Page 51 of Black Wedding

“Yes...we have Mr O’Keenan. We will arrange a time to meet, and you will transfer it over to me. Get the paperwork ready. We will meet in one hour,” the automated voice demands.

“That’s not enough time. My lawyer is in Cork. I need to call him, get the stuff faxed over. An hour is unrealistic,” Paddy stresses, the fear starting to creep in as his voice cracks at the end.

“That’s bullshit. I have done my research, and I know your lawyer is in London. Twister and Lawson’s, if I am not mistaken. So, you better make it work because, for every deadline you miss, I will take it out on your granddaughter,” he says, and I can’t help but pull on my hair in frustration. What the fuck are we going to do? Why is Paddy smiling?

“Okay, I will have the paperwork done, but I will want proof that Bree is unharmed before I do anything,” Paddy states, but the electronic voice just laughs.

“You don’t get to make the rules, old man, I do. Your time has passed. Now, it’s my time,” he states most bizarrely. It’s almost like he has been trying to be in power for years, but Vinnie is a hormonal seventeen-year-old who is running on revenge fumes. This just doesn’t sound like him.

As the phone hangs up, I must voice that thought out loud because everyone is staring at me like I might be going crazy. He did confess with his name, but I don’t believe it. Neither does Paddy. “You are right. This is not Marcushio. They may be being used as scapegoats. They maybe even think they are in charge, but they have no idea they are being played. I think I know who has Bree, and if any of them hurts one hair on her head, I will kill them all,” Paddy states passionately as he puts the phone in his pocket, but Kellan holds his arm out for it. He wants to run tests, see if he can make the voice audible. Paddy reluctantly hands it over.

A chorus of ‘who’ echoes from all around me, and Paddy has the most disappointed, sad look on his face as he answers us all. “Vernon and Jimmy.”

A chorus of swear words is what rings out this time. Everyone has a different yet equally pissed response.

“I believe you, but I want to know how you know? Are you sure?” I ask, and Paddy reluctantly shakes his head.

“When you told me you suspected my son of being the one sending the parcels, I promised I would look into it, but I couldn’t find anything. Things were suspiciously too clean. I also noticed he talked a lot more about how the power would transfer over. He wanted me to transfer mine to him first, then transfer it to Bree and Liam. He thinks he convinced me to sign over the Ireland branch, but the papers are fake. My lawyer really is in Ireland. I suspected Vernon was having me followed, so I made a bullshit appointment with Twister and Lawson, enquiring about their services. Then I drew up the papers to match them. That’s why the kidnapper thinks my lawyer is here in London, and I only told that to one person. He is making his move today because he thinks I finally signed Ireland over to him, and he can keep both.” The more he speaks, the more pissed he gets, and I don’t blame him. I am feeling murderous.

“This might sound like a stupid question, but I don’t really live in your world, so it’s not that dumb. But if you are an illegal operation, why do you need to legally sign things over?” Kellan asks, and it’s a good question, but not one that gets me closer to Bree.

“We need to do it this way as a show of power. We have legal businesses that we use as a front for the illegal, so that’s how the power is distributed,” Paddy adds.

“All I want to know is how the fuck I get my girl back!” I shout.

“We have to wait for the next call. Then when he gives us a location to meet and sign, that’s when we will pounce. I will get Bree back to you, I promise.” Paddy makes it sound like he is going alone, and that thought is laughable. Nothing will keep me from finding her.

“Fuck that. When you know where she is, we all go. I am getting my girl back if I have to kill everyone in sight, including her dad. Are you going to get in my way?” I snarl, and he holds his hands up in what should be a calming gesture, but it isn’t. To me, I just see something I want to punch. Instead, I feel Kellan place a hand on my shoulder, and I relax slightly.

“Don’t you worry. When it comes to my son, I will be the one to deal with him. You can sort Jimmy and get Bree out. But Vernon is my son, therefore my responsibility.”

“Well, it sounds like we have a plan. Shall we get some weapons together? I have a feeling today is going to be a fighting day,” my father sings, and I can’t help but chuckle. Trust him to find peace in the idea of a good fight. Whilst I don’t particularly want to fight, I will do whatever it takes to get to Bree, including cutting down anyone who gets in my way.

As soon as I start to wake up, my head feels so cloudy and groggy. It takes me a while to get my bearings as there is very little light in here. I try to think back to the last thing I remember, but I can’t. Thinking about anything other than what is in front of me hurts. I double-check that my body is intact before looking around to figure out how the hell I am getting out of this.

I look down at my body as my left ankle feels the sorest, after my head, obviously. I notice the beautiful gown I am in and how destroyed it is. That’s all it takes for the memories to hit me and the tears start to fall. I allow it for one minute, I can show weakness for one more minute, then I need to be strong after that.

Flashes of Liam and what should have been our happily ever after invade my mind, and my heart physically aches. I imagine him standing at the altar, looking handsome in his suit, waiting for me and wondering if I decided I just didn’t want to marry him. I’m hoping that he knows me well enough to not even consider that particular scenario.

The dress is tattered and ripped, the lace ruined, not to mention the mud and bloodstains that adorn what once was a beautiful ivory colour. Reaching up into my hair, I realise I am still wearing the tiara that Liam got me. Maybe it’s a sign that if that can survive being plunged into a dark sack, then I can survive being put in here. I discreetly check for my other jewellery and am shocked to find they are both still in place. They are not only family heirlooms, but they are also worth a fucking fortune, so I am surprised the kidnappers didn’t take it.

Then again, if the kidnappers were my family, they wouldn’t need to.

I pull my dress up slightly to reveal the source of my pain; a metal shackle has been clamped around my ankle. The metal is so tight and abrasive against my skin it has caused the flesh to tear and bleed. I try to reach down, but there is no point in me even looking at how the lock works. There’s no getting out of this without a key or a chainsaw, and I have neither.

Just as I am finally getting climatised, having just felt my two possibly broken ribs on my left side, the door groans open, and a flash of light opens up the shithole. I am in a large, cold, stone room. There are no windows, and the only door is a wrought iron one that sounds like it takes someone with muscles to get the damn thing open.

The light initially blinds my sore and disorientated eyes that are still sluggish and slow to react. My head pounds, and nausea rolls over my body. I must have been drugged, but unlike when I was kidnapped by Liam, I just know that I am in danger. I didn’t wake up in a bright room on a comfy bed this time, and these shackles tell me whoever has me, isn’t pissing about.

Straightening my spine to hold my head up high, I discreetly wipe the tears away from my eyes using the back of my already filthy hand, and try to ignore the make-up that rubs off onto my skin. I shoot fire at the asshole that just walked into the room. “What the fuck do you think you are playing at? Who are you?!” I shout, and the sadistic giggle that responds causes me to recoil.

“What? You don’t recognise me?” the voice snarls as he steps forward.

No longer blocking the light, I recoil in shock as it is someone I was not expecting.

“Art?” I ask incredulously. His responding cackle flips my stomach, worsening my nausea. I have been around a lot of men in my life, and more than the odd psychopath. Hell, I stayed at Desmond’s house just last month. So, I have a pretty excellent psychopath radar and can usually spot them from a mile away. The guy in front of me has just made my radar explode, and if someone told me he killed puppies in his spare time, I would not have been shocked. What I am confused by is that not only was Art on his last legs when I left him, he also was a harmless meth addict. The furthest you can get from a criminal mastermind.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t be such an fucking idiot. We both know you killed Art, so how can I be him?” the sadistic voice sings.

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