Liam: Branded Brothers (25 page)

She turned around to see Paul mouth “NO” with the gun at the
back of his head.

“LIAM?” Another bang sounded at the door.

“Hey Gina, it’s Charla. Everything’s fine,” she called. She
looked back at the man who nodded his head, urging her to say more. “Liam will
be back in a little bit. I’ll make sure he comes down and checks in with you.”

“Okay,” she said. “Charla, you sure everything is fine? I
thought I heard a loud pop or something. You want to open the door?”

“I would, but I’m in a bathrobe,” Charla called, looking
down at her jean shorts and tank top. “Kind of embarrassing, you know.”

“Sure,” Gina said. “Just send Liam down when he gets back,
okay?”

“Will do,” Charla called. She exhaled at the sound of
footsteps fading down the stairs and looked back to Jerry, finally seeing the
slight rise and fall of his chest.

“Living room,” the man barked, pointing to the couch. Paul
and Charla sat down next to each other, the man standing in front of them with
the picture. “Jack and Helen.”

Paul and Charla sat in silence, both wondering how long it
would be before Liam would come. It had to be ten minutes since Paul had sent
the text. It would be just a matter of time, as long as they could stall.

“Yeah, Jack was a good man,” she said. “I was his in-home
caregiver for three years. You get to really know a person when you live with
them. He was always wearing a robe and cowboy hat, forgetting to put on his
pants. He had Alzheimer’s, but he never let it break him. He always had a good
sense of -”

“Shut it,” the man interrupted. He held the picture out to
her. “I don’t see anything in this picture I want. There’s nothing in this
picture that tells me what I want to know.”

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

“I want to know who killed Jimmy Bourke,” he said.

“The medallion on your chain - ” Charla started, leaning her
elbows on her knees.

“Answer my fucking question,” he said. “Tell me what I’m
looking for.”

“Open the back of the frame,” Paul said, leaning back into
the couch and sighing. “It’s in there.”

“Mickey killed Jimmy. Jack had nothing to do with it,” she
added. “Other than being an innocent bystander. He saw it happen and then
Mickey framed the Italian mafia guy, Antonio. Then he killed Helen.”

His eyes shot up from the frame as he peeled back the tabs. “Killed
Helen?”

“Yeah,” she said softly as his eyes snaked through her.
“What’s your name?”

“Who fucking told you this?” he barked, ignoring her
question.

“Jack,” Charla whispered. “Before he died.”

“You said he had Alzheimer’s,” the man argued. “You believe
a dying man with no memory?”

“Yeah,” she defended herself. “It’s the only thing that
makes sense. He took his boys here to hide from people like you. He started a
new life for all of them.” She paused before adding, “Who are you?”

“You want to know my fucking name?” He laughed as he pulled
out the receipt. “If I tell you my real name, I have to kill you.”

“The symbol on your chain,” Paul said, carefully lifting up
his shirt to expose the ink on his heart. “I have the same symbol on my chest.”

The man lowered the piece of paper and glanced down at Paul’s
chest. “I don’t see anything.”

Paul leaned forward on the couch and then finally resorted
to standing up slowly. He pointed to the small circle. “It’s faded, but it’s
there.”

The man looked closer, a sudden look of recognition washing
over him. “You’re Brody.”

“Yeah,” Paul said, nodding his head as the man looked him
over from head to toe. “My mom changed my name to Paul, but yeah, I guess I’m
Brody.”

“Not exactly what I anticipated,” he said, looking down at
the paper again. “Is this real?”

“I think so,” Charla said. “As far as we know.”

“You sure or you think?”

“We’re sure,” Paul said. “It’s proof that Antonio didn’t
kill Jimmy Bourke. It was Mickey.”

“Sit down,” he ordered, waving the gun at Paul. Then he slid
the gun into his holster and took out a phone from his back pocket. He snapped
a picture of the receipt and then slid the phone back into his pocket. “Anyone
else know this exists besides the two of you and Jerry?”

Brody and Charla were silent.

“Who else knows?”

“Liam and Ronan,” she reluctantly answered.

“Where are they?” He slid the gun out of his holster again.

