Page 1 of Broken Blood Ties

Prologue

Seven Years Ago

What have I done?

She can’t move. She’s too stunned, too shocked by the events of the night.

I did this.

Listening intently, she hears the car door slam and the engine hum to life before driving away, but the crunch of the tires on asphalt will stay with her for years to come.

She lies there, attuned to each breath, punctuated by the occasional snap of twigs to her right. Her head whips toward the sound, but she remains sprawled on her stomach, hands tied beneath her as hopelessness claws its way deeper into the knotted pit of her stomach.

Leaves bunch in her hair and stick to her sequin dress, but she attempts to push back anyway, sliding to her knees with a grunt.

“I’m a coward,” she mumbles, head foggy.

She gnaws at the loosely tied rope around her wrists, finding it easy to break free—they hadn’t cared too much if she escaped, apparently.

Once the rope falls away, she looks up, scanning the limited visibility in front of her. Night bleeds into the woods like squid ink. Disoriented, she can’t make sense of where she is. There are no lights except for the distant flicker of a building through the dense forest. And the air smells pure, unmarred by pollution.

She wobbles, planting one foot flat on the ground while her other knee remains pressed into the dirt as she struggles to find balance. Legs trembling, she stands and looks down at the faint red marks she can just make out.

She wavers a moment, her breaths labored and shallow before straightening. How? How will she ever forgive herself?

What do I do?

Determined, she squares her shoulders and takes off. She runs, the direction irrelevant.

Wind licks at her back as she stumbles over the uprooted trees, but she keeps treading through the forest, rarely glancing up.

With each stride, she whispers to herself,I did this.Idid this.

She runs. For her life or her freedom—she doesn’t know. Perhaps it’s because she could never show her face again after what she allowed to happen. Or maybe because this is who she is—leaving others to handle her messes, even though she hates herself for it. But shehasto keep running.

Chapter1

Kieran

Present Day

Blood speckles my shoes. Not the vivid, bright kind that indicates life, but the dark currant red that leaches from the many stab wounds inflicted on the man in front of me.

He lets out a moan of agony. It echoes along the sea of rusted metal lockers lining the storage room floor, and I roll my eyes. Gallons of cleaner, some tipped over and leaking, offer an almost unbearable chemical smell, but it’s not enough to mask the scent of piss and sweat fuming from the man strapped in the chair. Frankly, I’d say he’s being a bit dramatic.

Finn moves to the side, backing away from the cut I swipe across the man’s thigh. Blood splatters against the wall, and another hiss turns into a sob, rattling from his congested chest.

“Please. Just kill me,” the man pleads.

I grin. “Oh, I plan on it, lad. I just need a wee bit of information first.”

Finn startles into a rolling mop bucket that looks like it may have been yellow at one point, and the stiff, crusted mop sitting with it topples to the floor.

I glare at him. He’s young and a novice, but he was also the one who discovered this weasel in my bar tonight with an unwilling companion.

“Did ye think ye could grope an underage lass in me bar and get away it?”

Technically, I own over ten bars across Boston, but O’Brien’s—it’s where I house my operations. It’s also where my office is. So when Finn knocked on my door this evening at 10:00 p.m. telling me some man was flaunting a petrified sixteen-year-old girl—well, we’re going to sort it out.

---