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 LEGEND
THE SWEENEY MOB
BOOK 1
KI BRIGHTLY
M.D. GREGORY
 Legend © Ki Brightly and M.D. Gregory

All rights reserved. No portion of Legend may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including
information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews—without permission in writing
from its publishers, Ki Brightly and M.D. Gregory. Copyright protection extends to all excerpts and previews by the author included in
this book.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the authors’
imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders.
The authors or publisher are not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
The publishers, Ki Brightly and M.D. Gregory, do not consent to any Artificial Intelligence (AI), generative AI, large language model,
machine learning, chatbot, or other automated analysis, generative process, or replication program to reproduce, mimic, remix, summarize,
or otherwise replicate any part of this novel, via any means: print, graphic, sculpture, multimedia, audio, or any other medium.
We support the right of humans to control their artistic works.
If you enjoyed Legend please encourage your mates to download their own bloody copy from their favorite authorized retailer.
Authors work their arses off to bring you the stories you enjoy reading. Spread the love, not the files. Don’t be flamin’ galahs!

Credits or It Takes a Team to Raise a Book

Line Editing by Jennifer Griffin.

Early Reading by Trezlen Drake, Julie Hanson, Shelby de Jesus, Shelby Holder, Lucky Barnes, Katie Phoenix, Chandra Niklewski, Jo
McCorkell, Robin Chrusniak, Suzanne Irving, and Denise Westra.
First Round Editing, Copy Editing, Proofing, and Editing Coordination by Kiyle Brosius.
E-book Formatting by Meg Bawden.
Cover Design by Cormar Covers.
Photography by J. Ashley Photography and Images.
Model is Christopher David.
 The Scarred Pretty Boy

Finn McCorkell messed up. The first serious assignment he was given by the Killough Company—
America’s biggest Irish mob—left him with scars. As a man who enjoys wearing delicate clothing, he
is horrified to discover that he is no longer the center of attention due to his injuries. The swift change
batters his self-confidence. When Finn is sent to Australia on a new job, he meets a man who sees
past the scars.

The Mob Boss Who Loves Lace

Legend Sweeney is a myth in the southern hemisphere—a feared criminal, who has enemies
fighting to regain their former territory. Bringing in Americans who know how to deal with dangerous
threats is an added layer of protection. What Legend doesn’t expect is for the lookout who comes with
the gunslingers to rob him of his heart. Legend has always loved stylish men, and from the moment
Legend lays eyes on Finn, he can’t resist him.

A Fight for Love

As much as Legend wants to claim Finn, he can’t. Finn belongs to the Killough Company, and once the
job is done, he’ll be sent back to America. The day Finn will be forced to leave is a ticking time
bomb they both ignore. Legend will do everything in his power to make sure Finn stays, but his focus
needs to be on his local enemies. Everyone’s life is on the line as the fight grows more violent. If
Legend and Finn make it out alive, will they be able to stay together? Or will Finn have to go home
alone?
 AN IMPORTANT NOTE FROM M.D. GREGORY

Welcome to Australia!

In Legend you may come across words you don’t understand, words that make absolutely no sense to
you because Australians are weird. (As an Aussie, I fully admit we enjoy confusing people. It amuses
us greatly.) In this book we will be employing X-Ray on the Kindle version. This means that if you
come across an Australian slang word you don’t understand, you can click on the word, and the X-
Ray feature will explain the meaning to you. We will also include a glossary at the front of this book.
You will get a glimpse into our lives as Australian people. One of the common things we do is
shorten our words, which includes the names—especially surnames—of our friends and
acquaintances. For example, in the first chapter we are introduced to a character named Peter Salling.
Legend calls him Sallo.
I really hope you enjoy my country and that if you haven’t already, you come visit us here in
Australia. We are a pretty awesome group of people (Most of us. There are always exceptions.) and
our landscapes and Aboriginal Australian culture are stunning.
To all our Aussie readers, The Sweeney Mob is set in Townsville, North Queensland, and we say
words that aren’t used in the south, such as a bi jingo for an ice block and Paddle pop, or Nikko for a
Sharpie. I learned the hard way after being teased countless times about the differences, all in good
fun, of course. So, you might need to use the X-Ray occasionally as well.
For those who read our other books, our Australian stories are still connected to our New
Gothenburg world, and you will see familiar faces pop up throughout The Sweeney Mob series.
Without further ado—AUSSIE, AUSSIE, AUSSIE!
 DEDICATION BY M.D. GREGORY

This book is dedicated to my dad and his electric blue 1968 Holden Monaro HK, which he naively
sold for $400 in 1980 to his brother, who—while drunk—backed it into the creek while trying to get
his boat out of the water not long after. The car is now worth around $120,000. I’ve heard so much
about this car, I feel like it’s part of the family.
 CONTENTS

Australian Language Glossary

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue – Part 1

Epilogue – Part 2
The New Gothenburg World
The Vanheim World
 AUSTRALIAN LANGUAGE GLOSSARY

Barbie – barbecue
Benches – Kitchen counters are called benches in Australia.
Bi jingo – ice cream bar
Bindy – thorn
Bitumen – another name for asphalt
Bogan – An uncouth or uncultured person. A bit like an Aussie redneck.
Bonnet – car hood
Brissy – Brisbane
Bull Bar - stout bar fixed to the front of a vehicle
Chook – chicken
Conall – Sloan’s longtime partner, who stepped up to help run the Killough Company while Sloan
was in jail. (Conall demanded to be in the glossary. He says that as Sloan Killough’s pet, he’s VERY
important. We like to let him believe that. It also earned him a spanking from Sloan.)
Constable – police officer
Copper – police officer
Darl – short for darling
Dobbing – tattling or informing the police about a crime
Flamin’ galah – a fool
Grog – alcohol
Half legless – drunk
Hoon – an irresponsible driver
Ice block – Popsicle or ice pop
Irukandji – a type of dangerous jellyfish. It’s the size of a fingernail and nearly invisible to the eye.
Jacks – the police
Jocks – Men’s underwear/briefs. NOT a jockstrap.
Killough – Sloan Killough is the boss of the Killough Company, which is the front for the largest Irish
mob in America.
Kirk’s Creaming Soda – a cream soda brand sold in Australia
Knackered – tired
Knickers – typically considered women’s underwear or panties
Naoise – The name Naoise is phonetically pronounced Nee-sha.
Nikko – permanent marker
Paddle pop – brand of ice cream bar
Righto - okay
Roos – kangaroos
Root – to have sex
Root rat – playboy
Singlet – tank top
Smoko – This is short for smoking break, though you don’t need to actually be smoking to have a
break.
Smoko area – break room
Snag on bread – sausage on bread
Stubbie – bottle of beer
Stunned mullet – A mullet is a fish. When someone is a stunned mullet, they look shocked.
Taipan – Dangerous snakes in Australia. There are a few different breeds, including the Coastal
Taipan, the Inland Taipan, and the Eastern Taipan. The Coastal Taipan and the Inland Taipan are two
of the most venomous snakes in the world.
Thongs – flip-flops
Tomato Sauce – ketchup
Tray – truck bed
Triple Zero – emergency services
Tucker – food
Ute – utility vehicle, for example a large truck like a Ford F-150
1
 LEGEND SWEENEY

