Page 188 of Morally Gray Daddies

According to him, though, he owns me, and his men won’t hesitate to shoot me if I ever try to escape. He hates me, so why does he want me here so badly?

A cramp squeezes my tummy again. I groan and close my eyes. Why didn’t I grab some food to hide in my room the last time I was in the kitchen? Oh, that’s right, it was because one of my father’s men was down there, staring at me like I was a piece of prime meat. I got out of there as quickly as I could.

Crap. Why did I have to think about meat? A big fat steak sounds delicious. With mashed potatoes.

My tummy grumbles again. I groan and lean forward. It’s been two days since I was last outside of this room. If only Gloria still worked here, she would have brought me some snacks. She would have never let me go hungry. But of course, the one good person in my life had to leave because she did something to piss off my father. She was the longest-running housekeeper he’s had. I’m surprised she lasted as long as she did. The new one won’t even look me in the eye. She’s barely said five words to me since she started. I have no doubt that my father gave her instructions to ignore me.

He hates me. He always has. Because I look too much like my mother, a reminder of the wife he lost giving birth to me.

I start to doze off, but every time I slide into that comfortable space, another cramp wakes me. I’m not sure what time I finally move from the window seat to my bed, but it’s dark out, and the house is quiet. Maybe he’ll be gone in the morning. Or maybe I’ll be put out of my misery in my sleep.

Chapter Three

Patrick

Overgrown branches scrape against my Range Rover as I drive down the cobblestone driveway. It’s a beautiful house. Well, it used to be. Not anymore. It makes me wonder what’s happened in Joseph Clayburn’s life that’s brought him into debt with us. What’s made him neglect his mansion? Whatever the case, the man knew what he was getting into when he made a deal with us.

Declan is more forgiving than a lot of mafia leaders. He understands that shit happens, and people are human. What he doesn’t accept, though, is evading us when we call to collect. You only get so much grace with Declan.

As I approach the stone house, I wonder if it’s actually abandoned. If the guy is avoiding us and asking other syndicates for loans, I wouldn’t put it past him to run. Even flee the country. It wouldn’t be the first time. We’d still find him. We always find who we’re looking for.

When I round the final curve, three pristine luxury cars come into view.

“Looks like someone might be here,” Charlie comments.

He’s one of the men I brought with me. Ian is the other. I’ve worked with these men for years. Not only are they friends, they’re family. They’d protect me with their lives just like I’d do for them. It’s the Irish way.

“Aye. Multiple someone’s based on the cars. Either this guy has guards and is expecting us, or he’s as dumb as he seems and didn’t try to run,” I say.

The three of us get out of the SUV in sync and march up the steps to the enormous porch. I glance around for cameras, noting several. Most likely, he’s already seen us, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s made a run for it. Then again, the guy hasn’t proven to be the brightest so far.

I draw my gun from my shoulder holster and reach out to test the door. It’s unlocked, and when I twist the knob, it swings open.

“He’s practically giving us the red-carpet treatment, gentlemen,” I murmur as we step inside.

Unlike the outside of the home, the inside is pristine. Clean and bright. Every piece of décor shines proudly. Someone has put great care into taking care of it.

Without a word, the three of us fan out in search of Clayburn. Ian and Charlie go down a wide hall to the left while I go to the right. My shoes tap against the tile with each step, but I don’t care. I’m not trying to creep up on this fucker.

Hushed voices float through the air, confirming that I’m headed in the right direction. I stroll toward them and come to a set of closed French doors. Deciding it might be good to have my men with me when I storm into the room, I pull out my phone and send a quick message to them. Right as I step forward to push my way in, Ian and Charlie approach quickly.

My backup has arrived, so it’s time to get down to business. Today will go one of two ways. Payment. Or death. My gut tells me it will end with bloodshed. Fine with me. He deserves it, as far as I’m concerned. The Irish are my family, and if someone fucks over people I care about, they’re doing it to me too.

One kick to the doors, and they splinter, slamming wide open to display an office to us. And right behind the oversized monstrosity of a desk is the fat bastard I’m looking for. Two other men in the room immediately rise from their chairs, reaching for what I’m assuming are weapons, but Ian and Charlie tackle them before that happens.

The goons don’t know what’s hit them when they’re floored by a single grip that has their knees crumbling out from under them.

Joseph’s pasty-white cheeks turn ruddy and jiggle as he trembles. “Who are you?”

Is he asking because he truly doesn’t know? How many syndicates are trying to collect from him?

“I’m Patrick Ryan. A representative of the Irish.” I cross my wrists over each other, gun still in hand, and raise an eyebrow as he processes my words and the weapon he finally notices.

Joseph opens and closes his mouth over and over, like a fish in search of water.

“I’m assuming the cat’s got your tongue, Joseph? Or are you just so thrilled to see me?” I smirk and tilt my head, waiting for an answer.

“I’ve… I’ve been trying to get in touch with Declan,” he splutters. “He’s always unavailable when I call.”

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