THE CALLAHANS (A Mafia Romance): The Complete 5 Books Series (36 page)

Sean

I was working the bag, a fine sweat beading on my forehead as I worked to control my breathing and keep my hands steady. It’d been a while since I’d been to the gym, but it felt good. I boxed all through high school and college, so this was kind of like going home again. Just the smell of the place was familiar, almost comforting. And the workout was actually kind of nice. I’d been sore all week, but it was a good sort of sore.

The gym was quiet, just a few stragglers here this late in the day. Most people worked out early in the day, going home by the time I arrived a little after six every evening. Not many people left to spar with, but working the bag was good enough.

I was about to call it a night when I saw her walk in. She was a beauty, what with her blond hair and bright blue eyes. She was wearing a pair of shapeless sweat pants and a tight, nearly transparent t-shirt. She seemed a little nervous, the way she looked around the gym, not really taking in much more than the movement around her. She approached one of the bags, studying it as if it was a puzzle to be conquered. And then she hit it with her bare hand, completely wrong. I was surprised she didn’t break a bone.

I walked over, wiping away the sweat on my forehead as I went.

“Don’t curl your fingers around your thumb. That’s a good way to break it.”

She looked up, a little fear in those pale eyes. “Yeah?”

“And you should probably have your hands wrapped before you work the bag.”

“Why?”

“To keep from hurting yourself.”

Her eyes moved over me slowly, wearily. “You a coach or something?”

“Nope. Just a guy trying to get into shape.”

She cocked an eyebrow, a wry smile slowly twisting her lips. “You look like you’re in fine shape already.”

I looked down at myself, touching the slight pooch of my belly. “I’ve got a desk job that takes up a lot of my time. Haven’t had the time to work out that I’d like.”

She focused on the bag again, checking it out with the partial confidence of someone who thinks she could conquer anything.

“I appreciate the suggestions, but I think I can handle it.”

“Suit yourself.”

I walked over to the bench where I’d left my bag and began to unwind the dressings from my hands. After a minute, I heard a little yelp from behind me. I turned, and she was holding her hand, rubbing it with the other. I grabbed a roll of bandage from my bag and walked back over, taking hold of her hand. As I began to wind the bandage around her palm, I noticed bruises in the shape of fingertips on her wrist. She blushed when I looked into her eyes.

“Mugging.”

I nodded, noticing now the bruise on her cheek that she’d tried valiantly to cover with makeup. My hand shook a little with anger as I finished wrapping her right hand. She held it up and wiggled her fingers as I began on the left.

“It helps?”

“It does.”

I quickly wrapped the left, then stepped back and gestured for her to hit the bag. She did, but her form was all wrong. I moved behind her, held her arms and silently showed her a quick jab, molding my hand around hers to show her how she should hold it. Then I stepped back and she repeated what I’d shown her almost perfectly.

“That should get you started,” I said, wandering back to my bag.

“Thanks.”

I shrugged.

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

“I’m here most nights about six.”

She watched as I picked up my bag and headed for the door.

“If I’m here, do you think you could show me more?”

I glanced back at her. “If you’re here.”

And it was as easy as that.

***

I drove home to the luxury condo I’d bought a little over two years ago when I came home. The place was empty, quite literally. Although I’d been here for two years, I hadn’t really gotten around to buying furniture. I had a couple of folding chairs, a mattress on the floor in my bedroom, and that was about it. I thought buying the condo would be my way of putting down roots, but I couldn’t seem to make myself commit to it. I felt restless, as if I needed to be ready to leave at a second’s notice. Owning furniture was too much like permanence.

I took a shower, trying not to look myself in the eye when I stood in front of the mirror. I had trouble with that these days. There was too much in my wake, too much guilt. I’d done things I wasn’t proud of. I told myself that it was all in the past and it was time to move on, but I couldn’t seem to do it.