BOX JELLYFISH WEREN ’ T BEAUTIFUL CREATURES TO MOST PEOPLE, BUT THEY WERE TO ME.
The power behind their tentacles made them stunning, and if there was anything I—Legend
fucking Sweeney, Irish-Australian mob boss—could appreciate, it was power. When someone
thought about dangerous animals, they brought up lions or snakes, but never the jellyfish, which was a
big old mistake because the ocean beauties were among the most venomous creatures in the world.
I stared at the huge aquarium in my office, big enough for a human to fit inside. I had five box
jellyfish, their clear bodies almost invisible to the human eye—a trait that made them unintentionally
dangerous. There were many different species of jellyfish that ranged in size, but these babies were
one of the bigger type, with a body about a foot wide and tentacles that could grow as long as ten feet.
“Do you know what I love about my pets?” I murmured, mesmerized by the way the jellies
bobbed gently in the tank, lazily swirled by a fake current.
There was a scuffle behind me, and a groan echoed around the otherwise quiet room. My brothers
and a couple of our men watched, their attention trained on me while waiting for my next order, but I
never killed a man before I gave a little speech about why he was swimming with the fishes, or in this
case, the jellyfishes.
“They seem harmless. Nothing but translucent bodies with tentacles that sway. Sweet as flowers
bobbing in the wind.” I turned on my heel and stared at the man struggling on his knees. My younger
brothers, Hero and Danger, held him in place, gripping each of his shoulders tightly. “But they are
dangerous, among the most venomous creatures on the planet.” I stepped forward, my shiny black
shoes barely making a noise on the deep reddish-brown, jarrah floors.
Everything in my house cost me a lot of money. I wasn’t the type of bloke who liked his maids
cleaning up blood, especially when the boards beneath my feet cost a fortune, since they were only
available from Western Australia. The forest the wood came from was partially harvested each year,
making it rare.
One of my alternative—and fun—ways to murder traitors was to use my jelly babies.
I stared at the man on his knees, his dirty blond hair drenched from being dunked into a large
bucket of ice water until he couldn’t breathe. It was Hero’s beloved way of torturing someone for
information. “Tell me what I want to know.”
Peter Salling’s head drooped, water dripping from the locks of his hair onto the floor. He slumped
and my brothers heaved him up so he stayed on his knees. His face was paler than what it’d been
when he’d first arrived at my home on Castle Hill, but I suspected it was from the hours of being half
drowned in icy water. “I. . . . I’m sorry, Boss.”
 I snorted and rolled my eyes. He wasn’t the first to apologize after he’d been caught. “I’ve heard
that before.” I strode closer to him and crouched. Hooking a finger under his chin, I lifted it so I could
stare into his regretful brown eyes. His nose was bloody and bruises marred the skin on his cheek and
jaw from where Danger, the Sweeney who enjoyed roughing people up with his fists, had his fun.
“Tell me, Sallo, what made you do it? What made you think stealing from me was a good idea?”
A shiver racked his body and he whimpered. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t?” I glanced at Hero and his naturally downturned mouth curved into a mean smirk. In
this light, the grays in his messy brown hair were obvious, but the ones at his temple were stark and
looked almost silver. Unlike me, who’d gone almost fully gray at thirty, my brothers were able to hold
on to the natural brown for longer. His ruggedness worked in his favor with the women and men, who
swooned over him. His grip on Peter tightened.
Peter tried to wince away from Hero’s hold, but Hero didn’t let him go anywhere.
“Try again, because if you don’t tell me, my brothers are going to have more fun with you, and
it’ll be worse than before. And what you tell us will determine how you die. See those fellas there?” I
pointed at the box jellyfish that floated peacefully in the large aquarium in front of us. “They will kill
you within four minutes. Sharp pain for that short amount of time. You can die a quick death with them
or a long one with my Irukandji. The agony that comes from those little buggers is worse, and it’s a
slower death. You’ll be in excruciating pain for longer. Choose your words wisely.”
Peter whimpered and his bottom lip jutted, tears flooding his eyes and streaking down his pale
cheeks. His sobs were too fucking loud and annoying. I sighed and stood, waving my hand at Danger,
who grinned in excitement.
He straightened up, releasing the side of Peter’s shoulder, and drove his fist across Peter’s jaw.
Peter’s head whipped to the side, and he slumped against Hero, whimpering. Danger punched him
again and again until I held up my hand, signaling him to stop. He rubbed his knuckles, amusement
flickering across his bearded face before he retook his spot at Peter’s right side.
Danger was the youngest of us, and unlike the rest of my siblings, he was covered in an array of
tattoos. He loved to wear clothes to show off his ink, like the black singlet he had on right now that
highlighted the designs that covered his muscular arms. The lucky bastard also didn’t have a touch of
gray in his dark curly hair, though he’d shaved the sides of his head, so maybe they were taken off
with the rest.
“What do you say, Sallo? Had enough yet?” I crossed my arms and stared, watching the argument
play out in his head with the expressions that passed across his tortured face. Fuck, this was taking
too long. “Fine. The Irukandji it is.”
My brothers hauled Peter to his feet, and he struggled, yelling gibberish as he fought against them.
He kicked and screamed. “No, no, Boss! Stop! Stop!”
They began to drag him toward the door of my office.
“Wait! Wait!” He dug his feet in against the hardwood floor. “It wasn’t me!”
Danger and Hero stopped manhandling Sallo, and he fell to his knees again, sinking to the floor
like he didn’t have the energy to hold himself up. He sobbed harder, his shoulders shaking.
“That’s not what you said a few hours ago. You admitted to it.” I crouched in front of him again
and grabbed his bruised and battered face between my fingers to make him look at me. “Which is it?”
He choked on his tears and scrunched his eyes shut. “It wasn’t my idea. Boss, please.”
“Whose idea was it then?” I’d had a feeling Peter wasn’t the mastermind. He wasn’t the sharpest
crayon in the box, and he didn’t have the balls to steal off me unless he had someone else to follow. I
stood, towering over him once again.
 He shook harder but finally opened his eyes. “B-Ben.”
“Watts or Gordo?” I nudged his knee with my shoe, and his gaze slid up to me, bottom lip
wobbling.
“Ben Gordon.” He dropped his head forward again, and my brothers held him up by his upper
arms. “Gordo.”
I nodded and waved my hand at Hero.
Together, Hero and Danger dragged Peter back toward the tank of box jellyfish. He began to fight
again, kicking them and trying to swing his arms. Other men were already waiting beside the
aquarium, and one on the right pressed the glowing blue button on the back that controlled the lid as
Hero and Danger approached. The heavy glass lid retracted out of the way, turning on its side, then
sliding into a slot beside the tank. Hero and Danger stopped. With the help of the men, they stripped
Peter down to his boxer briefs while he continued to fight. A man would do anything to survive when
he knew he was about to die, and I couldn’t help but appreciate the show of human nature at its best.
At the back of the tank was a wide set of steel stairs, and they dragged Peter up each step while he
screamed and strained. When they got him to the top, they shoved him into the tank. Danger secured
the heavy lid again with another press of the big blue button.
There was a small amount of breathing room between the heavy glass lid and the water. I didn’t
want my enemies to die from drowning before taking the brunt of a jellyfish sting. Peter used the
space to take deep breaths, his legs kicking at my pets as though it would help him, but it did the
opposite. The jellyfish’s tentacles slapped the exposed skin on his legs, arms, stomach, and across his
back, and he shrieked.
I stepped closer to the aquarium, satisfaction burning deep in my bones as I watched another
traitor being stung to death. Tapping on the glass, I grinned. “These big fellas are Chironex fleckeri,
or as you simpletons call them, box jellyfish, and they usually have fifteen tentacles on each corner of
their body, which means they have up to sixty. These beauties each have enough venom to kill sixty
adults.”
Peter ducked under the water and swam toward me, slamming a closed fist against the glass, but
nothing he did would move it. We’d created a stable tank, cemented into the floor to ensure it couldn’t
be toppled. The jellyfish lived up to their name, their translucent, flexible bodies bobbing and moving
around him, as though having a human swimming beside them meant nothing. Their tentacles never got
tangled because they were too slippery, and as far as we humans knew, they didn’t feel pain because
they didn’t have brains.
They were perfect creatures.
I smiled and spread my fingers over the glass where his fist stayed. He was beginning to falter,
and I could see the change in him by the way he twitched in pain.
“Unlike the Irukandji, these guys can kill you in minutes, as I promised. You won’t be in pain for
long, not that you bloody deserve the generosity.” I shook my head and tapped the glass with my
forefinger before I sighed and stepped back. I gestured at Hero, and he came rushing down the stairs
and around the tank to meet me at my side. “When he dies, get one of the blokes to get rid of the body.
Throw it in the ocean. Far as the cops are concerned, a jellyfish out in the water got him and he
drowned. They’ll question the bruising, but they can’t prove anything. He’ll die from a heart attack or
a brain aneurysm.”
Hero nodded. “Sure thing, Ledge.” He glanced toward Peter, who was clutching his chest with his
mouth open. Bubbles spilled from his lips and his body spasmed from the amount of venom attacking
his insides. “He won’t have long to go.”
 “Yeah.” I patted Hero on the shoulder. “Mum’s made breakfast, so don’t take long. You know
what she’s like.”
“Nah, yeah. I know. I’ll be there soon. Tell her not to get her knickers in a knot.” He winked when
I grunted out a laugh.
“No man on this planet is brave enough to tell her that, especially not me. I like being able to
breathe.” I shoved him and left the room, letting my men and brothers deal with the soon-to-be-dead
Peter in the tank.
My office was on the middle level of the house, right beside the wide front door, which made
bringing in prisoners a lot easier. The kitchen and dining room were up a level, so I ascended the
black metal stairs to get to where Mum waited at the oak table. She had the Townsville Bulletin
spread out in front of her, a pen clutched in her hand and her black-rimmed glasses on, as she
completed a crossword, like she enjoyed doing every Saturday morning.
I strode over to her and kissed her cheek. “Mornin’, Mum.”
She looked at me, mouth pursed. Her gray hair was naturally wavy today, but it hadn’t always
been that way. She’d had a long braid that went to the middle of her back, until she got cancer and it
fell out from the chemo. Now that she was in remission, her hair was beginning to grow back, and it
was much longer than it had been last year.
“Did you deal with the traitorous toad?” Mum asked.
I laughed and headed to the open-plan kitchen. The black marble benches gleamed from the sun
that filtered through the door that opened directly onto a balcony. This high up on Castle Hill, we
looked over the city of Townsville and toward the city’s main beach—The Strand. The sight was
breathtaking, and I could appreciate it this early before the real heat began to set in and I would need
to escape into the air con.
It was only 7:00 a.m. and the humidity was high, with the air pressing in on us. Living in North
Queensland meant we got the tropical heat, and it wouldn’t be long before Mum closed the doors and
switched on the air con. Everyone with sense lived with the air cons on in the summer.
“ ’Course I did. He went for a swim.” I grinned at her and grabbed the plate that she’d made for
me out of the oven. There were two other meals in there, one each for Hero and Danger, so I left the
appliance on low as I walked back over to the table. She’d cooked bacon and eggs, our favorite for
the start of the weekend. It’d been a tradition to have this for breakfast since we were kids.
“Good.” Mum grunted in displeasure. “There’s nothing more disgusting than a snake in the grass.
Slimy bastard. The fleckeri or Irukandji?”
I chuckled and took a seat beside her, immediately digging into the food. “Fleckeri. He gave us a
name, but I still don’t think he’s the mastermind.”
Her eyes narrowed and she threw down the pen on the table. She took off her glasses next and
laid them on the newspaper gently. “Who?”
“Ben Gordon.” I shoved eggs into my mouth and moaned at the burst of flavors. Whether it was
from the memories of childhood or if it actually tasted good, I didn’t know or care. There was nothing
better than Mum’s bacon and eggs.
“I don’t know who he is.” She frowned and pressed her hand to her mouth.
“He’s low level, a soldier who works under Diesel. Their stomping ground is in the north, mostly
in Mount Low and Bushland Beach and as far up as Cairns.” I moved my bacon onto the piece of toast
and squeezed some tomato sauce onto it, something I’d been doing since I was a kid. Every other day,
I ate healthier, but Saturdays were my treat day.
“Should we be concerned?” She tapped her finger against the newspaper. “Because I can help.”
 I chuckled and smiled at her. “No.”
She pointed at me. “Boy, if you think you are protecting me—”
“You are recovering.”
“I am in remission and have been for over a year.” She shot to her feet and the slap across my
head came hard and fast. Even though I was expecting the blow, I winced. “I am your mother, not the
other way around.”
The sound of footsteps interrupted us, and we turned to see Hero and Danger stomp their way
across the room.
Hero grinned. “What’d you do to deserve that?”
“He told me I couldn’t help.” She huffed. Mum was the only person who was ever allowed to
smack me, and she knew when she could and couldn’t do it. It was at times like these, when we were
acting like the family we were, that she got to be a disapproving mum.
Danger grimaced. “You’re a fuckhead, aren’t ya?”
“Don’t call your brother names.” Mum crossed her arms in a very motherly fashion, one that had
always meant there was trouble if we continued doing something naughty.
“Sorry, Mum.” Danger came over to kiss her on the cheek while Hero did the same to the opposite
side, and then they both went for their breakfast.
I shoved more food into my mouth as Mum resettled in her chair.
“Danger, what’s happening with that man from the town council?” She grabbed her tablet that sat
beside the newspaper and opened the cover, waking the device. She kept my business organized as
the unofficial secretary of both my legal and illegal companies.
“Hm?” Danger took a large bite of toast as he came ambling back over to the table and fell into
the chair on Mum’s other side. “Oh, fuck. Yeah. Cooper. He’s budging, slowly. You know what those
fuckwits are like. They act as though they’ve got a set of balls on them, but they’re cowards. He’ll
come around and see our point when we start chatting to his kids as they’re walking home from
school.”
“Which one is that?” Hero took the chair beside me. “The cheater or the kinky bastard?”
Danger laughed. “Cheater. He’s the one who got caught getting sucked off by Janelle at the club.”
“Ah, fuck. Righto.” Hero nodded. “That’s the bloke we’re trying to blackmail to get in our
development.”
“Yep. He’s on the planning and development committee.” Danger was eating through his food like
he hadn’t been fed for months, which was amusing considering he was the gym bunny out of all of us.
When he wasn’t working, he liked to hit the weights. “We want him on our side if we want to build
that shopping center near the new housing area in Elliot Springs.”
“Well, make sure you twist his ear and hard.” I finished off my last piece of toast and grabbed a
napkin from the middle of the table to wipe my hands. “We need to get that deal before our
competition does if we want to expand our legitimate companies.”
Danger nodded. “Sure thing, Boss.”
“Which reminds me.” Hero shook his fork at me. “I got a call from Reardon.”
“Daire Reardon? Killough’s second-in-command?” I asked.
He hummed in agreement. “Killough’s sending some guys over to help us with the pest problem.”
I snorted.
We’d been having trouble with some of the Italian mobsters from New South Wales. Before we’d
taken over as the sole mob on the east coast of Australia, we’d had to fight it out with a lot of others,
primarily the Italians, who had dominated this side of the country. For sixteen years, I’d squashed
their attempts to return to their former glory, but they’d recently gotten a new leader who had more
balls than anyone else who’d attempted. I had to at least respect him for that.
Sloan Killough was the Irish mob boss over in New York City and one of our allies. When he
needed help, we sent men over to him, and he did the same for us.
“When will they be here?” I asked.
“Tomorrow. He sent them over immediately.”
I nodded and stood. “All right. Get some rooms sorted out for them. The higher-ups can sleep
here, and the soldiers can stay in a hotel. We’ll pay for them. You organize that, Hero.”
He nodded. “Sure thing, bro.”
“What are you doing today?” Mum asked, sliding her glasses back on her nose.
I grinned. “Things a mother shouldn’t know.”
“He’s going to the brothel and finding someone to fuck.” Danger smirked wickedly, but I ignored
him as I rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt to my elbows.
“Not today. I’m going to find our dear Gordo and give him to my sweet Irukandji.” I smirked in
delight.
Hero frowned. “Why don’t you leave it to us?”
I patted him on the shoulder. “Men will be coming with me, but sometimes even the boss needs to
get his hands bloody to teach a lesson.”
Danger laughed loudly, clapping his hands together.
Yes, today was going to be fun.
2
 FINN MCCORKELL

