Page 1 of The Apprentice
1
FIONN KILLOUGH
Dad’s funeral was held on a Thursday afternoon, sometime in February. I couldn’t remember the exact date, but when I thought back on it, I recalled the slate gray clouds. Rain on the verge of becoming ice dripped from an array of black umbrellas held by the grieving crowd. My mom knelt near Dad’s coffin, shoulders shaking. Droplets of water soaked into her black dress and the bun she’d pulled her brown hair into, but she didn’t care. When someone came over to her, she shrieked at them to leave her alone while she cried.
The only other thing I remembered clearly was my uncle, Sloan, stepping up to my side and laying a hand on my shoulder. Uncle Sloan’s grip was warm and firm, and I wasn’t afraid of him, even though we’d never spent much time together. Dad worked for Uncle Sloan, but I was never allowed to visit his house. Dad insisted that being there was too dangerous, and I never understood why.
“There are two types of people in this world, Fionn,” Uncle Sloan said.
I, at the age of four, tilted my head to stare up at him in wonder. Uncle Sloan didn’t look at me, though. His gaze was planted firmly on the coffin and Mom.
“There are those who take what belongs to them. I think of them as wolves, the predators who get what they’re hungry for. Then, there are the people who let life kick them while they’re already down, nothing more than sheep waiting to be eaten.” It was at that moment Uncle Sloan’s icy blue eyes slid toward me, and while I should’ve been scared, I wasn’t. I had the opposite reaction—I felt safe beside him. “Which one are you?”
I didn’t hesitate. “I’m the wolf, Uncle Sloan.” The word wolf came out likewoof.
Sloan smirked. “Yes, you are, because you’re a Killough. An Irishman by blood. We were born to be wolves.”
I gripped the tumbler of whiskey until my knuckles turned white. I exhaled, caught between the urge to slap this prick stupid or to put a bullet in his head and end it all. Sloan hadn’t asked me to murder anyone, though.
He’d ordered me to reason with Cunningham.
“Two types of people live in this world, Christopher. The wolves, those who take what belongs to them, and the sheep, those who are more than happy to be the prey and beg for scraps.”
I didn’t miss Daire out of the corner of my eye, pursing his lips in amusement as he quickly took a sip of his drink from where he stood with his shoulder pressed against the wall. His dark hair was neat, with the longer strands on top pushed back, while his beard was short against his chin. He had a pair of his favorite sunglasses on and the blue lenses gave away nothing,but Daire knew the analogy well because Sloan loved to use it, especially when it came to business partners and those who worked for the Killough Company.
“Which one are you?” I finished, rocking my tumbler to hear the ice cubesclinktogether. The amber liquid sloshed against the side and the movement was entrancing, a well-rehearsed dance I’d become addicted to seeing.
I’d been drinking whiskey since I was fourteen. I’d gotten into Sloan’s stash and drunk myself into a stupor. Sloan had been furious when he’d found me, intoxicated and incredibly sick. As punishment, when I was sober, he’d taken away my credit cards for a month, leaving me bored. It could’ve been a lot worse, considering Sloan’s temper, so I’d considered myself lucky.
“Well.” Cunningham smiled and leaned back in his armchair. He dipped his cowboy hat forward and grinned. His Texan accent made the word sound more likewhale.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Cunningham had a backward mindset and couldn’t get more conservative if he tried. I hated him.
“I like to think of myself as more of a rattlesnake.” His smile widened.
I agreed. Cunningham was a snake, a vicious one at that, and I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. I peeked at Daire, watching the flicker of irritation that slipped across his handsome features. Like me, he wasn’t fond of Cunningham, and he’d offered to have my back while I was meeting with the bastard.
“Dangerous as all git-out.” Cunningham laughed and turned his attention to Daire, pointing a bony finger at him. “You’re the right-hand man, yeah? The one with a weird name. Saw it on the message Killough sent me. Is it pronounced Dare?”
Daire smiled sardonically, and I stiffened, even though Daire wouldn’t act against Sloan’s orders. He was the perfect soldier and a loyal second-in-command who’d been at Sloan’s side since the beginning. “Dar-ruh.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Most people knew him asDare, but from what he’d told me, only his parents called him by the correct pronunciation, which wasDar-ruh. He’d explained once that after so many issues during his childhood on how to say his name, he answered to either. I preferredDaddy, if I was being completely honest.
If I had a choice about what I was doing right now, Daire and I would be upstairs in my bedroom. In that delicious scenario, he’d be fucking me until I didn’t know how to pronouncemyname.
“What a weird one.” Cunningham stroked his gray beard and stared at Daire like he was a bug beneath his shoe.
Daire’s gaze turned deadly, and I sat up straighter, fingers twitching toward the gun I had hidden in the side of my chair cushion, not that I was sure I’d use it. While I’d practiced, I’d never had a reason to shoot someone. Not yet.
“It’s Irish,” Daire said.
“Ah, like the rest of you folks.” Cunningham nodded as if it all made sense. I couldn’t understand why Sloan wanted to go into business with him. I’d heard stories about Cunningham’s exploits, how he slipped cash into Mexican federales’ pockets to transport coke through small towns to get it to the American border, but Sloan already had ways to get drugs into the US. I couldn’t grasp his reasoning, but I didn’t dare ask, either. Sloan didn’t need another excuse to question whether I was the right decision as heir to the Company.
I shook my head and leaned back in my chair, taking a sip of whiskey. I cocked my head and studied the man in front of me.
Cunningham wasn’t very impressive and reminded me of an old Western movie star, with his big salt-and-pepper moustache and matching hair that hung loosely around his shoulders. The smug grin irritated me more than anything because the bastard thought he was better than me.
Well, fuck that.