I dragged my fingers through my fine, red hair and headed downstairs, digging a frozen dinner out of the fridge. My father was expecting me to meet him in less than an hour. There was a job tonight, a security gig. I didn’t use to participate in these things, but now that my brother was married and expecting his first child, Pops preferred not to ask him to put himself between Jack’s people and a bullet. So it was my turn to stand up and join the family business.

Pops was the CEO of MCorp, this massive corporation here in Boston that was a conglomerate of different types of businesses. MCorp owned everything from car washes to real estate, the latest acquisition being a chain of pizza joints. I was in the legal department at MCorp, pushing papers to make sure everything was on the up and up. But the true family business was protecting the Irish mafia.

Jack McGuire was the head of the mafia and Pops’ business partner. Pops used to run numbers with Jack when they were both young, but he’d made a promise to Mom that he’d get out. Instead of fully removing himself from the illegal crap, he’d become something like muscle for Jack. My older brother, Killian, runs things with him—as well as running the PR department at MCorp—but, like I said, he recently married our foster sister, Stacy, and they were expecting their first child. Ian and Kyle, my other brothers, were also part of Pops’ team, but he needed me to run point with him.

I ate at the counter, watching the news on the television mounted under the cabinets. I thought about the pretty girl at the gym, my thoughts running to things they probably shouldn’t. I wondered if she knew what wearing a shirt like that one could do to guys in a testosterone-driven environment. It was pink with words in French scattered all across the front, but the material was so thin that I could see the white and black pattern of her sports bra. She might as well have been out there without the shirt on—something most women at the gym did—because there was something about a shirt like that which just made a man run more to the erotic than seeing a woman in just her sports bra.

And then I thought about the bruises on her wrist, the bruise on her face, wondering what—or who—had put them there. I’d like to meet that guy in a dark alley sometime. There were ways to get what you wanted from a woman without leaving marks.

I finished my meal and headed out, grabbing my keys on the way out the door. Pops was waiting at the curb, a stern look on his face when I climbed in beside him.

“What’s up?”

“The Italians are causing us a little trouble.”

“How’s that?”

“A few of them have been spotted outside the new warehouse. Jack thinks someone’s told them what we’re up to.”

“Then I guess we’d better be extra careful tonight.”

We drove in silence to the meeting spot, climbing out of the car to check things out before the others arrived. Things looked quiet tonight, but you could never be too careful. Ian was up on the roof of a nearby business with a rifle, and Kyle was lurking in the shadows where even we couldn’t see him. Pops and I were leaning back against the trunk of his sedan, not really talking, when another car pulled up.

It wasn’t our guys.

“Hey, Brian,” a voice called.

Shit, shit, shit!

It was Detective Anthony Scarsorsi.

“Anthony,” Pops said, approaching the driver’s side of the sedan.

“What are you doing out here this late?”

Pops glanced back at me. He made a motion with his hand to stand down.

“Meeting a friend.”

“Out here? In the middle of nowhere?”

Pops shrugged. “Is that a crime, officer?”

“Nope. It’s a free country.” There was a long pause. “But…we got a report that there was going to be a meeting between the Irish and a few members of the Harbor Point Bloods here tonight.”

“Interesting.”

Scarsorsi was quiet for a long minute. I could almost feel the wheels spinning in his head. There was nothing he could do to my Pops or I until he had proof, and there was no way our people would show up while the cops were within a ten-mile radius. And, by now, Ian would have warned everyone in route to this location. The meeting was already called off just by Scarsorsi showing up, a fact that would piss Jack off since this meeting had been called off twice before for similar reasons.

Someone was tipping the cops off to our business, and it was beginning to impede things. First men went missing, some ending up dead. Then the Italian mob started getting inside information on our business. And now this. Someone was leaking information from inside the organization…and that was going to have to be stopped.

“I know about you, Brian,” Scarsorsi said. “Very soon I’m going to have a strong case against you, and your position at MCorp will no longer be able to protect you. Your day is coming.”

“You’ve been saying that for years, Anthony. Yet, nothing ever comes of it.”

“It will. You just wait.”

Scarsorsi drove off in a cloud of dust, disappearing almost as quickly as he arrived. Pops walked back over to where I was waiting, his face a twist of anger and frustration.