MY HEART HAMMERED AS I CRADLED MY BLACK LEATHER BAG CLOSE TO MY SIDE AND CLOSED MY EYES .
I leaned against the wall outside my hotel room door and ran my hand over my face. My shoulder
blades hurt as I pushed against the gray stone that went three-quarters of the way up my back. A chill
settled into me as I shifted. The skin across the bridge of my nose and right cheek was bumpy and the
sensation of touching the healed injuries gave me goose bumps.
There were points on my face where I couldn’t feel anything anymore.
My chest had a few livid pink scars and so did my shoulders.
If I’d only put on my seat belt.
I opened my eyes and tried not to get sucked into a whirlpool of what-ifs while I studied the
burgundy doorjamb across from me. I squirmed inside as terrible feelings bubbled in my mind.
Thankfully, I had no real memories of the accident. With all the pain meds and the fact that I’d had
a severe concussion, the first time I’d come to in a Miami hospital after being hurt was when I was
nicely drifting in a cloud of hospital blankets. Painkillers had been my best friends.
But then one of the guys in the Irish mob I worked for had come in to check on me, and I could tell
by the way he was acting that something was wrong—worse than me simply being in the hospital.
He’d asked me how I was feeling so he could let my family in NYC know and tell Mr. Killough—the
big boss—what was going on. When he’d left, a nice nurse named Wisteria had brought me a hand
mirror. I remembered her name because we’d had a long, bizarre conversation about flowers
afterward. She’d smiled and held up the mirror.
I’d looked like a mummy.
Everyone had been very nice, and the surgeon had done his best, but. . . . I touched my face again
and shuddered, tears stinging my eyes. They said I could get plastic surgery and it would help. There
was no way I would be the same as before. But seeing more doctors was expensive and a stupid
waste.
In my heart, I didn’t think much could be done.
Mr. Killough had paid the hospital bills, and I didn’t have it in me to ask him to shell out cash just
so I could try to look pretty again. A guy like Mr. Killough? He probably thought the scars made me
more useful because now I was scary. Okay, that was an exaggeration, because I wasn’t a big man,
but at the very least, I looked more like some guy who worked for a mob. I pulled myself together
when there was a burst of laughter from inside the room next to mine. I’d been given a room alone,
and it was probably because I’d been in a shitty mood since I’d been stuck on a plane in coach with a
small boy staring at me for the entire flight.
 He hadn’t blinked once. All right, he probably did blink, but it felt like he didn’t. I’d felt terrible
because his mother had tried to distract him, but he wouldn’t look away. For twenty-six hours. The
kid hadn’t even napped. It wasn’t natural.
“I’m just going to go check where I can buy us some beer.” The voice on the other side of the door
belonged to Mack Mullen and he was an asshole. I did not want to get stuck talking to him and end up
explaining what I was doing tonight, so I slid along the hallway toward the stone stairs and rushed
down. It sucked that the only guys I liked, Cillian Shaughnessy and one of his boyfriends, Fallon
Maher, were staying at some big mob boss’s house. I hissed at the slight pain in my right hip as I
skipped two steps because I really, really didn’t want to see Mack.
Somehow, when I’d gone through that windshield, I’d cracked my hip, too. It didn’t hurt often—I
could even jog without it giving me trouble—but being rough and leaping down the stairs jostled it.
The doctor said it was mostly the muscle giving me problems because the bone itself was healed, but
whatever the issue happened to be, I was tired of dealing with it.
All this had happened to me because of the Reyes Cartel men, who’d wanted to take Miami from
the Killough Company, which had control of most of the eastern US right now. I swallowed hard as I
reached the bottom of the stairs, then slowed to walk out through the lobby. The stone-and-wood
theme extended out here and there was a small fountain that burbled in the center. I smiled at the
woman wearing a pink blazer behind the reception desk, and she gave me a grin back, but it was
nothing like the happy expressions that used to get tossed my way. No, there was almost a sick sort of
obligation behind her upturned lips. Look at that scarred guy. Oh, I have to be nice to him. The
wince before people smiled too big was small but real.
I wasn’t making up their reactions, no matter what the therapist I’d had an appointment with tried
to convince me of. He wanted me to adjust to my new life, and I wanted to punch him. All that shit
was easy for a stranger to say, but they needed to spend a day walking around in my shoes—or with
my face.
I had no idea why I’d even been sent along to Australia.
I’d always been a good lookout, someone who could hang around without attracting attention and
watch people for the boss—or if I was noticed, people never thought too much of me, since I did
things like carry around my skateboard.
Actually, I did have a guess about why I’d gotten a seat on that international flight.
I had a feeling I’d been sent to help here in Australia because Jamie Shannon—the Killough
Company’s Lieutenant of Illegal Operations, a position right below the generals—felt bad for me. He
seemed to understand I wasn’t feeling well and probably thought a trip to Australia would do me
some good. Get me away from the neighborhood where I’d gotten hurt.
I shoved open the side door of the hotel and walked past the outdoor pool, which was lit up like a
sapphire in the darkness. Palm trees surrounded the cement patio and natural rocks were placed here
and there to give people places to sit. One old man had his feet in the water and a drink in his hand.
On the other side of the pool area was the parking lot, and I headed that way. I had the keys to our
rental van in my pocket, which I had snuck out of Mack’s possession earlier when he’d tossed them
down on the table at dinner, and I had to get away before he came out here and wanted to go searching
for beer.
I had somewhere to be.
I shook my head as I reached the black van. Jamie’s plan to get me in a good mood couldn’t work
because it wasn’t as if I was any less ugly here, in a place with pristine, white sandy beaches, where I
wouldn’t even want to strip down so everyone could see more of my scars.
 Yet, I’d decided to do this tonight.
There was something up with me, some wire crossed in my brain. I’d always liked to make
myself feel a little bad about things. I enjoyed sad movies and music and stories that made me want to
cry. There was just something about feeling that huge swell of emotion. But now I couldn’t stop riding
the terrible wave and there was no end in sight.
I climbed into the van and gently set my bag on the passenger seat, then took a second to breathe
and stare around at everything. I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and found directions to the club I
was interested in. I’d overheard some locals at the airport talking about how there was a regular bar
in the front, then the back had a special, smaller area where the real party took place. The definition
of what counted as clothing was very loose in this nightspot. Excitement swirled in my gut, even
though I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
Places like that usually were LGBTQ friendly, too.
I glanced at my bag. Should I change here?
No, better wait. I needed to get away before Mack caught up with me.
With one final glance at my phone where I had it propped on the console with the map app open, I
started to drive, even though I hated that everything was on the wrong side of the road. Focusing on
the van did take my mind off my nervousness, though, because the different road rules forced me to
pay extra attention while I drove.
I pulled the van to a stop at the front of the Munted Mudskipper, which seemed to have a strange
theme going on because the sign had a bizarre fish with one fin holding a beer and the other around the
silhouette of a busty woman. The parking lot was packed. The idea that all those people might look at
me made my stomach flip. I held my breath. I could go in like this, in my jeans and T-shirt and let
everything else go, but I had a horrible desire to prove myself right.
No one in the whole world wanted me now.
If I tried, then failed to get laid in Miami—which I had—then did the same thing here, I would
know. My shaky breath slipped out of me and I gripped the wheel hard enough that my hands hurt.
“Fuck it. Are you a Killough man or what? You’ve got a set of balls, right, Finn? You’re a
McCorkell. What would Mickey do? Well, that’s probably not a good thing for anyone to ask, even
him. What would Sloan Killough do? Whatever the fuck he wanted, that’s what! And now you’re
talking to yourself, but that’s okay,” I mumbled, snagging my bag as I ducked back between the seats.
The van windows were tinted, so while someone might notice that I was changing inside, I
doubted I would really be flashing anyone. I kept an eye out anyway as I peeled off my jeans. I
already had on the underwear that would stop me from truly shocking anyone, a pair of see-through
tight pink lace briefs that would keep my balls and cock in check.
I grabbed my bag and pulled out a silky piece of fabric, then slid the shorts on. The bottom part of
what had been listed as a “teddy” when I’d bought it was pink silk polka dotted with black pinpoints
and outlined with black silk lace around the legs. I slipped my shirt off and pulled the top up. I’d
worn things in the past that were made for women, but this outfit was designed for a man, so there
wasn’t a lot of extra silk fluttering around my chest as I brought the ends of the pink fabric up and tied
it around the back of my neck. I swallowed hard. The strips of fabric covered my nipples and left the
center of my chest and abs exposed. I ran my hand down the smooth skin on my stomach and tickled
my finger below my belly button.
Men used to fight over who got to bring me drinks when I went to Phryne’s Cabaret in Miami.
I let out a long breath and dug in my bag for the satin pink heels that went with this outfit while
kicking off my shoes. The socks went next. I’d shaved first thing after our flight got in today, so my
legs were smooth—along with the rest of my body. I slipped on the heels and was thankful that part of
me still looked good.
The tattoo of pink roses that vined around my right ankle and curled up my calf to wrap around my
knee was pretty.
Now for the worst part.
I shut my eyes and dug around in my bag for the makeup I normally wore. I dragged out my
eyeshadow and did that first—a light smear of gold over my eyelids that was mostly glitter. I tried not
to look at any one piece of my face too long. I used to take the time to do full makeup, but now with
the bumps from the scars it just made my stomach churn when I tried, so I dragged out a tube of
shimmery pink gloss and slicked it across my lips. I completed the look with eyeliner and mascara.
I wanted to do so much more but didn’t.
Maybe I could hide the scars if I tried to learn how, but I only shook my head. Covering my face
with makeup wouldn’t make the red lines on my shoulders any less prominent, and I couldn’t imagine
trying to cake my whole body with concealer. I dumped the makeup into a small pink purse with a
long strap, then looped it over my neck so that it sat across my body on my left hip. Finally, I pulled
out the thing that never failed to make me smile.
I’d bought this treat earlier today when I’d gone out to grab a few things, and it had taken a huge
chunk of what I’d allowed for traveling expenses—sadly. The bottle of Black Opium caught the light
and the dark glitter embedded in the glass sparkled as I held it up and spritzed myself. I loved the
earthy scent that always hit me with just the right amount of vanilla. My mood lifted as I stuffed the
