Page 2 of Skin Deep

I closed the box on a snap when I noticed my brother coming out of the church. Oran Craig and his son, Dermot, were next to him. Oran and Dermot were two of the most notorious Irish gangsters in Boston. The family was always in trouble.

What was Lachlan doing with them?

Keely had sent me to check on Lachlan. She’d said she had a feeling he was “up to no good,” and I needed to find out why he’d been spending so much time in Boston. It started off as short trips here and there, and then lengthened into month-long stays. He usually stayed with me in New York—we shared rent—but lately he was rarely home. He told me he’d found work in Boston making triple the amount he did at Lackey Brother’s Meat Packing Company in Hell’s Kitchen.

I narrowed my eyes as my brother nodded his head, listening to something Oran was saying. His son, Dermot, had his hands on his hips, breathing smoke out of his mouth.

It seemed like my brother had traded a meat packing job for one at the slaughterhouse. The “Butchers of Boston” were his new bosses.

This wasn’t good.

My brother was built like a boxer, but I was going to kick his ass once he was inside the car. He cracked my glasses once as a kid. He never did it again after I proved that it didn’t take 20/20 eyesight to land punches.

Lachlan’s eyes seemed frozen in the distance as Oran squeezed his shoulder. Lachlan nodded once, Dermot handed him a wad of cash, and then he headed for the car, tucking the money in his jacket.

He slid in on the passenger side, and the entire car filled up with the smell of ice and the spice of his cologne. He nodded toward the street. “Drive.”

I shook my head. “Not until you explain.”

“Now’s not the time to chitchat, Harrison. Drive.”

“Or?”

“Or Oran will have my head displayed on a spike somewhere.”

Oran was watching the car, his eyes narrowed against the glare. Smoke drifted from his cigarette every time he exhaled. His eyes looked like they were blue, but all I could see was red. His eyes should’ve been the color of blood after it’s been spilled.

I started the car and pulled off. Lachlan gave me turn by turn directions and had me stop for gas a few minutes from the church. He used the cash Dermot had given him to fill up. He was quiet as he handed me a pack of donuts and a hot coffee from the little station.

He pointed in the direction we needed to go, and I pulled off again. I cleared my throat. “I spent everything I had to get here—”

He held up a hand. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You’re my brother. When something is off, I check it out.”

“You felt something was off?” He sounded like he knew the truth but wanted me to confirm it.

“Kee,” I said, being honest. Even though I suspected something was off, the reason was different. A woman. Lachlan hadn’t dated since he found out his wife of six months, who was also pregnant, was fooling around with a friend of his from Lackey’s. The kid turned out not to be his.

He visibly shivered, then took a drink of his coffee. “I’ll give you that.”

Between the four of us—the Ryan Brothers—Keely’s name was the equivalent of calling “uncle” in a fight. Our mam was fond of saying that she pitied the poor man’s heart that belonged to her. Our sister was hell on two long legs.

“The pub,” Lachlan said simply. “All of my money from Lackey’s went to live—and even then, it wasn’t enough. I barely had enough money left over to buy myself a beer at the end of the week. There was never enough money to save.”

When we were kids, Lachlan had gotten it into his head that he wanted to buy a pub in Hell’s Kitchen someday. He wanted a place called Ginger’s. The Ryan brothers would own and operate it. It wasn’t even a grand fucking place. It was simple. Almost comfortable to think about. We had that in common. But even the simplest dreams cost something. Everything has a price.

“You decided to risk your limbs—your life—for a fucking dream?”

“What would you be willing to risk for yours?”

That was a low blow. We never really talked about Mari, but he knew. We were all close, and in-depth talks were not always necessary to know shit about each other.

“Turn here—”

At the last second, I turned into a residential neighborhood. Smaller homes. Cars parked on the curbs. A kid on a bike with training wheels stared at us as we passed. His cheeks were red and chapped from the cold weather.

The conversation wasn’t over—why my brother decided to work for the Craigs before talking to me—but it would have to wait. I had no idea where we were going or why, and he was in no frame of mind to have a serious talk. It was hard to tell when Lachlan was on edge, but I knew.

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