Page 22 of Dangerous Deception

A muted scream comes from one of the closed pink doors three down from where I am. Years of fighting together puts Vito on my left shoulder with his gun raised, but as we reach the door,I put my hand out and force him to lower it. We exchange a silent conversation with just a look—we can’t risk weapons with the girls involved—and then Vito swiftly kicks open the door so hard that it bounces violently off the wall and swings right back at us.

By then, we’ve already piled into the room and with the two men I brought in with us, we’re evenly matched. A blonde woman screams loudly and is sent flying to the floor by a hard slap from one of the Irish brutes. He becomes my target. I tackle him away from the woman scrambling across the floor, trusting that Vito and the other two will subdue their own targets. The air is thick with the stink of alcohol and sex. Blood stains the bedsheets, which only fuels my anger as I punch the brute and send him crashing into the small wooden side table.

The wood splinters under his weight. I punch him again and again. He tries to raise his fists to defend himself, but he’s dazed from my blows. I grab him by the scruff of his collar and pull him forward, then slam my knee up into his gut. He tries to charge at me and his shoulder collides with my stomach. We hit the ground. I grunt, narrowly avoiding his elbow as it crashes down near my face. Wrapping my legs around his thick middle, I flip us over and punch him squarely in the face. His nose explodes like a water balloon and blood sprays across his face. He yells and throws a badly-aimed punch. I dodge, catch him by the elbow, and twist his arm around and upward until something pops and he screams.

The fight is over within ten minutes, and soon, all four Irish brutes are kneeling in the hallway with their hands tied behind their backs and their obedience trained under the barrels of the guns watching them. Three of them are quietly panting while the fourth, the one whose elbow I broke, is grunting and groaning with fire blazing in his eyes.

“You fucker.” He spits, and blood drools over his fat lower lip. “The Captain will have your head for this!”

I finish casually wiping the blood off my hands with a rag while he speaks, then toss it into the trashcan through the door of the open room. “Let him try.”

“He won’t need to try,” the man slurs. “He’ll succeed, you fucking asshole.”

“I’m not scared of the Irish Captain,” I snort, amused. “If he employs men asthickas you, then I’m not sure he’s any kind of threat to me.”

“Why you—” One of the men surges up and is brought straight back to his knees by a blow from the butt of Vito’s gun.

“Sit,” Vito growls.

“Look at you all. Pathetic. Starting shit in one of my brothels is a death sentence.”

“Only if you want a war,” snarls Busted-Elbow.

“Maybe I do.” I slowly drop down to my haunches in front of him, letting my gun dangle loosely from my hand. “Maybe I’m justitchingfor a chance to rid this city of you green dicks. Does it make you feel like a man, huh? Paying to beat on women who are only here to please you? You get some sick kick out of it?”

“You don’t know shit,” the man snarls. “Bitch took my fucking money!”

“No shit, this is a fucking brothel, you dumb bastard! I thought you Irish were supposed to be able to hold your alcohol.”

“He ain’t Irish,” snickers one of the severely drunk men to the left. He’s swaying back and forth and his eyes are glazed over from one too many shots. “He’s American, just thinks he’s Irish because of his great, great, great… great-grandpa or something?—”

“Shut the fuck up!” hisses broken-elbow.

“Shit. You’re one of those, huh?” I glance them all over in disgust, then stand back up and walk away.

Vito falls into step beside me. “What do you want to do with them?”

“I definitely don’t want a war with the Irish,” I say in a low voice. “But this won’t slide. Kill one. I don’t care which. Let Ruby decide what happens to the rest.”

“Understood.”

Vito hurries back to the bound men, and I leave him to do his job.

In the office behind the reception desk, Ruby sits with the woman we rescued from the room. She’s draped in a blanket with a steaming mug of tea in her hands and tears sparkling in her eyes. I remain by the doorway to give her the space she needs and get Ruby’s attention with a tilt of my head. Ruby rubs at the woman’s back and murmurs something to her that I can’t hear, then she stands and approaches me.

“How is she?” I ask, looking past her.

“She’s fine. A little shaken up.”

“Need anything? Doctor or anything?”

“No, we’re fine.”

“You sure?” I meet Ruby’s eyes. “I saw blood on the bed.”

“From a broken bottle,” Ruby assures me quickly, gasping my arm. “It’s not her blood. Don’t worry.”

A rush of relief bleeds through me. I pride myself on being a dangerous man, but I’m only dangerous when it comes to keeping people safe. Countless smaller families and businesses rely on my ability to keep them safe.

---