Page 17 of Skin Deep

Chapter5

Harrison

Kelly Enterprises was an old warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen that had been converted into an office building. Naturally, my eyes gravitated to the gigantic tiger painted on the side.

It didn’t take the painting to alert me that I was walking into a hunter’s territory. From the moment Raff O’Conner gave the name Cash Kelly, I knew what he wanted. An attack dog in the form of a lawyer. Someone to get him out of the trouble he would no doubt be in. Cash Kelly had just finished a ten-year stint in prison for racketeering, and he was already looking for a get-out-of-jail-free card.

There was a reason men like him paid top dollar to keep the best lawyers on their payroll. They used their services frequently. That was simple enough to conclude, but what had me up for the last two days was, why me?

I had no experience. The only possible reason he could have sought me out was because Percy might have given him my name. He told me if he came across anyone looking for help, who could use a man with my level of experience (very little), he would pass my name on. Or it could have been that Cash Kelly just wanted to see what I was made of.

I’d come to learn that, with men like him, it was best not to guess and not to assume when it came to their motives. I’d feel him out soon enough.

Inside, Raff barely gave me enough time to step inside before he patted me down, checking for weapons.

“You could have at least bought me coffee before this step in our relationship,” I said. “I feel used.”

“You need to work on those legs, Harry Boy. They’re a bit too thin for my taste.” He stepped back. “Necessary precaution before you meet with the boss.” He motioned ahead of him toward a hall.

“No doubt,” I muttered as I headed toward what I assumed was Cash Kelly’s office.

As expected, the entire place had been gutted and redone. Sand-colored brick walls. Exposed pipes and chrome details. A long hall of glass windows that showed offices behind them.

We seemed to be the only ones there.

“There’s your office.” Raff nodded toward a room behind the glass.

“I didn’t agree to take the job,” I said.

Cash Kelly didn’t own me. Not yet. Because if I agreed to this, I would basically become Pavlov's dog. When the boss said “sic ’em,” I’d start to salivate without thinking about why. Or else it would be my tail on the line.

Raff laughed but said nothing else.

There was something about that guy I didn’t fucking trust. My mam always said that if you find a lie in a laugh, you’ll find a bigger lie below it. His deception existed beyond the laugh.

Something I had to remind myself of, though, was that in this game, no one could be trusted. I’d have to keep reminding myself of it. It was never wise to forget the kind of people I was dealing with. Professional schemers and manipulators.

We came to a door and stopped. Raff knocked once, and the voice on the other side said, “Come in.”

He opened the door for me, gestured me inside, and shut it behind me.

Cash Kelly was already standing when I stepped inside of his office. I’d heard things over the years about the Kelly family. Mostly that Hell’s Kitchen belonged to them after they’d warred with the Italians over it. More recently, I’d heard that Cash was at war with an Irish family to get it back. He’d lost control after his Da had been murdered and he’d been in the can. No one knew where his twin brother had gone. He’d disappeared after Cash had been sentenced.

The tiger painted on the building was also tattooed on Kelly’s neck. It was the perfect way to describe him. Tall, wide, formidable, and with the same lethal green eyes. Eyes that saw straight through a man like me. Compared to the guys he was used to dealing with, he wouldn’t have trouble figuring me out. But I wasn’t here to play games.

He’d get the man standing in front of him. No pretenses. I’d save that for the courtroom.

IfI took the job.

Ifwhat I’d gone to school for was on the table.

As if he could read my mind, he grinned at me and held out his hand. We shook.

“Cash Kelly,” he said with a faint Irish lilt.

“Mr. Kelly,” I said, keeping the same amount of pressure on his hand. “Harrison Ryan.”

He nodded, we broke apart, and then he gestured to the seat across from his desk with his chin, inviting me to sit down. He straightened his suit and took his seat. I did the same.

---