“We need to find the mole.”

He pulled out his phone and called Ian and Kyle off. Then he was behind the wheel, his knuckles white as he gripped it far too tight.

I waited until we were parked in front of my condo.

“She showed up at the gym today.”

Pops glanced at me. “Well, at least something’s going right.”

Delaney

I changed at the office and drove to the gym, a part of me hoping the guy from the night before would be there as he’d said. It was stupid that I was working out at the gym in the hopes of learning some self-defense to protect me from the men in my life and that I was depending on a strange man to help me figure things out. I should be a strong, independent woman, taking some stupid class where they teach you how to beat up a guy in a rubber suit instead of going to a boxing gym some girl in my office recommended. But she said it was a good place to learn some real fight moves instead of the bullshit they teach you in those classes. And I wanted to be able to hurt someone if what happened the other day happened again.

Pepper spray wasn’t good enough. I wanted to inflict real pain.

But it never occurred to me that I’d have to ask for help. I didn’t like asking for help.

I walked in, dropping my bag on a bench next to a couple of others, surveying the room as I did. There were only a couple of people there, a woman sparring with some older guy in the ring, a couple of guys jumping rope. And the redhead over by the bags, working the smaller one as if he was a pro.

I watched him for a minute, admiring the way his workout clothes fit his body. He was tall and muscular, but lean. He had broad shoulders and a barrel chest that tapered into a narrow waist. His skin was a warm cream color with the typical scattering of freckles most redheads sport, his jaw wide, and his eyes a darker shade of blue than my own. He was handsome…handsomer than I was comfortable with. The last thing I needed right now was to allow my hormones to get in the way of logic. I already had one psychotic ex-boyfriend after me. No need to add another to that list.

I took a roll of bandage that I’d bought at a sporting goods store this morning from my bag, wrapping it around my hands in an imitation of how he’d done it last night. Then I walked over to the heavy bags, taking up the stance he’d shown me, punching an imaginary face in the center of the bag.

“Good,” a warm, deep voice said behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder, unable to hide the proud smile that spread over my face. “Thanks.”

“You need to keep your arms up a little higher though.”

“Oh.”

So much for my pride.

He moved up behind me and lifted my elbows, positioning them to where he felt they should be. Then he stepped back. I punched, realizing that the position felt better, but it was a little awkward all at the same time. And I could feel him watching me, and that made it a little more complicated. I was too aware of how I looked, of how I was standing. And I found myself wondering what he thought about what he was seeing.

Stop it, Delaney!

After a few punches, he moved up behind me again and repositioned my arms. This time he didn’t move back, but stayed where he was, the heat of his body eating through the thin material of my yoga pants and t-shirt, making it almost impossible for me to think. But I did the best I could, punching the bag with as much power as I could muster.

We went on like that for a good half hour before he finally stepped back.

“You’re a natural.”

“I’m sure.”

“No, you are.”

I turned, a slight blush touching my cheeks as I regarded him. He watched me through hooded eyes for a long moment before he turned and walked away.

“Hey,” I said, not sure what I wanted to say, but needing to stop him from leaving.

He paused, and then he turned back to me. “Keep practicing,” he said.

Then he was gone, grabbing his bag and walking out as if I didn’t matter.

Well, fuck you, too.

I turned back to the bag and pictured his face right in the center. And then I punched the hell out of it until I was too tired to move.

***

He was there the next day, watching me from a distance as I worked out on the bag. He came over after a while and silently showed me a couple of new punches. I watched closely, then repeated what he’d done, feeling the burn of new muscles as I did. He walked away once I mastered the moves, leaving as he had the day before. It was pretty clear he was not interested in anything more than teaching me a few moves. However, the moves he taught me built each day. Every night he would come over and teach me something slightly different. After a week, I had a pretty decent repertoire of punches.

“Hey, what’s your name?” I asked Monday night.

“Sean,” he said almost curtly.

“I’m Delaney,” I said.

He inclined his head and started for his bag and the door.

