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1
KELLAN
Being stabbed hurts like a bitch.
Blood spatters across the concrete as I rip the knife out of my side with a grunt. The man in front of me bares his teeth like some sort of rabid dog as I brandish his knife in front of his face, the steel blade red with my blood.
“You really shouldn’t have done that,” I seethe, darting forward to return the favor. He curses and falls backward, his head hitting the sidewalk. His buddies are splayed out beside him, unmoving, and in a blink, my men descend on them, ensuring that none of the three assholes who dared to attack me will be waking up.
I don’t need to keep any of them alive for questioning, I know exactly who they work for and why they came after me. They’re Rossi’s men. Italian Mafia.
I lean against the brick wall of the alley, catching my breath and pressing my hand over the wound in my side, hot blood leaking through my fingers. Shit. As head of the Irish Mafia presence in Redwick City, I’ve been aware of the Italians my entire life.But, up until a month ago, we’ve managed to exist together without much trouble. That is until I found a group of his men conducting business on my side of the city. Our boundary lines have always been clear, and there was no way I could let this slide.
Since then, my life’s got a hell of a lot more complicated. My men have been in regular scuffles, I’ve been targeted at home and my places of business—one of our weapons runs got intercepted and stolen. Of course, we’ve hit them as hard as they’ve hit us. I’m not weak, and I refuse to let myself be made out to be. They steal our shipments and deliveries? We set their warehouse on fire. They step over territory lines? We make their cafe front our new meeting spot.
Fighting fire with fire is what I was raised to do, and now is not the time for me to stop.
Until now, though, nobody has dared to attack me directly. Rossi’s getting bold, and I’ve got to cut this shit off at the head before he gets any more ideas. This is unsustainable. At this rate, we’re gonna destroy each other until nothing’s left, and then, God forbid, some street rat gang will rise up and try to rule in our place.
I know for a fact neither of us want that.
It’s hard as hell to think of solutions and plans when pain is spiraling up my side and my clothes are growing wet with blood, though.
“Fuck, Boss. We gotta get you to a doc,” Easton, my second, says as he rushes over to me, worry furrowing his brow.
I grunt, unwilling to let any pain show. I’ve survived worse after all. “Need some stitches, that’s all.”
“Unless you want Louis butchering you with a needle, you need an actual fucking medical professional,” he snaps back, and I hate that he’s right. We’re all good at hurting people, not healing them.
“Get clean up for those fuckers, grab Darragh, and meet me in the car,” I order, knowing he’ll follow my instructions as I shove off the wall and stride out the alley to the black Porsche sitting at the edge of the street.
The engine rumbles beneath me, smooth as a cat’s purr, and the second Easton and Darragh jump in, I tear out of there.
“You need a hospital,” Darragh says from the passenger seat, frowning at me.
“No hospitals,” I snap, beyond frustrated. They both know this. Hospitals are out of the question in our line of work. Hospitals mean questions—questions we can never afford to answer.
“Fuck, fine, no hospital,” Easton agrees from the back. “But you need a doctor.”
“Unless one of you suddenly pulls a medical degree out your ass—” I start, but Darragh interrupts.
“Drive to the ER,” he says, and I swear to fuck I nearly crash the car just to shut him up.
“Do you have a death wish—” I begin, fury flowing out of me faster than my damn blood. I hope to fuck I don’t stain the car interior with it. I really like this damn car.
“You said no hospital,” Darragh presses on, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t get a doctor from one.”
My mind whirs. “You want to kidnap a doctor from the ER?” I clarify, thinking about it.
“Unless anyone else has a better bright idea, yeah,” Darragh confirms.
I consider his idea. We do need a doc since our last guy retired and moved to Europe. Doc Harris was nearing eighty, and he worked for the previous Dons, so he more than earned a break from this life. But it left us without a doc, and with shit heating up between us and the Rossis, we can’t afford not to have one.
I might be stubborn, but I’m not stupid. I know I need stitches and medical care for this stab wound, and I need it today.
Cars beep their horns at me as I take a sharp right across two lanes, turning in the direction of Redwick General.
I can hear Easton breathe a sigh of relief from the back seat at my silent agreement.