“I don’t know -” she said, realizing he didn’t flinch at the
names. He knew their names. He knew all of their names. “Who are you? Why do
you have that medallion?”

The man tucked the receipt in his pocket and gave the
picture one last look before setting it down on the coffee table. He glanced at
Charla before his eyes steadied on Brody. “My name is Declan, and Frank
Connolly was my father.”

Chapter 14

The amber liquid slid down Liam’s
throat, the burn lingering for a moment before settling into his gut. Two shot
glasses clanked against the counter simultaneously. The soft buzz of U2 played
in the background as the crack of pool balls sounded behind them. They’d been
at the bar for ten minutes, long enough to locate Mickey and his men tucked in
a back booth in a dark corner of the bar. They were inconspicuous, like they
needed to be, but it still struck Liam as odd that he would take the chance of
showing up two nights in a row. Fugitives didn’t stay fugitives hanging out in
the same location.

“I see two,” Ronan said quietly, staring straight ahead at
the rows of liquor lining the back of the bar.

“One in black, one in blue,” Liam said, twisting the empty
shot glass on the counter.

“They won’t be a problem,” Ronan added.

“It won’t come to that,” Liam replied, pulling out his
wallet. He threw a handful of bills on the counter and stood up. “We’ll be gone
before they even know anything happened.”

Ronan tapped the edge of the counter twice before standing
up and following Liam out of the bar. They walked out onto the quiet street.
The summer haze was fading into night, the soft glow of moonlight falling onto
the street signs.

“8:52,” Liam said, checking his phone one last time before
silencing it. “Go get the van. Park it on the back side of the bar, but keep it
running. Lights out. I’ll secure Mickey and then you come up the alley.” He
pointed to the narrow passageway between the buildings. It would be a tight fit
with the industrial garbage container along the building, but the van would
squeeze through. After watching him race, Liam knew there was no better man to
trust than Ronan behind the wheel.

“Got it.” Ronan met Liam’s hand near their chests and then
they slapped each other on the back once. “Go fucking get him.”

“I will,” Liam promised as Ronan turned the corner and
jogged down the street to grab the van. Liam leaned up against the wall to
wait. He didn’t want to take the chance of encountering anyone else in the
alley. He took a deep breath, thinking of Charla back at the apartment. She was
in good hands with Jerry, but he couldn’t fight the crippling feeling wrenching
in his chest. It was the same feeling he felt before the bomb detonated killing
his buddy in Afghanistan.

He thought back to Charla’s description of the man in the
cottage. He was dressed in black, just like one of Mickey’s henchmen at the
bar. But the two men sitting next to Mickey at the bar weren’t big like Charla
had described. Liam wouldn’t describe either of the men as massive, and they
definitely weren’t bigger than him like she had said. But she had also been in
a life-threatening situation, and Liam knew that details can get hazy after
trauma like that. Bombs get bigger and louder. Villains become stronger and
more menacing. Rooms get smaller and darker. And the victim becomes more
helpless.

He shook his head, trying to get the vision of Charla’s
panicked face out of his head. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He
couldn’t. He owed taking down Mickey to her, his brothers, Jack, and most of
all Helen. He pushed himself off the wall, double-checked the empty sidewalks
one last time, and turned the corner to make his way down the alley. He jogged
down the long stretch until he hit the garbage container. He crouched and
withdrew his Glock from his holster. He had no intention of firing any shots,
but he knew Mickey wouldn’t go down easily. He would need coercing, and Liam
would need to do it fast.

The door on the other side of the garbage container squeaked
open and shut with a resounding thud. Soft footsteps followed and a set of
black shoes appeared near the middle of the garbage container. Liam pulled his
head back, and waited for him. But the shoes stopped.

Liam tightened his grip around his gun and waited for him to
pull out his cell phone, just like Jerry had said he’d done the night before.

“Hey, baby girl.” The man’s voice pierced the silent
alleyway.

Liam sprung forward as he heard the engine of the van rev at
the end of the alley.

“Drop it and raise your hands in the air,” Liam demanded as
he aimed the gun at the back of the man’s head. The cell phone dropped to the
ground with a clatter and the man raised his hands. Liam looked down at the
man’s shirt, expecting to the see the collared shirt of Mickey. His stomach
dropped at the sight of a blue shirt, like the one of his henchmen. The man
quickly spun around and landed a sidekick to Liam’s rib.

