Page 1 of Bargain with the Irish Devil

CHAPTER 1

Miranda

When the doorbell rings, it scares the shit out of me. I can’t remember the last time it happened. The simple fact is that I have few friends and even fewer people who would come to my home. It was only delivery who rang the bell in years unannounced, and I haven’t ordered anything in weeks. Maybe one of my few neighbors I traded getting packages with thought something was delivered to me.

A quick check of the clock tells me it’s a little after nine-thirty. My neighbors rarely came by so late. Pulling a very large knife from the butcher block, I go into the living room. I’m cursing myself for not getting the camera doorbell thing everyone else has so I could see who it is.

Above the diatribe the king of hell is giving to the two brothers and an angel who never listen to him, I hear someone calling out my name. The voice should have reassured me. It doesn’t. That voice has only ever brought me trouble.

Back in the kitchen, I slide the knife back into the block. I take my time, hoping he’ll be gone when I go from the kitchen to the front door. Before I open the front door, I take a deep breath.

Leaving the chain on only gives me four inches to see him by—it’s more than enough for me. “What do you want, Peter?”

There isn’t much difference in him since the last time I saw him more than two years ago. His clothes look as if he slept in them. He’s too thin, he needs a haircut, and his brown eyes squint against the soft porch light above him. “Aw, come on, Miranda—you aren’t even going to let me in?”

“Absolutely not. I don’t want you in my home or my life.”

He loses his cajoling smile. “What the hell kind of sister are you? I haven’t seen you in years and?—"

“I’m the kind of sister you made me. The kind that doesn’t trust you in my home. Tell me what you want so I can tell you no, and you’ll go away.” I refuse to acknowledge the ache deep down in my heart as I realize I mean every word.

“Miranda, please, this isn’t a joke.” He pleads with big eyes.

Those big eyes remind me of him as a child. I didn’t play with dolls growing up—I had Peter. He was better than any doll. Feeding him, changing him, reading to him, I did them all with glee. Growing up, I thought… It doesn’t matter what I thought because I was wrong.

“I never joke about the clusterfuck you have made of your life. I told you two years ago never again would I give you another dollar to help you out of a mess you made. I told you that I didn’t want to see you again. I said it, and I meant it. I want you to leave now.”

“Miranda, this is life or death here. It’s almost a week overdue. The vig is adding up every day?—”

“Vig? What the hell are you talking about?”

His hand wraps around the door, and for a moment, I wonder if he’ll try and push his way inside. “It’s the interest on the loan. All I needed was ten grand for this in-and-out job, but my partner skated on me and took all of the money. I’ve tried to get the money myself, but I can’t. I’m into him now at almost twenty grand. He told me today he wants his money tomorrow, or he’ll come looking for me.”

I shake my head. Jesus fucking Christ.

“My time is up. You are my last hope. If I don’t pay him back, he’s going to kill me. These aren’t the kind of people you play with. It’s the Irish mafia. I fucked up. I went to someone who won’t just be satisfied with a little roughing up. They call him the Irish Devil. He’s not to be fucking played with. The last person who didn’t pay back Declan Kelly, now walks with a limp. I swear, I wouldn’t be here if I had any other options.” His voice breaks with stress.

“You borrowed money for a job? What kind of job? Let me guess: a little breaking and entering and theft in a jewelry store. Like the last time you got caught. Or were you going to break into someone’s home and steal from them the way you stole from me the last time I let you into my home? What the fuck is the matter with you? Every day, you were in the garage with Dad. You were so good you could have opened your own shop.”

I’m not going to go into how hurt Dad was when he refused to take over the repair shop my dad started and ran for more than fifteen years. “I can’t even believe I’m saying this, but with all your knowledge of cars, why didn’t you go into ripping off cars? Youhave to break into a business with people involved and try and carry off empty fucking safes.”

Face red at the reminder of how he ended up serving time for the theft that netted him nothing. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, all right. I’m fucking sorry I stole from you. And I’ll pay you back. Declan Kelly scared me straight. The threat of death has a way of doing that. If you help me, I’ll never even get a parking ticket again. I swear?—”

“First, you’re going to be killed, and then you’re going to walk with a limp. Which one is it? I’m done. I am so done with dealing with you, and this conversation is over.” Closing the door, I sag against it.

It might seem to him that I’m mean or being cruel, but he’ll never understand how much it hurts me to push him away. That I had to push him away to protect myself from my little brother. This wasn’t what I imagined our relationship could ever become.

Peter bangs on the door hard enough I feel it through the thick wood. “The Irish Devil knows about you! Declan Kelly knows all about you and that you have the money. If you don’t give it to me, he’ll come for it himself!”

Anger fires through me. Is he fucking serious? He’s giving my name to fucking loan sharks? I open the door, needing to see his face to believe it.

His smile is back. He thinks I’m giving in. It only enrages me more. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing dragging me into your bullshit? I’m not giving you orhima dime. Not now, notever.”

“I didn’t have a choice. Kelly was the only one willing to lend me the money, but he’s different than the other loan sharks. He makes sure the person has something that, if it came down to it, wouldhave the value to pay him back. It’s nothing for you. I know you got this house in the divorce, all paid off, and that Michael gave you cash to go away. You make what, ninety thousand or a hundred grand a year? And you still sock everything away. I know you have it. He knows you have it. For fuck’s sake, just give it to me, and I’ll go away.”

“You had plenty of fucking choices, and you picked the wrong one every damn time. How dare you expect everyone else to pay for the choices you made. Get the fuck off my porch and stay the hell away from me. You have thirty seconds to get off my property, or I’m calling the cops and having you arrested.”

At the threat of police, it finally sinks in that I’m not giving him money. “You’ll regret this. Declan Kelly will make sure of it.”

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