Page 27 of Arranged Control
“Who the fuck is interrupting my daughter’s wedding?” Papa shouts, glaring death at the captain of his personal guards, an old grizzled Russian named Vladislav.
“I apologize, Pakhan, but there’s a problem. I have to ensure the safety of everyone in here.”
More shouts, especially from the Whelan side. I move back, away from the chaos, gripping onto Kira protectively. Seamus stalks forward, wading into the yelling, shoving his way over to where my father’s standing with Vladislav and Padraig Whelan, the head of the Whelan family and Seamus’s father. The men are speaking to each other, all of them looking grim.
“This isn’t good,” I whisper, stomach knotted. Nobody would do this, not unless it was important.
Seamus turns back to me, dark look blistering, rage burning bright on his face. He storms over and I shrink back, afraid of what he’s going to do.
“What’s happening?” I ask, voice tiny. I hate myself for the fear stabbing through my stomach. I’m supposed to stand tall and proud. But here I am, acting like a child.
Seamus takes my arm tightly. His grip’s right on the edge of painful as he drags me away from Kira. She watches helplessly, reaching out like she might say something, but what can she do?
“Wait, Seamus,” I say, struggling against him. “What are you doing?”
He seems to realize what’s happening. He stops and turns to me, leaning in close, voice like a bone saw grinding through my ribs.
“Someone’s been murdered.”
Chapter 9
Seamus
People are always astounded by how much blood’s in a person. I don’t even know why. We’re essentially giant bags of meat and liquid wandering around making stupid choices and humping things.
There’s just so much of it, though. Blood all over the sidewalk. Blood in the cracks, blood pooling against the back of the building. The alleyway reeks like trash and copper and shit. The corpse is cooking down at my feet.
My shoes are going to be ruined after this.
But I don’t fucking care.
“God damn Michael.” The dead man’s arms are placed at his side, almost like he fell asleep on the ground. His throat’s cut open, just like Fergus’s was. A good, clean kill.
“What a fucking mess,” Finn murmurs from over at the edge of the bloody pool. He doesn’t want to come any closer. Can’t really blame him. He’s wearing his good shoes. “Did anyone see anything?”
“Nothing,” Sean Murphy says. He’s a stocky Irishman with sandy hair, freckles, and a neck thicker than a tree trunk. He’s the captain of our personal family guards and was in charge of the wedding’s security detail. “Michael was out here just to make sure nothing went wrong. I figured it was a boring assignment.”
“Killed in an alley.” I reach out and gently touch the dead man’s cheek. He was barely twenty-four. Just a fucking kid. “And what about the eyes?”
Finn and Sean only stare, neither saying much.
Michael’s eyes are closed. Two knife slashes were cut through the lids. Two bloody X marks ripped into his face, crossing him out, like the caricature of a killed videogame character.
Except way more gruesome.
“Fergus wasn’t like that,” Finn comments helpfully.
“Anyone know why Michael?” I look back at Sean. “Was he liked?”
“Had plenty of friends in the family.” Sean shrugs, shaking his head, clearly at a loss. “I doubt he had any serious enemies.”
“Another random killing then.” My hand curls into a fist. “On my fucking wedding day.”
“What do you want us to do?” Sean asks, shifting on his feet. He’s damn well aware that this killing is at least partially on him. I don’t plan on holding it against him, but a less forgiving fucking asshole might.
“I want you to assign everyone in pairs from now on. High goddamn alert.” I stand, glaring at the body. “I want every single camera in a mile radius checked a dozen times. I want a dozenmen fanning out ten minutes ago to search the area for any hints of who might’ve done this. And I want Michael’s body taken away. His family doesn’t need to see this.”
“I’ll make it happen.” Sean marches off, out of the alley, already barking orders to his soldiers waiting nearby.