“Hey!”

I chased after him, touching his arm before he could go. He pulled away almost as though my touch was fire on his skin. I held my hands up in a gesture of peace, a little confused.

“Don’t go grabbing people like that,” he said a little crisply.

“Sorry, I just…”

He looked at me, those eyes almost boring through me. “I’m just trying to help you. I’m not trying to create some great friendship, or anything.”

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

He looked me over for a long second then inclined his head. “You’re welcome.”

And then he was gone, vanished as if he’d never been there.

***

I sat at my desk the next morning, looking through the list of emails that waited for a response. I was sore in places I had never been sore before, muscles I didn’t know I had were now aching. I pushed back from my desk and bent low, stretching out my back as best I could, but it did very little to relieve the pain.

“I’ll come back.”

I sat up and laughed as my personal assistant, Alex, headed for the door.

“I was just stretching.”

“I wasn’t sure what you were doing.”

“I’ve been working out at the gym, and I’m sore as hell.”

“What gym?”

“It’s a boxing gym down in Dorchester. One of the girls in the secretary pool recommended it to me.”

“A boxing gym? Why would you want to do that? You should join that new place down the street. I hear they have a hot new aerobics instructor.”

“Aerobics never did much to protect a girl from a crazy ex.”

Alex frowned. “Claude still sending those texts?”

I picked up my phone and handed it to him. He read the text that had arrived early this morning, right on time. I always woke to a text from Claude. They’d been romantic texts when we were together, but since we’d broken up they’d become threatening.

“‘Watch your back because I’m always right behind you,’” Alex read. “Wow, he’s really a poet.”

I smiled. “He’s a great guy, isn’t he?”

“Doesn’t he know you have a restraining order against him?”

“The sheriff’s office tells me they delivered it to him. But a piece of paper isn’t going to stop Claude.”

“Do you want me to go talk to him?”

I studied my tall, lithe assistant. “That’s sweet,” I said, even as I was thinking that Claude would break him in half. “But not necessary.”

He inclined his head slightly as he set my phone back on my desk. “You have a meeting in five minutes. Mr. Wallace is already here.”

I nodded. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“If you help someone out at the gym, teach them a few moves, do you think it’s inappropriate to expect a thank you?”

“Of course not.” He looked at me with a frown. “Why?”

“There’s this guy who has been helping me, showing me how to work out with the bags properly, but when I tried to thank him last night, he seemed to be annoyed by it.”

“Maybe he’s shy. Or he has a girlfriend and he thought you were coming on to him.”

“I wasn’t…” I thought about how I grabbed his arm, how he tensed and turned around so quickly. “I wasn’t coming on to him, but I grabbed his arm.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like being touched.”

“Maybe.”

“People have baggage, Delaney. Maybe he just isn’t interested in basic human interaction.”

“Maybe.”

Alex tilted his head slightly, regarding me with that knowing look he has. “You be careful. You’ve been through enough these last few months. You don’t need another broken man in your life.”

“I know.”

I sat back and sighed, all too aware of how right he was. But when I thought about Sean, about the way he looked at me last night, I couldn’t shake it. I wanted to make the dark clouds in his eyes go away. I wanted to fix whatever it was that was making him hurt.

Once again, I knew I was being stupid, but I couldn’t help myself. Despite everything, I couldn’t stop wanting to fix what was wrong with the men in my life. I blamed my mother. She was one of those women who always found herself on the wrong side of every romantic entanglement she’d ever been involved in. She was often the other woman, including her relationship with my father. She fell in love with men she felt were broken in some way, trying to fix them even if they had a wife at home trying to do the same thing, often finding herself on the losing end of the stick. My father ended their relationship when he found out she was pregnant, then avoided any contact with her or me for almost fifteen years. And there were others, some who were abusive, but mostly those who used her and dumped her when they were over the excitement of cheating on their wives.

She was with a man right now she’d refused to introduce me to. That was the first clue that he was married.

I climbed to my feet with another heavy sigh.

“Alright, let’s get to work.”