Page 8 of Wicked Oath
An idea occurs.
“Stay the fuck away from my sister,” Owen growls, shoving me in the chest. A few people glance over, hoping for a fight between us.
“Why? Does she belong to you?”
Owen scrunches up his face. “Don’t be gross, Kelly. She’s my sister. I want to make sure she doesn’t get into trouble. And you’re the epitome of trouble.”
“You can just call me James, you know.” I lean against the wall, the picture of casualness. I can tell that it pisses Owen off even more, which makes it funnier for me.
“I don’t care to call you anything,” Owen seethes. “Don’t mess around with my sister, and we won’t have a problem.” With those fighting words, he turns and walks away.
But what Owen doesn’t know is that we do have a problem. I want to take down the Donovans for good and steal their power for myself.
And I’ve come up with the perfect solution, the one I’ve been waiting for these past few years.
And she walked in on a silver platter.
* * *
A few days later,I’m standing outside one of the many pubs in Boston, except this one belongs to Patrick Donovan. It isn’t one of the properties he and my father bought together, lucky for him. If I had to see one of those places in person, I would punch a hole through every wall at the reminder of how Patrick fucked over my dad for more money, leaving him without much to take to his grave.
My father died from pancreatic cancer, so at least that wasn’t Patrick’s fault, but I know the stress of his best friend screwing him over didn’t help.
Now, it’s just my mom and me. As head of the Kelly mob, I don’t have much time to spend with her. However, I make sure to see her every now and again. I didn’t come to her with this plan, though. She’d just tell me it was foolish and not to waste my time. What she doesn’t understand is Patrick’s ego. The man wouldn’t be able to see deception unless it bit him in the ass, and even then, he’d probably still be blind to it. Patrick has never understood how anyone could hate him. I’ve spoken to him over the years and realized he doesn’t know that my dad hated him in his final years.
How pathetic is that?
Now, I enter the pub, a classic style with dark wood walls and the strong smell of beer everywhere.
I called Patrick to set up this meeting, and he’s waiting for me in the back in a booth hidden away from prying eyes.
“James,” he says warmly as I slide into the seat across from him.
“Patrick.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” No beer glasses in front of him. Irish men like to drink, but when we’re on business, we know to stay sober.
“I have an arrangement I wanted to propose to you.”
“Fire away.” He sits back in his seat.
“You and my father used to work together before his death.”
Patrick shakes his head. “It was a shame. He left this world too soon.”
“Indeed,” I murmur. “The Kellys and the Donovans have a strong history of peace between our families. I wanted to extend an offer of even more. One that would grant both of us more power.”
Patrick’s eyes glint with interest. “Go on.”
I lean forward, the chaotic thrum of excitement coursing through me. “I propose a marriage between me … and your daughter, Olivia.”
Patrick stills before nodding thoughtfully. “It’s an intriguing offer. You haven’t met Olivia, correct?”
“No.” I keep my face the picture of innocence.
He chuckles. “No, why would you have? I wasn’t sure if you two had met at a Christmas holiday or something like that.” I don’t attend the Christmas party Patrick throws every year. I’m rarely in a cheery mood, knowing he’s the man who hurt my father’s pride.
“So, are you interested in this arrangement?” I ask.
