Page 2 of Creatures in the Night

I eyed him, giving him points for his acting chops. “Even if I believed you-which I don’t-that’s still a performance issue, Walt. Knowing who you report to, you should know every-fucking-thing about every person you bring into the fold. Why wouldn’t you vet him back to his fucking ancestors?”

“He…he seemed okay,” Walt stammered. “My…my cousin vouched for him.”

“And your cousin is another motherfucker that we’ll be having a little chat with,” I informed him. “Still, this isn’t your cousin’s fuck-up, Walt,” I reminded him. “We don’t work with your cousin; we work with you.”

“Ple…please…” he begged. “It won’t ha…happen again.”

Cathal snorted as I said, “Oh, on that we agree.”

“I…I can pay you…you back,” he lied, anything to try and save his life.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” I mused. “However, you can’t pay back trust, Walt. Once trust is broken, no amount of flowers, candy, or diamonds can get it back. Trust is the most fragile thing in existence, and I just don’t see how you’re going to be able to make it up to us.”

“I’m so…sorry…” he sputtered.

“Plus, The O’Brien is very unforgiving these days, what with his new wife and all,” I went on. “See, while James and I might want to forgive you, Declan takes issue with anyone trying to destroy the legacy that he wants to share with his wife and leave to his future kids.”

Cathal let out a low chuckle because I wasn’t necessarily lying. However, Declan’s control issues had more to do with the fact that his new wife wasn’t scared to jump into the bloody fray that was Declan’s life, and he worked day and night to prevent any of it from touching her. Keavy O’Brien was a rare breed, and Declan would stop at nothing to ensure that his pregnant wife was always safe.

“I have a family, too!” Walt yelled, desperation clawing at his neck.

“Which you should have thought about before applying to work for us to begin with,” I pointed out. “Honestly, I’ve been doing this for so long that there’s not one thing that you can say that I won’t have a response to, Walt. Next, you’ll be telling me how your mother has cancer, and you’re her only caretaker.”

“You’d be surprised how many people use that one,” Cathal chimed in, making me grin.

“Now, if you’re not appreciating mine and Cathal’s company, we can always call The O’Brien over to spend some time with you,” I drawled out. “But he doesn’t appreciate being pulled away from his wife unnecessarily, so you might end up hanging out with us for a few days more than you’d like.”

Walt started crying, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Looking over at Cathal, I asked, “Can ye believe this shite?”

Cathal shrugged. “Maybe his mam really does have cancer.”

Ignoring that, I turned back towards Walt. “Christ, lad,” I said drolly. “Where’s yer dignity?”

“I’m sorry,” he continued to sob. “I swear…I…I didn’t know that he…that his…his brother was cartel. Honest, I…I didn’t know…”

What Walt didn’t know was that Isaiah Florez wasn’t in the Mexican cartel. Isaiah had been pushing bravado to impress Walt once he’d gotten caught with a crate of our guns, and Walt had believed him. If Isaiah Florez had really been in the cartel, then we’d have bigger problems than a missing crate of weapons. Plus, we were in fucking Maryland; this far out, we dealt with smugglers, not bloodthirsty cartels.

Just then, my phone chimed with an incoming text, and when I pulled my phone out to see that it was Declan, I turned to Cathal, then said, “Do what you want with him. Your brother needs me.”

Cathal grinned. “And who says that Santa never comes early?”

Chapter 2

Shea~

When I’d been growing up, I’d been fascinated with the nature of healthcare, and I’d always believed that there was this inherent nobility in helping others. When people were generally geared towards selfishness, I’d always been in awe of those that could put others first, saving the day, not for recognition but because it was the right thing to do. I had always envisioned this world of doctors, nurses, firefighters, EMT, etc. living lives like real-life superheroes.

Well, I’d been wrong.

So very fucking wrong.

Though saving a life was an incredible thing to experience, there was absolutely nothing glamourous about it, and when it was all said and done, it was always the doctors that got the credit, which was something that I wrestled with often. While the doctors deserved a lot of the accolades, none of them fought in the trenches alone. So, yeah, while the doctors did the important work, nurses did the hard work, so it sucked when we weren’t recognized for our efforts or were told that we shouldn’t need a thank you for doing our jobs.

At any rate, I was already thirty-three and had no desire to start over with another career. Besides, thank yous or not, I was good at my job, and there wasn’t a week that went by when I didn’t learn something new, which I enjoyed. I’d always been a learner, so picking a field that continuously evolved had been the right choice for me, though there were times when I had to question my own sanity. I had chosen my own path in life, and I still didn’t know if that’d been the best decision that I’d ever made or the stupidest.

See, growing up, my parents, Patrick and Bronaugh Burke, had always believed that I would go into the family business one day because I was their only child. According to my father, a child was obligated to carry on a family’s legacy, but I hadn’t ever really seen my father’s business as something noble to pass down from generation to generation. My parents owned a pawn shop, and I’d never seen it as anything more than a sad, desperate, final stop for some people, and that was not how I’d wanted to live my life. I hadn’t wanted to spend my life listening to people begging for my mercy, and if it wasn’t for the fact that the shop supported my parents, I wouldn’t care if it ever got shut down.

Now, that wasn’t to say that I looked down on what my parents did or that I didn’t appreciate how they’d been able to raise me comfortably from the profits of the shop, because I didn’t look down on my parents and I was appreciative of all that they’d done for me. It was just that pawn shops felt so disheartening to me. It was one of the last places of hope, and if that wasn’t depressing, then I didn’t know what was. Pawn shops were always littered with family heirlooms, wedding rings, antiques, etc., and I didn’t like to think about how desperate someone’s life had become to make them have to walk into a place that charged enough interest to guarantee that you’d never get your memories back.

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