bottle back into the black bag. I dug around inside and pulled out a long, silky pink coat. It was really
almost more of a robe, but I could hold the sides together, then ditch it when I was in the back room.
Fuck, why do I feel so awful?
I swiped my short hair behind my ears, then took out a pink headband and settled it on my head.
Hopefully the lights would be low, and I could dance with someone without them asking me a million
awful questions or saying shit like, “What happened to you?”
Sighing, I closed my eyes and thought about all the reasons I wanted to try this one more time. I
loved the way the silk felt on my body and the perfume smelled as it warmed and wafted from my
skin. I loved the heels on my feet. I loved the makeup on my face. I loved the way these things made
me feel like I was something sensual for a man to consume, and I loved men looking at me as if I’d
done something special, all because they got to see me looking this way.
Nodding, I reached up and snagged the keys, then tucked them into the tiny purse. I opened the
door and carefully stepped out, pulling the silky coat on, then closed. The fabric draped and hit my
knees. After closing the van door, I hit the lock button on the key fob and walked toward the bar with
my head held high.
The Munted Mudskipper actually looked much nicer than the name indicated. It was a tall classic
building with a white stone exterior and an upper and lower veranda on the front. Stone pillars went
from the ground floor to the roof and iron railings ran in between. People sat at tables on the second
floor, laughing and drinking.
There was a line at the door, though not much of one, and I dragged my ID out of my purse. My
stomach dropped. What if they wanted my passport to let me drink? Why didn’t I bring it with me?
The man at the door didn’t even really check my ID, just sort of waved me through with barely a
glance.
“I’m looking for the private club,” I said, smiling up at him.
The big man turned back to me, then did a double take.
 My stomach shriveled to the size of a pea.
The security man bared his teeth in a grimace and ran his hand over his short blond hair before
shaking his head at me. “You’re not the kind of person who gets to go in back, mate.”
I winced and glanced down at my shoes. My tattoo looked too bright in the fluorescent lights. The
old me would’ve flashed him what was under the coat and smiled, but I didn’t have that in me. I
didn’t bother going inside to the regular bar, even though I probably could’ve stood to have a couple
of drinks. Instead, I turned and walked along the veranda. There were benches where people sat
laughing together and talking. Occasionally someone glanced at me, but no one asked where I was
going. Hell, I didn’t know where I was headed. The veranda wrapped around the far side of the
building and there were fewer people over here. Only one couple sat on a bench making out, but it
was still early. Maybe later every seat would be filled with people who were still pretty.
I was being dramatic as my mom would say, but I didn’t fucking care.
This sucked.
But no one was going to ask me to come out here with them and do things in public that could
probably get me kicked out of the country. I found a bench and sat on it, taking a deep breath. I
smoothed my hands over my knees and tried to find the courage to walk back over there and tell that
man I was going into the back rather than sit here and feel like shit.
I wasn’t going to count this as a failure yet because I hadn’t even gotten anywhere that I could
dance. Laughter farther along the veranda drew my attention, and I leaned forward. A group of men in
suits stood near an open door smoking, and my heart jerked.
Maybe I didn’t have it in me to try to flirt my way into the back room, but if I was really lucky. . . .
I stood and hustled toward the men, keeping as much to the shadows as possible. “Is this the real
party?” I called.
“Sure, love,” one of the men said, but he wasn’t looking at me because the guy with him was busy
talking his ear off, and he was nodding and puffing on a cigar. He opened the door for me, and I
slipped inside with a sigh of relief. I was at one end of a hallway. Walking forward, I passed the
restrooms, and when I kept going, I turned a corner and smiled because exactly what I’d been hoping
to see was in front of me—a giant party.
Tables lined the edges of the dance floor, and there weren’t many men and women out dancing, but
there were enough so I wouldn’t feel like I was the only one. I shrugged off my coat, and although I
might regret it later, I tossed it over a chair at a table.
The lighting wasn’t dark enough, especially closer to the bar, but I stayed near a dim corner and
let the beat take hold of me while I moved with it. No one really knew I wanted to do things like this
—I kept it to myself—but I loved dressing up. I’d always thought I would pick a boyfriend out of the
guys I slept with. They liked seeing me in intricate underwear and, occasionally, nice dresses.
But after the accident no one returned my calls.
After the accident, the dance floor had turned into a waking nightmare.
I swallowed hard and decided I needed some courage to deal with this mess, so I went to the bar
and my face burned. In the past, I’d never paid for drinks when I was dressed up—never—but I
passed over cash.
“What can I do you for?” a woman behind the bar asked, holding my money. Her round glasses
glinted with the lights from the dance floor and her white T-shirt was tied up around her waist. She
tilted her head and her blonde ponytail swayed.
“Whatever that will buy me!”
She laughed, nodding, then lined up two shots for me. The vodka was a brand I’d never heard of
with a kangaroo on the bottle, but it slid down my throat easily. The fire that burned in a line to my
belly hit my stomach and had my face flushed in less than a minute. I whirled around and went back
out to the corner of the dance floor, and I moved my hips and rocked to the beat and danced because I
loved it, but no one approached me. After I had no idea how long, while I felt like I was dying
underwater, I went back to the bar for another shot.
Then I was swimming in the sensations of the pulsing music.
Another horror show of a long time passed, and I was getting ready to head for another shot—or
maybe sneak out in shame the same way I’d come in—when a pair of strong hands settled on my
waist. Someone gave me a light squeeze.
“Never seen you around here,” a man said directly into my ear. His breath was warm. I felt bad
because I wanted to turn around and see what he looked like, but did I get to have preferences or
judge? Wouldn’t that be wrong of me, since it wasn’t as if I had a lot of people lining up to dance?
And besides, he dragged me back against a muscled chest and his arms around me felt good. He
tickled his fingers across my lower abs and my breath caught.
“That would’ve been difficult, since I’ve never been here.” The part of me that loved to flirt
flared to life. It felt good to tease, too, especially since it caused this man to breeze a chuckle into my
ear.
“A Yank! I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful arse and pretty long legs on anyone. I’ve just
had a good couple days, and my week’s about to get better. Celebrate with me?”
My stomach dropped. He was dancing with me because he hadn’t gotten a good look at my face. I
loved the way he slid his fingers around on my exposed skin, and I wanted it for a few more minutes.
I was a tactile person and I’d been craving soft touches like an addict.
“I suppose you could buy me a drink, sir,” I said over my shoulder.
“Love this red hair of yours,” he said in my ear. “Is it fake?”
I playfully elbowed him.
He belted out a loud laugh that had people turning in our direction.
“What a rude question! I’m all natural. Everywhere.”
He snorted and gave me a slight hug around the waist. He turned me, leading me toward the bar,
and I didn’t want to go because this would be the end. He would get closer to the brighter lights, spot
his error, make some joke—probably, because he seemed like a sweet enough guy—and then he
would be back out on the dance floor with someone else. I braced for the inevitable. Something
similar had happened a couple of times at Phryne’s. I should’ve turned in his arms. I stumbled, and he
caught my elbow, a perfect gentleman.
“The heels look good—” My face heated. “—but they’re hell to walk in sometimes.” I smiled up
into his face and froze. He was older than me, and sweet Jesus, but he was hot as hell. His beard had
the perfect amount of silver in it to make him look distinguished, and his eyes were so blue that even
in the dim bar I knew they would match the sky. The white dress shirt he had rolled to his elbows was
tight enough to show off thick biceps. I glanced away before I could see it happen—the realization.
There was a guy nearby in white leather pants and a tight blue T-shirt. He had dark brown hair and
big brown eyes and a perfect, flawless face. And that edible man was staring at the one with me.
“Other people want to have a drink with you,” I said.
He chuckled. “I’m asking you, beautiful.”
I flinched at the endearment, even though Australians all seemed to call someone darling or love
or something when they talked, so it probably didn’t mean much. All at once, I needed to get outside
in the fresh air.
 I’d wanted someone to notice me.
I’d been obsessing over it before I left for Australia, and hell, maybe Jamie had even heard about
me going out every night, and that was part of why he’d wanted to put me somewhere else for a bit.
But now that it was happening? My chest ached and I dragged in a deep breath.
“I’m sorry.” I stumbled away from him only to keep going. I hadn’t come in the front, so I was
disoriented at first, but I found the exit to the bar after scanning the room, then hurried in that
direction. I burst out of the back into the main bar, a much more low-key area with unfinished wooden
floors, where people were wearing regular clothes anyone would throw on for a night out—certainly
not anything close to what I was wearing. I felt like some sort of bug because every single person at
the bar turned to watch me walk toward the front door. Halfway there I started feeling like an idiot
and swung around.
A man finally wanted to buy me a drink, despite what had happened to my face, and I’d lost my
shit. Why? Fuck, I am hot—a hot mess. I massaged my temples and straightened my spine on my way
toward the back room.
“Did you come out from the VIP area?” I only had time to register the annoyed tone before
someone grasped both of my arms and yanked me around. Normally I wasn’t so easy to get one over
on, but the heels made it harder to stay steady on my feet. My right hip twinged, and I sucked in a deep
breath as I stared up into the face of the blond man working security. “I told you earlier, no one wants
you back there.” The man began to walk toward the front door, and I didn’t have much choice except
to follow.
“Hey, mate, hold on,” a masculine voice called from behind us. Tingles raced along my spine.
Was it the man I’d danced with?
“Let me go, you limp piece of celery,” I grumbled and tugged my arm. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
The blond man snorted. “How are you gonna do that?”
“Have you ever experienced a high heel through your eye?” I asked, glaring and jerking my arm
again.
“Take your hands off him.” The man I’d been dancing with finally caught up to us, and the pleasant
tone from before was gone and in its place was a cold, scary one that made me open my hands—and I
wasn’t even touching anyone. Unfortunately, the dire words didn’t have the same effect on the guy
hauling me toward the front. He opened the door and shoved me outside. I stumbled and hit my knees.
My face burned, and to add insult to injury, my purse strap slid over and tried to strangle me. I’d
known better than to do this.
I’d fucking known better.
3
 LEGEND

