Page 4 of On The Rocks

My gaze followed John’s to study my cousins. “I assume they’re just here for the funeral, then they’ll fuck off.”

“Long way to come for a man they hardly see,” he mused.

I let out a snort. “Let me welcome you to the intricate internal politics of a typical Irish family, John. Rule number one: Never miss a good funeral, even if it’s a plane ride away, especially when there’s copious amounts of free booze on offer.”

“Somethin’ tells me they’re not here for the Guinness and the craic, Cal,” John muttered.

That feeling of unease prickled through me again because I wholeheartedly agreed. Still, I had a mam to take care of and a boozy wake to keep an eye on. I didn’t have the time or the inclination to try and decipher the weird-assed reasons behind my family’s visit.

I shrugged casually. “Don’t have it in me to give a fuck. Those assholes probably came to throw their weight around. They’ll drink all the free booze they can handle, then sit and throw everybody some side-eye to prove they’re tough guys. I know the drill when it comes to the New York side of the family. It’s something and nothing.”

John nodded slowly. “Gotta weird feelin’. We’re comin’ back to the bar, so we’ve got your back if you need us.”

For the first time that day, my heart warmed. “Thanks, Dagger.”

He grinned. “If the boot was on the other foot and Lorcan was stood in my place, he’d look out for my boys, too. Not doin’ anythin’ he wouldn’t, and I know he’d want me to keep an eye on you.” John’s hand snaked around my neck, his fingers curling around my nape. “You’re gonna be okay, son.”

I had to suck in a breath to stop myself from losing my shit. “Thanks, John,” I croaked.

His hand dropped. “Always. Lorcan was a good—” He was cut off by a woman calling, “Callum!”

Everybody looked around to see Breaker’s wife, Kennedy, pick her way across the grass toward us. She was a fucking knockout, but the thin, high-heeled, red-soled shoes she woremade her even hotter. Kennedy Stone was the town lawyer and, by all accounts, was a fucking shark—a personality trait her husband loved, if the way his eyes gleamed whenever he looked at her was anything to go by.

All the Speed Demons’ women were gorgeous. Those boys seemed to mop up all the talent in town. Whoever slipped through their net got caught in Donovan’s—go figure! But luckily, I had a long-term fuck buddy in the form of Saskia, one of the waitresses at the bar.

We weren’t serious, purely because I wasn’t a serious kinda guy. Still, our arrangement seemed to work for both of us, seeing she wasn’t a serious kinda gal either.

Da had nagged me for years to find a nice Catholic girl, settle down, and have babies, but I’d managed to evade it. Pop believed a man wasn’t a man without a decent woman supporting him, and he’d told me repeatedly how I needed to stop fucking around with good-time girls and get wed.

I smiled at the memory, watching Kennedy’s hips sway on her approach.

She smiled at me. “I just checked Lorcan’s will, Callum. He left instruction for it to be read today at five o’clock.”

My eyebrows furrowed. “Why the rush?”

“No idea,” she replied. “I need to ask; do you know a man called Patrick Doyle?”

My stomach sank. “Paddy’s Da’s cousin from New York. He’s here.”

Relief washed over Ned’s expression. “Lorcan left strict instructions to read the will with Patrick Doyle present, but he left no clue about how to find him. The only Patrick Doyle I’ve ever heard of is the gangster from New York who’s always in the news.”

My head swiveled toward the church, where Paddy stood talking with his boys. “See those suits?” I jerked my chin toward the church. “Recognize anyone newsworthy?”

Kennedy glanced over and did a double take. “Fuck, no.”

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “The older guy wearing the blue shirt. That’s your man.”

Kennedy’s eyes rounded. “But he’s the head of the Irish Mafia.”

“And my second cousin,” I muttered.

“What the fuck is Lorcan playin’ at?” John demanded.

My fingers lifted to rub my temple. “God knows.”

“Well,” Kennedy drawled. “I’m glad I’m reading the will. At least you’ve got legal representation there and a witness.”

“Baby,” Breaker muttered, sliding his arm across her shoulders. “You’re a hotshot lawyer and a ballbuster, but I don’t want you pissing off the Irish Mafia.”

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