Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Jordan

" Y ou're a very dangerous man," Seán sighs, checking his watch. "I have an appointment now in the club, but I want to know who of the family believes that they should be named heir. I also want to know if there are any rumblings in the following areas from the organization's rivals. There are always people out to take what doesn't belong to them."

He rattles off a few places that I know are related to different rivals. He gave me a rundown the day after I moved into Líadan and Brendan's home in a video call, so with all the information that I have, there's a disturbing overview of the criminal underbelly of the United States living in my brain.

It makes me worry about if he'll ever be able to let me go back to my normal life, because all of this knowledge is fucking dangerous.

Someone knocks on the door to remind him of his meeting, making him huff as he navigates his body out of the hard chair. I'm not enjoying it any more than he is, but the groans and curses remind me that he's still older than I am.

Finally getting upright, he rubs his back for a moment before straightening his spine and moving to the door as if nothing happened.

Seán O'Brien's daughter isn't the only one who's excellent at wearing masks. Opening the door, he disappears into the hallway, leaving me to my thoughts. A part of me wishes I could see Layla or Lennon again, because I've managed to get myself into some deep shit. I don't even know if I could walk away from everything if I can possibly help Líadan.

Fuck. There's so much to work through. Would she even want me to stick around? Sure, there's a pull to each other, and I'm not sure how I feel exactly about Brendan, but that's not something I should be thinking about in the back of Seán's club.

Blowing out a breath, I force my mind back toward my work, deciding that I need to loop them both into my inner thoughts to keep issues from forming.

They both can read me too well to hide anything.

Getting lost in my work, I'm startled when the door slams, and Layla is standing wide eyed with a bleeding hand. There's no one inside of the room with us. I was so engrossed in my own little world, I didn't notice who brought her in, but I would bet my life that it was Seán.

Motherfucker.

"Uncle Jordan," she breathes, walking forward.

My heart is pounding as I rise, unable to believe she's in front of me. "What the hell are you doing here?!" I roar.

It's unfair of me, but I'm irrationally pissed off right now. She should be on the road, safe with the guys. Sure they'll probably regularly attempt to kill each other, but it's better than being anywhere near Chicago.

I pull her roughly into my arms, because I can still be mad and hug her dammit.

Taking a shuddering breath, I struggle to think through my feelings at rapid speed. I don't know when I'll see her again, and I don't need her last memories of me to be that I'm a raging dick.

"How are you here?" I rasp. "I think you just broke me, Layla." Her lips twitch as she looks up at me. There's mirth and mischief in her eyes, and I can tell this story is going to be more fun for her to tell, than for me to hear.

"Most importantly, who does that blood belong to?"

"An handsy asshole who I believe is bleeding out on the main floor of the club," she says, holding the bloody hand away from us. "Let me wash my hands and I'll tell you. Hold on."

Letting her go, I watch as she walks over to the sink to wash up, and I slow my heartbeat. She's safe. For now.

Drying her hands, she continues her bossy diatribe as if I didn't specifically want her to stay away from all of this.

"Sit, and tell me everything. Don't start and stop to make me insane. I don't know how long you'll be allowed to talk to me," I insist, grabbing the chair that Seán was sitting in as she lowers herself into the other one.

Layla quickly explains how she worried when I disappeared, and called both Lennon and the label in an attempt to find out what happened. I was going to go on assignment taking care of an out of control female artist, so she didn't immediately worry, until she realized that I had gone no contact for too long.

As she talks to me, she absently rubs her fingers over the darkening fingerprints on her arm, making me growl.

"Hush, Uncle. I'm completely fine. It's just a little sore is all," she says, waving away my concern. God, why are all the women in my life absolute brats?

"Anyway," she continues, "the label ended up getting a ransom note from Seán insisting that I call him. When I did, he insisted I meet him."

"Woah," I grunt. "I'm sure you're skipping a lot, Layla. I need more than this. What the hell is wrong with your arm and where is Tyler?"

"Well that's a two part answer… One of Seán's goons grabbed me, so I stabbed him, as I said earlier. I'm pretty sure Jack is dead. The other guy was too rough when he found me following his boss in the back hallway. Who the fuck grabs people in this day and age?" Layla rolls her eyes.

This girl is going to give me more gray hairs. Saints preserve me.

"Was he a freakishly large man with mean blue eyes with an enjoyment of other people's pain?" I ask.

"Called it in one," she mutters. "Seán?—"

"You're calling the head of the Irish Mafia by his Christian name? Are you insane, because I'm very sure he's not your type," I hiss. My eyes are huge, and I'm pretty sure my blood pressure is insanely elevated again.

I need to get that checked out when I get out of here. And then it hits me… "You stabbed someone? Layla Louise Campbell!"

Layla giggles, shaking her head at me. "I'm not worried about that or the blood debt Mr. O'Brien keeps blathering on about," she says. Yes, my youngest niece is going to kill me. "Tell me why you're here? How did this happen?"