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!” I HURRIED OVER TO THE AMERICAN I’ D BEEN DANCING WITH, AND HE LET
me help him up, but his gaze was stuck on the floor. “You all right, sweetheart?”
He nodded, the overhead light catching in his fiery hair.
“Come here.” I led him back inside and glared at the bouncer, who winced and backed off. I gave
a bloke at the bar the same treatment until he vacated his stool in a hurry, then helped the pretty man
onto it. He brushed at his knees and pulled his purse around onto his lap. He looked shaken, which
made my gut twist. He was too beautiful to upset. The American flashed a small, hurt smile in my
direction but didn’t make eye contact.
Fury pounded in my skull. I wasn’t used to being ignored, especially when it was in my own
establishment, but there was always a first for everything. The bouncer who’d dragged the pretty man
out of the Mudskipper had to be new because I didn’t know him. He either hadn’t recognized me or he
didn’t look long enough to see who I was, and that chafed my arse more than anything else. I expected
my employees to show my customers respect, regardless of who they were, because they brought in
the cash that made our business thrive.
“Oi, I was talking to you, mate.” I stalked after the bouncer and grabbed him by the shoulder,
jerking him around toward me. He pulled his opposite arm back, as though he was ready to wallop
me one, before he froze. His eyes went wide with recognition, and he dropped his fist.
“Sir.” He stumbled backward when I released my hold on him and nearly tripped a woman in a
bright red dress and heels higher than what should be legal. She cursed him out with only a scorching
glare.
I straightened to my full height, even though I didn’t need to in order to be threatening because I
towered over most men. I was probably the tallest in this bloody club right now, and the only one who
I knew taller was Sook, the head of security who’d been around the Mudskipper since we opened it.
I waved my hand at the American in the pretty silk clothing. I didn’t even know what to call the
outfit clinging to his body because it wasn’t a typical shorts and shirt, but it matched his creamy skin
perfectly. The large scars on the right side of his face had been a shock, but I’d kept my emotions in
check because it didn’t make him any less beautiful. If anything, it caused a stir in my loins to see such
a strong man continue to hold his head high after clearly only being hurt recently. The scars were too
fresh for them to be more than a year old.
“This bloke was in here to have a good time and you drag him out?”
The American glanced between us carefully. I wished I’d gotten his name. The small amount of
makeup he wore made his green eyes glow.
 The bouncer shifted his weight from foot to foot and glanced over his shoulder, like he was
looking for backup, but none was going to come. The other bouncers around had paused to watch
what was happening, and I saw a few wince in sympathy for their coworker. “Sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t
know he was with you.”
“Well, he is.” I strode over to the pretty man and wrapped my arm around his shoulders. He
tensed but leaned against me, accepting my touch. “And even if he wasn’t, I expect my customers to
be treated better. Who the fuck are you?”
The bouncer rubbed the back of his neck. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, but he didn’t
need to answer because Sook came striding toward us and stopped beside his employee. He had
about an inch or so on me, and he was built like a brickhouse and looked like a scary motherfucker
with his arms and neck covered in tattoos. He had a mean scowl that he wore all the time, even when
he was in a good mood. Sook was part of one of the motorcycle clubs around here, the Bloody Oaths
MC, and he had a vicious streak the length of the Bruce Highway.
With me, though, he had nothing but respect. He offered me a lopsided smile, the only kind he had
to give. “Hey, Boss. What’s goin’ on?”
“Your guy here—” I waved my hand at the idiot behind him. “—was going to kick this young man
out for no reason.”
“He wanted to go in the back to the club, sir. He can’t.” The bouncer glanced at Sook, obviously
still searching for backup. “Look at him.”
The American flinched, but I kept my hold tight on him so he couldn’t run away again. I’d found
him, and now I wasn’t going to let him go. He didn’t know it yet, but he was mine.
“For the record, my name is Finn, not young man, not him. Finn.” He raised his chin and pursed
those lush lips.
And it was a sweet name, too, but I didn’t say as much. My attention was on Sook and how he
heaved a sigh when he stared at his employee.
“Dave, you can’t tell a person if they can go in the back room or not. You know the drill, mate. It’s
an open-door policy.” He patted Dave on the back. “Who told you that you could?”
“Some of the blokes who work here. They try to keep the faces on the better end.” It was clear
that measly amount of info was all he was going to give, and I could respect his loyalty to the others.
These bouncers were an integral part of my business because when they weren’t working at the
Mudskipper, sometimes they took on extra work as my guards. While Sook wasn’t part of the
organization, since he was already affiliated with the Oaths, he did occasional extra jobs when he
needed the cash.
I leaned in and put my lips against Finn’s ear. “Stay here, Lolly. I need to handle some business.”
He opened his mouth, but I shook my head. “Stay,” I growled the word out, low and hungry, as I gave
him a slow once-over. “I want to get to know you and find out what’s under that pretty silk.” I ran my
finger over the strap on his shoulder and forced myself to step away. Crooking my finger at Dave and
Sook, I gestured for them to follow me across the bar.
Now that the commotion was over, the crowd that had gathered went back to either drinking or
serving customers. To get through the thick throng of bodies meant I had to shove a few people, but
they were too smashed to care, moving when I forced them.
By the time I got to the bar, I was irritated and ready to break skulls. Sook must’ve realized how
quickly my mood was deteriorating because he rushed to get in front of me and get the last few
stragglers out of the way, and then he slapped his security card on the reader near a door that led into
the staff area.
 A short hallway ran past a room with monitors for the security cameras, the smoko area, and the
toilets. Sook’s office was the last door on the left, and I shoved it open, stalking inside. I spun around
as Sook and Dave entered, and Sook closed the door, clearing his throat as he offered me another
lopsided smile.
Dave, on the other hand, looked ready to puke. His face had turned a shade of white I didn’t think
possible for a human. And he had a reason to feel that way.
I smirked and walked around Sook’s desk to the storage cabinet behind and opened it, staring at
my options. He had a baseball and cricket bat inside, and while I enjoyed a good beating with a
cricket bat because it was heavier and did a lot more damage, I wasn’t out to kill Dave. Not really.
Not yet. I grabbed the baseball bat and turned to him, pointing the end at him.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t beat you to death.”
Dave visibly swallowed and rubbed his hands together nervously. “I’m a good worker, sir.”
I hummed in acknowledgement, even though I didn’t know if that was true or not. Everyone who
got a job here knew who they were working for, and Sook did thorough background checks to make
sure they weren’t known for cooperating with the cops. The jacks knew the Mudskipper was owned
by me.
“Doesn’t give me a good reason.” I stepped toward him, and he winced away as I jabbed the end
of the bat into his chest. “You made me look like a fucking idiot. I had to run after you. I don’t like
being made a fool.”
“Sir, I’m sorry. I’ll apologize. I’ll go out there right now and tell everyone I’m the fuckhead. I’ll
—”
“Enough.” I rolled my eyes, and he froze when I swung the bat playfully in front of myself. His
wide eyes jumped between me and Sook, pleading. I hated cowardice. Showing weakness was the
difference between whether a cop could get one of my men to turn or not, and I didn’t have much hope
for Dave.
I dropped the bat on the desk, and his shoulders fell in relief. It was stupidity to think this was
over—instead of using the bat, I threw my fist at him, landing a hard punch to his cheek. His face
snapped to the side and he stumbled, falling into Sook, who grabbed him and pushed him back toward
me to meet another punch to the jaw. This time he collapsed on the floor and groaned, grabbing the
left side of his face.
My knuckles ached as I crouched in front of him. “This is a warning, Dave. If you fuck with me
again, I’ll feed you to the crocs and watch as they drown you before they take you somewhere to rot.
Am I clear?”
His fearful gaze rose to meet mine and he nodded, cringing in pain. “Yes, sir.”
Satisfied, I stood and passed Sook with a simple incline of my chin. He bowed his head toward
me as I left his office, then strode back down the hallway and out of the staff area. The place was still
pumping, with even more customers than before swarming the bar. The smell of sweat and booze
filled the air, and I wrinkled my nose. I wasn’t usually a fan of coming to the Mudskipper on busy
nights for this reason, but it’d been far too long since I’d gotten laid, and I was glad I did force myself
out of the house now I’d found Finn. He was fucking stunning.
Smiling at the thought of him, I made my way to the bar, which was packed full of intoxicated
customers ready to get even more pissed. I scanned the stools, but I couldn’t see Finn. Frowning and a
bit annoyed, I walked down the bar twice, and when I still didn’t catch sight of him, my anger rose.
He’d left. My pretty little sweet Lolly had left, when I’d given him instructions not to. I strode
over to the front door and grabbed the shoulder of Nicho, one of the few bouncers in the Mudskipper
I’d trust with my life. Nicho was a tall man with a deep mahogany complexion and curly black hair.
He was shorter than me by a bit but wider with shoulders of steel.
“Hey, mate. Have you seen that good-looking American that the newbie was going to throw out?”
I asked, loud enough for him to hear.
“That pretty bloke with the red hair?” He waved his hand at the other bouncer to gesture that he
should keep checking IDs as we shifted farther away. “Yeah, he ran out of here like his knickers were
on fire.” Nicho grinned at his own joke, and I shoved him, making him laugh. “Why? You got a thing
for him?”
I smirked. “He’s bloody adorable.”
“Can’t say he’s your type, but I don’t see you with many blokes.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know you
weren’t done with him or I woulda told him to stay.”
I patted him on the arm. “It’s all right. I’ll sniff him out.”
“How are you gonna do that? He’s gone.”
I raised my eyebrows, and he snorted, knowing full well what the simple action meant. There was
no way my little Lolly could hide from me in this town. While Townsville was the biggest city in
North Queensland, it was small compared to other places like Brisbane or Sydney. I had the means to
search for him, and I would if it was the last thing I did. We’d had fun, and he’d been interested in me.
I didn’t know what had freaked him out, but I was going to remedy it immediately. When I found Finn,
nothing would scare him again. I would make sure of it.
I protected what was mine.
“I’m heading out. Call me if you see him again.”
Nicho nodded in confirmation, and I left him there to do his job. Now that I’d met Finn, everyone
else looked substandard. A few guys and girls had tried to approach me during the evening, but none
had interested me until my pretty American, and now I knew why. Mum had always told me to follow
my gut and that led me to my sweet Lolly.
I was going to find him again.
But that meant the rest of the night would be a bust. It was home time, and tomorrow. . . I would
begin my search.
I called my driver to pick me up, and he took me from Flinders Street, where the Mudskipper and
other bars and clubs were, to my home. The lights inside the house were still on, but I didn’t expect
any less because it was only midnight and we had visitors. The Americans that Killough sent had
gotten in this afternoon, and I hadn’t met them properly yet. Hero had texted to tell me they’d shown
up, and I’d told him to get them situated. I suspected their body clocks were all over the place,
considering they’d come from the other side of the damned world.
I walked into the house and immediately heard voices. While my brothers sometimes stayed over,
they usually went back to their respective houses. Mum, on the other hand, did live here, and I could
recognize her laughter better than anyone else’s. Her happiness was nice to hear, especially because
she hadn’t laughed much while going through chemo and fighting cancer.
“What happened next?” Her tone was light and amused, and I couldn’t help but smile as I headed
to the family room.
Inside was a spacious area that had a cinema-style TV and three large black couches—not leather,
like Hero had wanted me to get, because the summer heat in Townsville meant we’d stick to them
from the sweat. Mum sat in the middle of one of the three seaters, with two men on either side of her.
To her right was a younger bloke with long blond hair that sat around his shoulders and a
charming smile, which obviously had Mum smitten, because her body was facing toward him more
than the other guy, who was bigger and less cheerful. He wasn’t rude, but it looked as if he’d rather
be somewhere else than here with us. He had short brown hair, wet from what I assumed was a recent
shower and brushed backward. His stubble was neat and trimmed close to his strong jaw, and he was
attractive, even if he wasn’t my type.
“Legend!” Mum clapped her hands when she saw me. “You’re home. Finally. Meet Cillian
Shaughnessy and Fallon Maher, a couple of the men Sloan sent.” She gestured at the blond for Fallon
and the brunet for Cillian, and they both inclined their heads in greeting.
Fallon jumped to his feet and strode over to me with his hand held out. He didn’t get far, though,
because Cillian rushed to stand and grabbed his arm, yanking him back with a small glare.
“Mafia boss, boyo. Ye don’t go running over to him like he’s yer best friend. He’s as high up as
Mr. Killough.” He smacked Fallon on the arse. Cillian glanced back at me and tilted his head
forward. “Sorry, sir. Fallon’s here with me. He’s quite new to the life, though he’s a legacy. He’s still
learnin’.”
I crossed my arms. “This is Australia. We’re less formal around here, so it’s all good. You’re one
of the generals?”
Cillian snorted. “Feck no.” He glanced at Mum apologetically. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
This time it was Mum who grunted and raised her glass of wine at him. “Darl, like my son said,
this is Australia. Hell, I’d go a step further and say this is North Queensland, where we make up our
own bloody rules. I’m not Mary fucking Poppins.”
Cillian’s mouth twitched and while he held in his laughter, Fallon didn’t. He burst out into a bout
of chuckles and winked at Mum.
“You’re a lot prettier, though.” Smooth. I had to give him points for the charm. He definitely had
Mum blushing, and the embarrassed giggles that exploded from her lips were new to me. “Julie
Andrews has nothing on you.”
I studied him, taking in his youthful face and eager gaze. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-
five at the most. “Are you old enough to know about the Julie Andrews version? Isn’t Emily Blunt
more in your age range?”
“Aren’t you a little too old to know about the Emily Blunt movie?” he teased, surprising all of us,
including his. . . boyfriend? If I had to guess, that’s what Cillian and Fallon were to each other. They
were cute. “Any sane person has seen the only Mary Poppins that matters.”
Cillian groaned, cursing under his breath. “Feck, Fallon.”
“What?” Fallon gave him an innocent smile.
“Ye can’t call Mr. Sweeney old.”
“He’s not wrong,” Mum piped up, after she’d taken a long sip of wine. She tipped the glass in my
direction. “He’s in his forties now. He’s old.”
I rolled my eyes with a grin. “Thanks, Mum.” I pointed at Fallon. “To be fair, I have a niece and a
goddaughter. Watching those sorts of movies is in my babysitting duties.”
“Sounds like my kind of party.” Fallon’s tongue peeked out from between his lips, and Cillian
shook his head at him.
“To answer yer question, sir, I’m not a general. I’m an all-around useful bloke.” He waggled his
eyebrows. “Jamie Shannon, the Lieutenant of Illegal Operations, sent us on his behalf. I’m known for
dealing with complications.” He smirked, and I had a feeling it was the sort of negotiations that
involved blood and guts, the same ones I enjoyed.
I narrowed my stare thoughtfully on him. “Do I know you, Cillian? You look familiar.”
“We’ve met briefly, sir, when I came to Australia about six or seven years ago. I became friends
with your brother, Ransom.” He chuckled. “Actually, my partner and I met up with him in Miami. He
seems to be doing well over there.”
I laughed as I waved my hand at the couch, gesturing for them to sit again, while I took a seat on
one of the other couches. Fallon and Cillian returned to the spots they’d abandoned on either side of
Mum.
I leaned against the back of the couch and threw a leg over my knee, relaxing. It was another
stinking hot night, the humidity thick and suffocating, but Mum had turned on the air con earlier in the
night, giving us some relief.
“Yeah, I’ve heard he’s enjoying it over there in Miami. Bought his own club, called it Going
Down Under like a fuckwit, but he’s making a name for himself. It’s why he went to the States in the
first place.”
Ransom always had big dreams, and as far as he was concerned, Australia wasn’t large enough
for four Sweeney men and one woman. He wasn’t wrong, either. While Hero and Danger didn’t mind
not having a big piece of the meat pie, Ransom was built different from them.
I was proud of him. Regardless of my power and position, I loved my family. All of them. They
were part of me. I would hurt anyone who did wrong by them. The thought reminded me of Finn again,
and the way his sensual body moved in that silk. His build was perfect—smaller than me but with
defined muscles, like something a swimmer would have.
“Fallon, darl, have you had a biscuit?” Mum leaned over to the coffee table and grabbed a plate
of biscuits she’d set out before holding it toward Fallon. The Arnott’s Hundreds & Thousands
biscuits were appealing to look at with pink icing and sprinkles over the top, and while Mum had
specifically gotten them for my niece and goddaughter, even the adults enjoyed a good bite.
“Mrs. Sweeney, those aren’t biscuits. They’re cookies.” Fallon winked as he grabbed one,
ignoring the pointed stare Cillian was giving him over Mum’s shoulder. “Technically I’m on a diet
because I’m an MMA fighter, but who can say no to a woman like you?”
I couldn’t help but throw my head back and laugh. Fallon knew exactly what to say because Mum
blushed and mumbled something under her breath.
“I’d be careful of her, Cillian. She’ll steal your man soon.”
Cillian chuckled and leaned toward me over the arm of his couch. “Fortunately, yer mum’s
missing something me boy enjoys, sir. I’m safe. But I’ll keep an eye on him anyway. I don’t think his
three other boyfriends would like him flirting so much, even with a woman as beautiful as yer mum.”
“Three other boyfriends?” The dots connected in my head. “Ah, I remember you now. Ransom
was telling me about you.” I half laughed and half groaned. “Fuck. You’re Aspen’s bloke, too, aren’t
ya?”
Fallon chomped the biscuit and chuckled, slapping a hand over his mouth to stop crumbs from
going everywhere. “Don’t get him started, sir.”
“Aspen’s me bloke, not the other way around,” Cillian grumbled, but he gave me a grin that told
me it was some joke between them. I could appreciate that sort of relationship. I was the type of
person who believed business and relationships were closely tied together, and without people I
loved and trusted, my organization would fail.
I was tempted to ask Cillian if he knew a young American man with red hair and a penchant for
silk clothing and makeup, but I brushed away the thought. The chances of Finn coming with the
Killough Company were slim. Men like that didn’t wear the kind of clothing Finn was in, or if they
did, it was in secret. Finn flaunted his beautiful body proudly and he had a reason.
My stomach clenched at the thought of not seeing him again. No, that wasn’t going to happen. Even
if I had to follow him back to America, I’d find him again. I’d get Sook to send me over his image
from the security cameras and start searching tomorrow.
Cillian and Fallon fell into a conversation with Mum again, so I decided to leave them alone. I
told them I would see them in the morning for a serious conversation about issues involving Italians
before I went to get ready for a shower, then bed. I needed to get rid of the stickiness of sweat before
I finally fell into dreams about my sweet Lolly.

