the Byrnes, but I wondered if that wasn’t bravado talking. Keir and his family were unquestionably dangerous. It was only logical to fear them.

 

You didn’t fear Keir.

 

Yeah, but I’m different. Broken.

 

Or … hear me out … maybe your intuition told you he wouldn’t hurt you. Remember that whole survival instincts, hunter and prey monologue? If you could tell he was watching, maybe you could intuit that he wasn’t dangerous.

 

You’re awfully opinionated.

 

I rolled my eyes and continued to scour the internet for information on the man who had jump-started my pulse after years of flatline. My curiosity was insatiable, and that wasn’t the only thing. For the second night in a row, the thought of turquoise eyes and the unrelenting dominance of an iron will had me coming within minutes of touching myself. Faster than I’d ever climaxed before and hard enough that I successfully avoided thinking about his effect on me before falling blissfully asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

Sticky clumps of blood matted her hair. It wasn’t a ton of blood, but her white-blond hair made the deep crimson that much more obvious.

 

The sight turned my stomach inside out. What terrified me the most was how perfectly still she lay. Time froze as thoroughly as the body at my feet. The wind didn’t blow. The birds didn’t chirp. All but my thundering heart had stopped—it pounded as though trying to jump-start the world around me, but it was no good. Nothing moved. Not even me.

 

I stood paralyzed and helpless, unable to move or cry for help, though my mind screamed from behind its iron bars to do something. The only thing I managed was to peer down in shock at my open hands, palms up and covered in blood.

 

My stomach revolted, panic burning its way up my throat.

 

The girl had hardly bled—where had it all come from? My hands were coated in sticky crimson. My clothes were splattered and smeared. I was covered from head to toe.

 

Agonizing terror refused to be contained any longer, bursting from my lungs in the form of a horrific wail. The sound caught in my ears as I lurched upward in bed, a hand slapping over my mouth as I raced for the bathroom.

 

I made it to the toilet in time to spew an acidic cocktail of bile and dinner remnants. Tears poured down my cheeks, which was almost as unsettling as the nightmare. I didn’t cry. Hadn’t since I was a child. Yet rivulets of salty sadness streaked down my face.

 

It was just a dream, Ro.

 

You know it was more than that.

 

No. It was a dream.

 

I might have felt concerned about whoever had been crying, but that didn’t change the fact that what I’d just seen was a dream. I wouldn’t let my subconscious color my waking thoughts.

 

So you’re going to let it go?

 

I didn’t say that. I only meant that I won’t go off half-cocked.

 

I splashed my face with water and took several deep breaths.

 

Then what are you going to do?

 

I need more information.

 

And where will you find it? You couldn’t come up with anything on Google, and Dad wasn’t any help. If you go to the authorities, anything they find could end up hurting Dad.

 

It was true. Dad and Lawrence Wellington had been friends for too long to avoid a controversy. Any questioning I did would need to be behind the scenes. Maybe a private investigator? That might work, but who? And did they have an obligation to report crimes to the authorities?

 

I couldn’t let this touch my father, but I also didn’t think I could ignore the crying woman. Something deep in my bones told me Stetson’s father was bad news. I just needed proof.

 

What will you do once you get that proof?

 

I’ll tell Dad, and he can handle it privately.

 

And Stetson?

 

I bent at the hips and lowered my head between my arm, my hands propping me against the bathroom vanity. Everything was so confusing where Stetson was concerned. How would his father’s actions impact my view of him? Should I tell him about my suspicions? If so, when? How would he respond?

 

I hated uncertainty. I liked plans and order and knowing exactly what to expect.

 

An echo of the woman’s cry drifted through my mind like a chilling gust of wind. She needed me, and when it came down to it, that was all that mattered.

 

Okay, Wonder Woman, how do you plan to accomplish this great rescue?

 

I rolled my eyes and plodded back to my bedroom.

 

Don’t be dramatic. All I want right now is more information.

 

Who can get that to you without raising any red flags?

 

Someone good with technology. Someone who didn’t mind bending the rules and who was used to getting information on people. I didn’t know anyone like that personally, but a pair of turbulent ocean eyes flashed in my mind.