Sobering, I think about that story, and how I'm stuck here for a while. I hope she didn't promise anything crazy, because Seán O'Brien isn't likely to let me leave anytime soon.

I tell her about how I went to the bar to hack into their computer system while I drank a pint. I guess I'm not the only cocky person in this family. Layla's jaw drops as I explain how I tripped one of their failsafes in their system, and I found myself yanked into their back room and on my way to Chicago to be tortured.

I leave out Líadan, Brendan, and any mention about where I'm currently staying. Her eyes are already so wide, they may pop out if I tell her any more.

"Why are you still here?" Layla asks. "You have access to a computer, but haven't contacted anyone?"

She sounds hurt, and I squeeze her hand. "It's not like that. They're watching me," I explain, pointing at the cameras in the room. "I'm money laundering for them. The Irish Mafia recently lost their main guy for this because he double crossed them. They know I won't do that. There's other things they have me doing as well, all fairly illegal."

"Why not?" she whispers. Layla is a smart girl. I know she knows.

"I have a family," I remind her gently. "I worry about you, though these self defense classes your sister has been teaching you sound as if I may not need to."

The sounds of Layla's giggles make me sigh happily. As long as she's safe, I'll be fine.

Glancing at the cameras that are above our heads, Layla bites her lip, but I shake my head. "I'm convinced they were too cheap to wire it for sound," I tell her, keeping my lips angled away from the camera.

Being a quick study, she nods. Staring at me hard, I wait for her to ask the next question. The one that'll shatter me to have to lie to her to answer.

"You're not going to be able to come with me, are you?" Layla whispers.

My entire future could change because of my decisions here. Thankfully, she takes a shuddering breath when I shake my head, pressing her lips together to hold back any other questions. She has to know on some level that I won't be able to answer them.

"Be safe?" she asks as the door is violently unlocked and opened. Seán O'Brien's face is red, his hands shaking in anger. If he's not careful, he'll die of a coronary while I dance on his grave.

"You owe me a blood debt, girlie. How a tiny little chit like you manages to get the drop on Jack-o, I'll never know," he growls. Seán is barely keeping it together right now.

Layla stands like royalty, back straight, winking at me before facing a man that I know doesn't have any trouble ordering others to kill for him.

Oh fuck. Her face is a cold mask as she stares back at him. The only evidence I can see that she's affected negatively by the man are the goosebumps raised along her skin.

"I don't know what kind of women you're used to having around you, Sir, but I take issue with being manhandled. As you saw earlier, I bruise easily," she tells him, showing off the finger impressions that are quickly darkening.

"You know damn well I have a concert tomorrow."

The ire slowly bleeds away as he looks at the prints. Scowling, he steps inside the room, slamming the door behind him. "He shouldn'ta done that," Seán grunts, his brogue riding him hard.

"Did you really have to tear Jack's skin to shreds? It was impossible to save him. Fucker died on the way to our makeshift clinic that we have at the club."

As beautiful as I'm sure the club is, because the man knows music and how to entertain people, altercations happen often enough here to need a clinic. Rolling my shoulders, I watch my niece both calm and goad the beast. It's kind of impressive.

"You ordered him to grab me instead of continuing our lovely conversation. Now, where are my men? You can return them and my knife to me, and then you can see me out," Layla says. "You're clearly not keeping me here when you know there are people expecting me to play at a sold out show."

My niece is a queen playing Seán perfectly. I find myself relaxing, even if she is playing the razor's edge of a dangerous game.

Seán snarls at me, throwing up his hands. It's actually almost comical. I don't think this'll blow back at me, so I merely shrug, leaning back in my seat to cross my arms. I can't work if he breaks me too badly. Bruin only punched my face a few times before beating the shit out of my torso.

Great employer. Real peach.

"The girlie here says you had a part in her growing up. Tell me, was she this much of a pain in the ass as a teenager?" he complains. Looking back, I can't say that she was. Shaking my head with a small smile I deny it.

"She was a perfect angel," I chuckle. "Layla is growing into her own person, I for one love it."

"Yeah, yeah. Your uncle is a bad influence," Seán mutters to Layla.

His shifting mood swings make me hold back an eye roll. I haven't done anything to Líadan or her allegiance to her father. Her plans are all her own, and she's been keeping them pretty close to the chest. I've been in my head so much, but I'm sick to death of it.

We need to have a very in-depth conversation about everything when I get back. I'm going to lay the things that I've learned out for her and Brendan, and then tell her how I feel.

This hot and cold pull that we've been having is hurting her, and Líadan doesn't know what to do with those emotions.

So it's up to me to be an adult and talk to her about it.

"Come along then, you saw him, Layla. I'm not planning on killing the man anytime soon, he's too valuable," Seán says.

"This is incredibly petty," Layla says, following him as he opens the door.

"The Irish are not known for being level headed," he barks out in laughter as he escorts her out.

…And then I'm alone with my thoughts again.

Sighing, I start laundering the money for this very club, shaking my head. At the very least, I know Layla can take care of herself. I just hope she doesn't get outmaneuvered by Seán O'Brien.