The next morning, I woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for my mission of briefing
Killough’s men, then finding Finn. The sun came up early in North Queensland, with the light peeking
over the horizon around five in the morning, and I liked to get my run in before it began to get too hot
and humid.
The area where we lived, Castle Hill, was a well-known spot for those who enjoyed exercise,
since it was more of a small mountain on a steep incline. There were two trails I could take—the
road or the goat track, which involved a lot of stone steps—and I decided to do the latter this
morning.
By the time I got up to the top of the hill and back down to the house, I was drenched in sweat and
panting hard. The older I got, the harder the goat track became on my knees, but I wasn’t going to give
it up. The endorphins were pumping and I felt amazing. The aches would subside.
As soon as I got inside, I went straight to the fridge to grab a large glass of water before I went
for another shower. Living in such a hot climate meant showering a lot, especially in summer when it
got over ninety percent humidity. I both loved and hated it.
Once I was dressed in casual clothes—shorts and a thin yellow T-shirt—I went out to the open-
plan living area. Cillian and Fallon were awake and sitting at the dining table with Mum. Cillian was
texting while Fallon and Mum poured over the newspaper, whispering about something.
As I got closer, I realized Mum was reading out Fallon’s horoscope to him, and I rolled my eyes
in amusement. “Don’t let her make you believe that hocus-pocus shit, Fallon.”
Mum went to smack me on the way past, but I danced out of reach. “Sometimes it’s nice to think
there’s more to the world than this.” Mum huffed. “Destiny plays a role in our future. Look at you. I
named you and your siblings knowing you were meant for greatness. Everyone will remember the
name Legend Sweeney, and it’s a bloody good name to remember, too. You’re welcome.”
“You tell him, Diedre,” Fallon said.
She laughed.
I paused, surprised. Mum usually preferred Mrs. Sweeney because it commanded respect, so
hearing him call her by her given name was surprising, but it showed how much she liked him.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs had me shaking my head and ignoring Mum and Fallon while
heading over to the kitchen to grab a glass of juice. I kept my back to the dining area, aware of exactly
who was coming upstairs. Hero had a certain way of walking after a motorbike accident that left him
with a small limp because he’d broken his leg.
“Look who I found hanging around the front,” Hero announced.
I still didn’t turn around, taking a large sip of my juice. This was going to be a long day and I
needed all the energy I could get.
“Hey, it’s the boys.” Fallon laughed and the sound of chairs moving in and out told me the rest of
the crew had arrived.
“I’m Mrs. Sweeney, Legend’s mother. I’ll be sitting in and acting as secretary,” Mum said.
Steeling myself for the briefing, I turned and froze. There, standing at the end of the table with
wide eyes, was Finn. Dressed in a suit, he looked like any other Killough man, completely different
from the bloke he was last night in that sweet silk outfit.
I smirked. I’d caught him, and now he was mine.
He just didn’t know it yet.
4
 FINN

