“Might as well find out what Officer Meadows got himself into.” I like surprises even less than fuckups.
“Right, and who needs a cop’s brat sniffing around to fuck that up?” Another drink appears on the table courtesy of my liquor therapist.
I tap the bar, winking at my sister. She’s a miniature identical version of Neil. She favors my women and business interests even less, which make her a good bartender as my eyes and ears.
“There’s my Tabitha. Shield your claws, Tabby-Cat. Ms. Meadows won’t be returning.”
Although watching her determined gait as she walked away, even I’m not so sure of that.
“I’ve got a grand she’s back within the month.” Neil tosses a bunch of bills on the table.
“Come on, brother, make the bet a little more fun than that,” I egg him on, straightening out his pile of hundreds.
“Jesus, Dec, this isn’t a bet on a rugby game,” he grouses, and I ruffle his hair, making him duck away like we’re teens again.
“Cheapskate. I say she’s back by Friday for ten grand,” Tabby hisses, offering me another drink I wave off as wipes the counter down. My little sister is a tough one to crack. Sympathy was beaten out of her by our father, and later a boyfriend who cut her face, scarring her beauty. That fucker is currently treading water in the bay, courtesy of my relocation program.
Neil hunches over with sudden interest. “What makes you say that? Are you going to interfere like you usually do?” Either way a bet is a bet. It will be bad news for Miss Meadows if Tabby takes to meddling.
Tabby winks. “She’s a girl, she looks resourceful. Besides, Friday night Dec lets the ladies dance on stage.”
I scoff, taking a long drink.
“Ladies…sure.” If you could call the hookers who show up looking for dumb johns ladies, I suppose we have those in spades dancing at the club. I hadn’t taken a club girl home in long time…The occasional quickie in my office, well, that was another story.
“I think I just lost this bet, Dec.” Neil tosses a drink back and I envy how relaxed he seems.
“Of course you did, idiot.” I nod at him.
Neil asks, “What are you going to do about it?”
My brother thinks I will intervene on her behalf, but I won’t. These things always have a way of working themselves out.
“Children, children,” I chide my siblings, finishing the Dair Ghaelach. “If she knows what’s good for her, she won’t be back at all.” I smile through the bullshit because I know she’ll be back. It’s not a question of if…it’s a question of when.
Chapter Two
Sydney
“Ugh, what an ass.” I climb the stairs, lugging each step of my tired legs until I reach the street level from Declan’s basement club. With all the debauchery and excess going on inside, Natas might have been Hell–or at least one of the circles in Dante’s Inferno. I figure Declan is somewhere between lust, gluttony, and greed. I’m torn between wanting to scrub the look he gave me from my mind or falling down the rabbit hole willingly tearing my clothes off as I go.
The pounding headache reminds me that the epic failure tonight is my fault. Sweat makes my shirt cling to my back in the humid night and tears smear down my cheeks. My hair hangs in a tangled mess over my shoulders in varied shades of brown-blond. My stomach knots painfully, forcing me to double over as I walk away from my last hope for saving Dad.
I can’t stop him from pouring the alcohol down his throat any more than I can stop him from entering bets he can’t cover. Mom’s insurance money dried up years ago, with my dreams for college and Dad’s grief drowning in the bottom of a beer bottle. A drunk driver killed her in a hit-and-run, and you would think he would have learned his lesson then, but it only seems to compound the pain and the need to numb everything. His colleagues are of no help covering for one of their own. Guys
I knew all my life are enabling him to drink and gamble. They think it’s a favor letting Dad reach retirement with the force first, but the alcohol and gambling will kill him before he makes twenty-five years.
His addiction is a liquid form of poison they keep feeding him. I no longer recognize the man who used to prop me up on his shoulders every year for Patriot’s Day growing up. The sinking feeling that shit is about to hit the fan and they are setting up my dad to be the fall guy worries me every day this continues. Corruption seems like something that only happens on television, but here it’s going unchecked. I see the stares and whispers and calculated hand-passes. I’m not stupid, even if I haven’t figured out exactly what’s going on.
“Miss.”
I glance over my shoulder and see two thugs from Mr. Natas’ club close behind me. Preoccupied with my worries, I hadn’t even heard them behind me. My nerves are shot with Declan’s warning raising my hackles.
“Go away.” I pick up my pace, avoiding the two men with necks thicker than my leg and the strength to snap me in two, getting far away from there.
“Mr. Natas would like us to escort you home. In the car, please.”
One holds the door open to a dark SUV that’s pulled up to the curb.