The pain shot through his side and chest as Mickey’s
henchmen stared him in the face and extended his arm to knock Liam’s gun out of
his hand. It spun across the ground and knocked against the wall of the
building. Liam ducked just in time to miss his second punch and lunged full
force to tackle the man to the ground. They rolled in the alleyway, both
connecting punches to each other’s faces before Liam reached for his gun. He
slammed the butt of his gun into the man’s face as the van’s tires stopped
inches from them.

“Where is he?” Liam yelled as the man continued to struggle
beneath his hands. The man kicked his leg out and slammed Liam in the back.

“Fuck,” Ronan said as he opened the van door. He grabbed
Liam and pulled him off of the man. The man stood up, panting, with blood
running down the side of his face. He raised his hands in the air and let out a
small laugh.

“Where is he?” Liam pointed the gun at him.

The squeak of the side door made them turn their heads. A
man wearing an apron appeared thirty feet behind them. “What the fuck is going
on?”

Two more men appeared behind him, bigger than the man
standing before Liam and Ronan. They slowly reached behind their backs, a
movement Liam knew all too well. He wasn’t getting into a shoot-out in the
alley of The Blarney Stone without Mickey in sight.

“Go,” he muttered as he swung around the front of the van
and climbed into the passenger seat. Ronan was already in the driver’s seat and
pressing the gas before Liam could shut his door. The man stumbled out of their
way and pressed himself against the wall as they drove past. The sound of shots
echoed through the alley. The crack of shattered glass made Ronan and Liam duck
their heads as they hit the end of the alley, crossed the sidewalk, and merged
into traffic. Ronan swerved to miss a sedan before maneuvering onto the right
side of the road. The long blow of a horn sounded behind them as Ronan blew a
stop sign and pushed forward.

“What the fuck was that?” Ronan said, gripping the wheel.

“I don’t know.” Liam shook his head and tucked his gun into
his holster. He felt a warm trickle of blood near his right eye. He wiped it
away with his hand at first, but quickly realized it wasn’t going to stop.
While he tilted his head and pulled his sleeve to meet his eyebrow, the sound
of sirens echoed behind them. They both looked in their side mirrors to see the
reflection of flashing blue and red lights stopped in front of The Blarney
Stone.

“Fuck,” Ronan said, easing up on the gas. “You call the
police?”

“No,” Liam said. “You?”

“Fuck no,” he said, looking in the rearview mirror before he
turned to Liam. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied. “Fucking Jiu jitsu ninja or
something. Wasn’t expecting that.”

“No shit.” Ronan let out a small laugh. “That fucker was
fast. Now what?”

“I don’t know.” Liam dropped his sleeve and reached for his
back pocket to pull out his phone. His screen flashed with a message from Paul
that read
SOS.
“Fuck. We have to get back to the apartment.”

***

“What are you going to do?” Charla
asked, watching Declan set the bag of money on the coffee table. “Leave us
here?”

“Yeah.” Declan looked at the picture one last time before
tossing it in Paul’s lap. He zipped the bag and took the handle.

“That’s it?” Paul asked.

“Yeah,” he repeated, this time looking annoyed. “Jerry will
be fine. He’ll wake up in a couple of hours.”

“And what about Mickey?” Charla asked.

“What about him?” Declan threw the bag over his shoulder.

“Don’t you work for him?” Charla asked. “He’ll be looking
for the money, the receipt….you.”

“I don’t give a fuck about Mickey McGrath. He lied to me
about who killed Jimmy Bourke. I’ll be long gone before I have to think twice
about him.” Declan leaned in toward them both, looking at Paul first and then
at Charla. His eyes steadied on her, his lip curling up. “And you won’t call
the police because if you do, you know what will happen…I keep my promises,
Charla Taylor.”

Then he turned to Paul. “My mother always said that neither
of us were good enough for Frank. He left us both for Helen and the family he
started with her. Looks like it wasn’t much of a family anyway.”

He straightened back up and started to walk toward the
kitchen. “Well, so long you two. Good luck.”