Page 74 of Bedazzled
Scowling, he leaned in closer. “Of course, I do. I think about her far too much. But if we don’t focus, we’re not only risking our lives, we’re risking the men from the three allies who are loyal enough to share their soldiers with us.”
My scar was throbbing and I rubbed it. “You are right, brother. Patrick just checked in; his group of men are in place. Have you spoken with the Toscano’s?”
We continue checking in with our allies, making certain everyone is where they are supposed to be, that the guns are positioned for instant distribution, but my mind is still on Tania. Some nagging little push in my brain, like there is a detail I’ve forgotten.
Tania…
I didn’t know if I was just losing it, or if the entire waitstaff are plants from Yuri and Maksim. I kept feeling flashes of recognition and just avoided looking at them at all. I heard the low buzz of people entering the reception area as the band started up with a traditional tune, I think it’s “The Wren’s Nest.” The fiddle player sounded a little flat, though I really was not expert enough myself to judge him. I hid in the bathroom a little longer, wanting to splash some cold water on my face but I’m too worried that it would ruin the elaborate makeup job.
“Um, one, two, three? Can you hear me?” I spoke into my lapel mic and immediately felt like a complete idiot.
Whodoesthis? I took deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. Although Nolan was the one to throw me into this, taking over the distillery and weakening the O’Connell clan was Yuri and Maksim’s plan. My job as Yuri’s wife is to help him, however I can. I will suck it up and just… handle it. Making the sign of the cross and murmuring a quick prayer, I straightened my spy glasses and told my reflection, “Get your ass back out there, Maureen Ryan.”
There were already guests - a hundred or so - strolling around the reception area. I didn’t see any wives or families here, for which I was grateful. It meant less chance of innocents getting caught in the crossfire. There didn’t seem to be any media either, though this seemed like an ideal time to show off the newly remodeled distillery, and that was not a good sign. It was an odd crowd, even for being made men, they all seemed stone-cold sober, dressed well and no one was having any fun. Not in front of O’Connell Senior, anyway. I realized that this was a mob meeting, not a celebration
Shiiit,I groaned silently,there’s going to be guns everywhere tonight.
“There you are, Maureen!” Poor Bryne, who’s entire being was radiating anxiety, hustled me off to the stage.
The lights on the stage made it difficult to see anyone in the crowd, and I was fine with that. This wasn’t a well-bred crowd here for an elite event, this was a herd of tightly buttoned up monsters who were here for their chief, and they were not listening to my careful speech about the perfection of the distillery’s single pot still technique and the heritage grains locally sourced for the production and the triple distillation and… God, I’m even boring myself.
“The Macallan 1926 was described as the ‘Holy Grail of whiskey’ when the first bottle sold at auction for one point nine million pounds. Mr. Byrne and I firmly believe the O’Connell Collection will easily eclipse that price.” There was a drunken cheer as I finish my history lesson and Byrne hastily steps to the mic.
“Ceann Fine, will you please join us for the presentation of the cask and the first toast?”
The floor shook under the stomping and cheers from the men as their lunatic chief stepped up. Padriac O’Connell was a giant barrel-shaped man with a shock of white hair. He took the mic away from a terrified Bryne and shouted, “Bring in the cask!”
A roar went up as the doors to the service area opened and a large wooden cask was rolled in. It was placed in a well-lit spot next to the stage and Padraic put a reverent hand on it. “This is the symbol of our new power. And a promise that we will not rest until we take back everything owed to us.” His eyes looked blood red in the glare of the stage lighting and it was easy to picture this evil fuck as some kind of Celtic demon rising from Hell to celebrate.
He pulled open his shirt and with an eerie synchronicity, so did all the men in the room. They all had the same mark on their chests and I realized it was a brand. The same brand burned into the cask of whiskey.
Padriac’s brand was hard and black and clearly there long enough to look almost fused into his chest, as was his son’s. Some of the brands on the younger guys were red and swollen, like they were freshly burned into their skin. The brand is some variation of the Celtic Knot, but twisted and gnarled and it wasbig.How much must that have hurt, how much agony just to prove themselves?
Don’t you dare throw up,I thought frantically,don’t you dare!
The roar went up;“Uí Chonaill go deo!”
“O’Connells forever!” Padraic shouted again, the lights defining the ugly black burn on his chest. “Now lads, let’s tap this bastard!”
Another huge cheer rose as Bryne deftly inserted the spigot and as the whiskey flowed, waiters filled the glasses and distributed them through the crowd.
My gaze darted to Padraic and he was looking at me, eyes narrowed. Maybe I wasn’t hiding my horror well enough. The lights in the room were slowly dimming, gaining a reddish tinge like a nightclub’s dance floor. The crimson glow terrified me, turning all these made men into monsters, lending a bloody tinge to their skin and eyes.
“Colm O’Connell will lead the next toast,” Bryne intones, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his shaking hands showing I’m not the only one scared half out of my mind.
The men were stirring and moving around like a pack of wolves, with more noises and grunts than speech and some hysterical part of my brain wondered if this thirty-year-old whiskey was really some horrible transformation potion that was turning them into the monsters they really are. Like their skin suits were being stripped away and showing the gnarled meat and bones and claws underneath.
Colm deliberately brushed against me, making his way to the podium and my skin tried to crawl right off my body. I could still feel his chest against my back like a film of slime.
“Brothers!” Colm roared, “We have spilled blood. We have shed our own. But this night begins a new era for our family. New allies.” He nods at Nolan O’Rourke, who makes his way gracefully to the edge of the stage. He was wearing a perfectly cut blue suit with a green silk tie, and as I squinted closer, a pin of the O’Connell crest. Theircrest?That seems pretty friendly.
You bastard,I thought,you better not be fucking with Yuri and Maksim or I swear to god I will kill you myself.
That demented freak Colm was still shouting. “We will kill every fekkin’ piece of shite who crosses us - the Morozov’s, The Corporation - any fucker who comes at us will be a rotting corpse, left in a pile with the rest of their family. Wife. Kids. Da and Ma - we will kill ‘em all!” He raised the second glass of whiskey and downed it, his herd of killers doing the same.
I can’t breathe. My chest was heaving in oxygen but I can’t breathe and now I’m wondering if these brainsickhijos de putahave already murdered my Yuri. Is he even alive? Has Nolan been holding me and taking away my phone to hide it from me?
Someone touched my elbow and I jumped and just barely stifled the scream surging up my throat. “Hush now, lambkin. You look terrified and not at all professional.” It was O’Rourke.