OH FUCK, FUCK, FUCKEROO . WAS LEGEND S WEENEY, AUSTRALIA’ S IRISH MOB BOSS , GOING TO
fucking kill me? That would just be great. My mom would have a fit. Uncle Naoise would say it was
my fault. Mr. Killough would be furious that I’d done something to piss the man off the second I got
here. And no, it didn’t matter that I would already be dead, I was sure my family would find a way to
contact me and transmit their displeasure, wherever I ended up in the afterlife, and they would give
me the news of Mr. Killough’s disappointment while they were at it.
My breath caught and I struggled to at least appear calm. Did he hate me for dressing in the
clothes I liked? Nervously I plucked at the lapel of my royal blue suit, then made myself stop. I’d
picked the color because it made my hair pop and I liked to look good when I could, but maybe I
should’ve gone with something less conspicuous—like a bag over my head.
Swallowing hard, I tried to make my brain do more than imagine being shot and tossed in the
ocean. Things were so live and let live in Miami because it was a big city with lots of tourists. I
wasn’t much of anyone important, and no one cared what I did in my free time. I hadn’t worried too
much about being seen.
But what about here? I mean, it wasn’t as conservative as Texas, but maybe things weren’t the
same after all?
Mr. Sweeney had danced with me last night, which meant he wasn’t disgusted with me. Right? I
hoped. My heart pounded while he stared at me, looking amazing in shorts and a yellow T-shirt that
pulled nicely across his chest and shoulders. The man was so good-looking, with his brilliant blue
eyes and toned body, that it didn’t matter what sort of clothes he wore because he was all man.
But I was jealous, too.
Even inside with the air conditioner blasting, I was uncomfortable, and I wished I could’ve worn
something closer to what he had on. Cillian turned to give me a tiny frown. I flashed around a nervous
smile. Did Mr. Sweeney even recognize me today?
Why is he still staring at me if he doesn’t? Fuck, he does. I’m dead.
His eyebrows hitched.
I held my breath.
Mr. Sweeney strolled across the room, and too late I realized he was headed right in my direction.
He didn’t say a word, but he pulled out the chair in front of me at the end of the table and stared. It
took me a second to realize he expected me to sit, and by the time that thought registered, he clasped
my elbow and tugged so that I would move.
“Well, I didn’t get that kind of service. Ouch,” Fallon said with a laugh, but I was too busy staring
at Mr. Sweeney and fighting off hyperventilation to do anything but awkwardly plop down. He shoved
my chair in, and I stared at the table while my face burned. There was no way I was going to look up
to see all fifteen of our guys staring at me as if I’d just crash-landed on the middle of the table in a
UFO.
“It’s time to shut up and listen,” Cillian hissed, and I finally glanced at Fallon, who was doing his
best to look serious, but a smile kept slipping onto his face.
Mack Mullen kicked me under the table from his seat on my left, and I glanced at him. He was
probably about as old as Mr. Sweeney, with brown hair that was going steely at the temples and a
handsome face made of hard lines and angles. But he was frowning—as usual. “What did you do?” he
mumbled.
Like hell I was going to explain anything about last night. Mr. Sweeney remembered or he
wouldn’t have—I held in a gasp when he patted both of my shoulders, and I glanced back to see him
staring out along the men seated at the table. Mrs. Sweeney took a seat at the other end. She tapped a
pen on a yellow legal pad in front of her and a small, confused smile tilted her lips.
“Go on, Legend,” she said with a hand wave. “I’ll just take some notes for you boys.”
“Thank ye, Mrs. Sweeney,” Cillian said. Jamie Shannon had put him in charge of us here, and no
one minded him laying on the charm in his Irish accent. She smiled at him but flicked her fingers
toward Mr. Sweeney. . . . Legend.
I flushed when he glanced down and caught me staring at him, but thankfully he walked around the
table with his hands stuck in his pockets. He had a lot of energy, and he wasn’t anything at all like Mr.
Killough, who was always so calm he was cold. I’d met him twice. No, Legend was ready to go out
and grab life by the balls. Maybe literally. I shifted uncomfortably, remembering everything we’d
done last night.
“As you know, I’ve got an Italian problem,” Legend said, still making a circuit of the table. He
stopped near my left elbow, and it only hit me then that I had probably taken his seat because I was at
the head of the table. Oh my fucking God.
Cillian glanced at me and he seemed extra stern.
Mack kicked me again and widened his eyes. He gestured at Legend, who was busy staring at
everyone. Fuck, was I screwing up again right now?
“Sir, would you like me to move? I—”
Legend shook his head at me, and I felt even worse because he was still studying everyone.
“Well, we’ve got plenty of solutions for those sorts of issues,” Mack said, leaning back in his
chair. He narrowed his eyes at me as if I was a stupid kid.
I sighed.
“We knocked the Italians out of North Queensland years ago. They’re Calabrians, unlike the mob
you have in the States. The ones there are mostly Sicilians. The Calabrians have been salty about
getting out maneuvered ever since, with good reason.” Legend chuckled and winked down at me, and
I sank lower in the seat. “But they’ve been struggling to regain their footing here recently. Trying to
pay off people we’ve already got in our pockets, those types of things. It’s been a steady annoyance.
We attempted to negotiate with them, but they won’t have it. I’m done.” Legend strode over to stand
near his mother and glanced down at her. “I miss anything, Mum?”
“No, that about sums it up.” She shrugged and smiled at everyone. “They’re not nearly as
powerful up here as they used to be. At one time every bit of produce in the country came with a tax
that went directly to the Italian mafia, but the authorities finally busted that up a while ago, and it’s
been downhill for them ever since.”
 Cillian whistled. “That’s a big loss. How the hell did they set that up to begin with?”
She nodded. “Lots of threats I’d imagine. Some good old-fashioned bribes. So, they came like
rats, hungry for what we have, trying to get everything they’d let go because it was too much trouble
to defend when they had money pouring in. Well, they’re not getting what my Legend has worked so
hard to establish.” She smiled at him, every bit the proud mother, and it made me sort of miss my
mom.
Legend nudged her shoulder with a grin. “The old man in charge, Federico Padulano, wants to
restore the glory of the good old days, but we’re not budging. His son, Ario, would like to negotiate
with us.” Legend spread his arms. “So, our choices are to wait for nature to take its course or help it
along. Federico is sixty and by all accounts healthy. He could live another thirty years at this rate.”
Legend sighed, and chuckles raced around the table.
“Why don’t we just go shoot him?” Fallon asked, glancing around. “Easy enough, right?”
Shrugging, I glanced at Legend. “Yeah, I agree,” I said, even though maybe I should’ve kept my
mouth shut.
Mrs. Sweeney laughed. “Oh, darl, you’re precious. We can’t do that.”
“We do that at home,” Cove Ryan said. He beamed back at Mrs. Sweeney, and I hated him a little
—which made me feel like a jerk. He was attractive and everyone seemed to want to be nice to him.
He had long brown hair that brushed his shoulders and looked like it would be soft to touch, along
with a thick, trimmed beard. Cove would’ve looked too serious, but his smile made him
approachable and won everyone over. “In fact, that’s half of everything I do for Mr. Killough.”
“They don’t want to bring the heat down,” Cillian said, nodding at Legend to see if that was
correct. “A frontal attack on a boss can open a whole can o’ worms no one wants to deal with.”
Legend pointed at him. “Yes, on both counts. We want the Italians to know it was us. Hell, no
matter what they would get that, I think, but we don’t want the coppers to figure it out. We need to be a
bit sneaky. Things don’t work here the way they do in the US. There’s violence, but not quite the kind
you all have. It needs a more subtle hand. We can’t walk in somewhere, guns blazing, because that
will bring in too much heat. We need to take out Federico, and Ario’s two cousins as well, and it must
all happen on the same night, and it has to be nice and quiet. Preferably no guns. Guns draw too many
questions.”
“Oh, it’s like a riddle,” I said, sitting up straighter in the chair. “How do we murder them without
weapons?”
“Anything but guns is fine.” Legend rubbed his chin in thought. “M’not asking you to use your teeth
and gnaw them to death.”
“But still, it’s kind of like one of those games. Who murdered Colonel Mustard in the library? Just
in reverse.”
Mack rolled his eyes at me, but Legend bounced on his feet as he nodded. “Yes, indeed. And
while I do have several hitmen, we’ve never coordinated anything this intense on our own. It’s never
been necessary. This is why you’re all here. We need an airtight plan to take out all three men on the
same night at the same time.” He nodded once.
Cillian rubbed his hands together. “No guns, you say?”
“I suppose that means no bombs, either?” Cary Ryan said. He leaned forward and rested both
elbows on the table, then pouted at his twin brother, Cove.
“No bombs,” Legend said with a laugh. He paced around while everyone tossed ideas back and
forth, but no one had a perfect plan right out of the gate. Tension crawled through me as Legend
walked behind my chair. He hadn’t said anything, but he’d sat me down in his own seat. My fingers
itched to touch the scar on my cheek, but I refused to allow myself to do it. Maybe I was stuck in a
suit, but I could look good. Checking my posture, I rested my clasped hands on the table.
“Once Mr. Killough ordered us to bury a man alive on the beach. That’s it. Just dig a hole and put
him in it. It was that simple.” I glanced at Legend—he’d moved far enough to the side of my chair that
I could catch him out of the corner of my eye—and my cheeks burned again.
He smiled at me. “That’s an idea. Then when the bodies eventually are uncovered and pecked at
by animals, it would be gruesome, and who’s to say how they got that way? It would send a message.”
“Maybe we could gut them, then bury them,” Cillian said, and he seemed far too excited about that
idea.
Legend nodded enthusiastically. “That’s the ticket.”
“Well, all we would need to do is coordinate three kidnappings then. You barely need us for that.”
Mack sat back, scowling.
Legend shrugged. “What I wanted was some experienced guys at each location so my men can see
how it’s done. I’m glad to have you on hand. What happened in Miami, Cillian? Heard something
went down.”
Cillian grunted and twisted his mouth in irritation. I tensed, hoping he wouldn’t bring up my
accident. Everyone in the Company knew about it, and I didn’t want these Australians to hear the
story, too. “The Reyes Cartel. Those bastards have been moving in on our territory. It was a bloody
shitfight. Me and Aspen were sent down with our lieutenant, Jamie, to get rid of Reyes’s cousin,
Joaquin. Those bastards took out our de facto boss down there, so we had no one to liaise with.
We’re about to instate a new lieutenant, though. Think Ransom would be interested?”
The last bit was clearly a joke because they chuckled.
“Nah. He’s too busy living his best life as a club owner and being a connection for hitmen. And
you. What do you do for the Company?” Legend barked, and it took me a second to realize he was
staring at me.
My breath caught.
Mack laughed, and I hated him a little more. I felt sort of dumb because almost everyone else here
had a specialty, or they were a bit famous, like Fallon Maher. He was a fighter who had been on TV
and everything.
“Uh, I’m a lookout, usually. And I can do anything I’m asked to do,” I murmured. Legend leaned
closer, probably so he could hear me, and I wanted to crawl under the table.
He crossed his arms and a stern expression settled onto his face. “Go out to the table on the
balcony.” He pointed across the room toward a set of glass doors. “Now. You didn’t listen to me last
night, and I mean to have a word with you about it.”
Cillian shot to his feet and glared at me like he was going to punt me so hard that I would fly
across the ocean and land at home. “Mr. Sweeney, if one of me men did something they shouldn’t’ve
without me knowing—”
“I’m not talking to you,” Legend said, and this time he did remind me of Mr. Killough. The room
went deadly silent. “Keep pushing around ideas for nabbing those men.”
Mack kicked my shin, and I winced, shooting to my feet. I walked across the room and tried not to
look like I was running but wasn’t sure I succeeded. I rushed out through the sliding glass door onto
the balcony, and a strong breeze slammed hot, humid air directly into my face. I had trouble breathing
for a second at the shift in temperature and my clothes began to stick to my skin with sweat. Jesus,
how was this place hotter than Miami?
The table out here was nice, made of glass and steel, and the matching chairs were topped with
cushions that appeared comfortable, but I was full of too much nervous energy to sit. I walked over to
the railing and stared out at the glittering waves of the ocean. Maybe what I was looking at was a bay
—I wasn’t exactly up on nautical terms—but it was beautiful. I guessed this was a good place to die.
Groaning, I gave in and buried my face in my hands. What the hell had I been thinking last night?
Why couldn’t I let it all go? I wasn’t pretty anymore, didn’t look the way I wished I did, and if I
hadn’t been so hell bent on trying one more time to be someone I no longer was, then none of this
would’ve happened.
Fuck.
The sliding glass door opened, and a deep chuckle sent shivers racing across my skin. The sound
of the door firmly closing made my heart race. We were alone out here. I glanced toward the glass
doors, but the guys weren’t visible from this angle. I dropped my hands and stared out at the water
again, squinting against the bright morning sunshine.
Footsteps stopped directly behind me, and I refused to allow my shoulders to curl forward
because I wasn’t ashamed of who I was on the inside—even if it might get me killed.
“You ran off on me.” His warm breath gusted into my ear.
I shivered and grasped the railing. My fake confidence held up and I forced a shrug. “When I
chose that club, I didn’t realize you owned it, sir.” Humiliation burned through me. “I get that when
you started dancing with me, you were probably just trying to make sure the people in your place had
a good time. I know you wouldn’t have decided to do it if you’d seen my face first. I won’t say
anything about what happened. Please don’t tell them what you saw me wearing. I’m not ashamed,” I
said, spinning around. I swallowed hard. “But it could cause problems with some of the guys. It’s
none of their business.” I wanted to be brave, but I couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead, I forced
myself to stare at his left ear. He was stubborn, though, and tilted his head until his gaze clashed with
mine.
How far was it to the ground from here? Could I dive over the edge of the balcony and hope for
the best? I could probably handle a six-foot drop.
He whistled a long, drawn-out note.
I had no idea what that meant. My hands squeezed into fists and I couldn’t uncurl them.
“You didn’t stay put when I told you to, and apparently you aren’t a very good lookout.” He
smirked and drifted closer, bringing the scent of his cologne with him. The masculine aroma made my
ab muscles clench. He smelled the same as last night, and the delicious cologne sent my mind
screaming toward one thing—spreading my legs for him.
Fuck, he’d just insulted me. Anger made me clear my throat and stand at my full height, which
wasn’t anything compared to his. Yeah, maybe my job wasn’t the most glamorous one, but it was
important.
I glared. “I’m good at what I do.”
“Really?”
I nodded.
“Well,” he said, leaning down close to my face. “You didn’t seem to catch on that I wanted to tear
that silk in two to get at the pretty man underneath.” He tugged on the top button of my shirt and my
groin tightened. “I thought you were more observant than that, little Lolly, because you teased yourself
so nicely against me, exactly how I wanted it.”
My cock tingled at the hot look he gave me, and I scowled. “Why are you calling me that?”
Stepping forward, he buried his face against my neck, and I gasped.
“Just what I thought. You still smell a bit like expensive sweets. That’s why.” He brushed his nose
along my jaw, and I trembled because I didn’t know the rules of this game. Was I allowed to shove
him away. . . or drag him closer?
“I showered. You can’t be smelling my perfume,” I whispered, horrified. What if the other guys
had noticed anything like that on the drive over here?
He grinned. “You’re also in trouble.”
Rage powered through me all over again. “I’m here for a job. I wouldn’t have left until you said I
could go if I’d known who you were, but you weren’t the boss of me last night.”
“But I was,” he said, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“But I didn’t know that!”
He tilted his head back. “So, you would’ve listened out of fear and stayed, but what I had to offer
didn’t keep you there?”
Confusion and need scrambled my brain. “I. . . . You said I was in trouble.”
“Oh—” Faster than I would’ve thought possible, he snagged my waist and dragged me flush
against his front. I gasped and slapped my hands to his hard chest, but they sort of got stuck there,
teasing against the muscles. “—you are. You made me think about you all night, rather than giving me
all that sweetness then. There will be a hefty price to pay.”
My face heated and I felt powerful and sexy like I had last night when I was dressed up, which
was kind of scary. I’d always kept that part of myself separate from the rest of my life—the mob I’d
been born into. The men I fucked and the pretty things I loved to wear were for a different person, not
the one who wore this suit and went to meetings and stood around doing jobs for Mr. Killough. Right
now, I felt just as ready to be fucked as I had with silk wrapped around my body and makeup on my
face.
He tipped my chin up, and I felt like I was standing in front of a speeding train when he dipped his
head and kissed me.
5
 LEGEND

F INN TASTED AS SWEET AS I’ D IMAGINED , AND I COULDN ’ T GET ENOUGH OF HIM. I WANTED MORE. NO ,
I needed him like I needed air to breathe.
“Do you know what Mum’s always taught me, Lolly?” I whispered against his delicious, pretty
little lips. His lashes fluttered and he stared up at me like an intoxicated man, drunk on my kisses.
“She called me Legend because I was destined to be a myth, a fable my enemies tell each other as
they shit their pants in fear. She told me I could have anything I ever wanted. And what I want right
now. . . is you.”
He exhaled and a shudder went through him.
I touched his shoulders. I’d always had big hands, but they looked huge pressed against him. He
wasn’t a small man, but I was tall at six foot seven inches. While I was packed with solid muscle, he
had a sinewy build with compact strength, which made him the perfect size to fit against me.
“Tell me something.” I raised my palm to his cheek and caressed my thumb across his jaw. “Are
you wearing pretty lace right now under that suit?”
He stiffened and his eyes went wide as a flush spread across his lovely cheeks. “Uh. . . .”
“You are.” I grinned and kissed him softly again, and he hummed delightfully against my mouth.
“What are you wearing, Lolly? Tell me.”
“I’m not—”
I brushed my lips over his ear. “Don’t lie to me.” I nipped at his ear, and he hissed. The sound
went straight to my cock, which was already well on the way to being hard. His scent embraced me
and teased my nose. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to eat him or fuck him.
Probably both.
He let out a sharp breath. “A camisole.” His voice broke and he chuckled nervously. “And
matching split panties.”
Pleasure crashed inside me, forcing every ounce of blood south to my cock. I took a moment to
give him a careful once-over, imagining the clothing beneath his suit. “Hm. What color?”
The red in his cheeks deepened and he threw a fearful look over my shoulder, toward the glass
doors. Inside, the men were arguing loudly. They wouldn’t be able to hear a word we said. He shifted
his weight nervously between his feet and touched the large scar on his face, fingers shaking. “Uh,
light pink. It’s called rose.”
“Really?” My tone turned growly, and I couldn’t help the lust that dripped out with the simple
word. My hunger for him doubled, and I thought about ripping off that godforsaken suit and baring him
to my feasting eyes, but I didn’t want to share him with anyone else. “Hm. Come with me.”
 I didn’t give him a choice. Clutching his slim wrist in my hand, I dragged him to the glass doors
and slid one open. I pulled him inside and toward the table where the men and Mum had stopped
talking to stare at us. “Finn will be staying here in the house.”
Hero frowned and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “We’ve got no more rooms. We only
have one open guest suite and Cillian and Fallon are staying in it.” He waved at the two men across
from him.
I smirked. “He won’t be needing one. He’ll stay in my bedroom with me.”
Killough’s crew stared around at each other, confusion evident on their faces. Finn stepped in
closer to me, his hand clutching tightly at my arm. He cleared his throat and murmured, “I don’t think
that’s a good idea,” but I ignored him because this was what I wanted. His desire for me was clear as
a cloudless day in North Queensland, and I wasn’t going to let him escape me for a second time. I
wasn’t that kind of fool.
Cillian rose from his seat. “With all due respect, Mr. Sweeney, but Finn is part of the Killough
Company. He’s one of ours.”
I stared him down. “And? He’s mine now. I claimed him.”
Fallon burst out in laughter and the sound was loud in the otherwise quiet room. Mum’s stare was
burning a hole through me, but I would deal with her later. And she wouldn’t speak out in public,
either, as that was a conversation for behind closed doors.
Cillian’s jaw turned to stone and his eyes hardened. “This needs to go through our boss.”
I shrugged. “Do it then. Sloan and I will talk later, but Finn is mine for as long as he wants to be.”
“You can’t claim a person like a possession,” one of the men snarled, but his glare was directed
at Finn, as though he’d done something incredibly stupid, and I didn’t like the dirtiness in his eyes.
“The boy clearly doesn’t want to go with you.”
Ice filled my blood and coldness flooded my system, the same feeling that possessed me when I
threw someone to the crocs or my darling jellies. I stepped away from Finn and stalked around to this
man, whose name I didn’t care about anymore. I slammed my hand down on the table in front of him,
and he jumped, eyes wide as he stared up at me. Baring my teeth like a rabid animal, I sneered at him.
“Ask him. Ask him what he wants.”
The man swallowed, the apple in his throat bobbing. He slowly turned to stare at Finn. “What do
you want then?”
I didn’t look at Finn, but I listened to the way he exhaled breathily. “I. . . . For now, I would like
to stay with Mr. Sweeney.”
“See?” I growled out, voice low. I gave the man an angry glare and straightened. “Anyone else got
a problem with this?”
No one said a word.
Cillian returned to his seat, back straight and mouth pressed together, but his expression remained
stoic.
I nodded and patted Hero’s shoulder. “Finish some of the planning and take them out for the day.
Show them the important places around the city.”
Hero didn’t look any happier than Cillian, and I expected a conversation with him later as well,
but he acknowledged my order with a nod. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he got on the phone with
Mercy, my good mate and one of my chief advisors. Mercy had been with me from the start of the
mob, back when I was helping my dad, and he’d buried men and evidence without me having to ask.
The only reason he wasn’t here was because it was his nephew’s birthday, and if Mercy was
anything, it was a family man.
 I stalked back to Finn and held out my hand to him, and he slipped his smaller palm into mine,
linking our fingers together. I led him down the stairs and to my office. While I could have taken him
to my bedroom, it was on the same level as the meeting, and I didn’t want them to hear what I was
going to do with my sweet Lolly.
No one but me would know what he looked like in his lace underwear. No one. While he said he
wanted to stay with me for now, by the time I was done, he would never want to go back to America.
I would make him an Aussie by marrying the hell out of him if I had to. I was a man who knew what
he craved—and that was Finn.
I led him into my office and closed the door. He paused, taking in all the sleek, polished wood.
He touched the tip of his shoe against the floorboards, studying them carefully.
“Jarrah.” I squeezed his hand when he glanced at me with wide, questioning eyes. “The wood, it’s
called jarrah. There’s only one place in Australia that has the trees and it’s on the other side of the
country.”
He blinked and offered me a small smile. “It’s beautiful.”
“Are you nervous, Lolly?” I snuck in closer to him and cupped his face, using my thumb to stroke
the sharp line of his cheekbone. He was a delicate little thing compared to me, and I wanted to
cherish him like Mum did the Royal Albert tea set she’d inherited from her grandmother. If I could put
him in a display cabinet where he’d be safe, I would.
“A little.” He smacked his lips together and sighed. “You’re a boss and you saw me. . . in the
clothes I love.”
“And I liked you in them.” I laid a gentle butterfly kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I’ve never met
a man like you.”
“I don’t know what this means. What if I said no to you?” He tilted his chin and stared up at me
seriously.
My gut clenched. I stared back at him and gripped his face tighter, though not enough to hurt him.
“I don’t force men into my bed. I don’t need to, and you’ve been interested in me since we met last
night, haven’t you? When your men asked, you said you wanted to be with me.”
“I do.” He shifted nervously and sighed. “What will Mr. Killough think?”
I snorted. “Sloan can’t talk. He chose his pet in a similar way, didn’t he?”
He screwed up his nose in thought, and I realized he probably didn’t know the entire story like I
did. Sloan had pulled his pet out of a whorehouse like he was adopting a puppy.
I laughed. “He’ll be fine, Lolly. This choice is yours. Do you want me to make you mine? Because
if you do, I’m going to take you over to that desk—” I pointed at my wooden work desk. “—and sit in
my chair while I strip you of that ugly-arse suit. I’m going to take my time staring at you in your pretty
lace before I worship every inch of your skin. By the time I’m done, I’ll know every one of the
pleasurable spots on your body, and I’m going to torture you with them.” The thought made my cock
twitch and I grinned wickedly at him. “And then, when you’re a writhing mess, ready to explode, I’m
going to lay you over that desk and fuck you raw until your hole is dripping with my cum. How does
that sound?”
He licked his lips and his pupils went large. Taking a breath, he nodded fast and his cheeks
flushed brighter. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”
His American accent had deepened, and I took a moment to revel in the velvetiness of his voice. I
wanted to kidnap him and keep him in my room every minute of the day and do dirty things to him
while he was dressed in something as sweet as he was.
I grabbed his hand and raised it to my lips, turning it over to lay a light, teasing kiss on his palm.
Another random document with
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“Tittered the way he does and congratulated me on the good job I
had done. He’s a venomous old snake, but I don’t see that he can do
us any harm. There’s nothing left to do now but the detail work of
putting in the ditches.”
They talked for a few minutes about the irrigation project. The
engineer did not betray the least self-consciousness, but his mind,
too, was running on the last time he had seen Betty and the break
between them.
Reed was called away by one of the men to look at a sick horse.
Merrick’s steady gaze at once challenged Betty. “I got your letter.”
She was a good deal less composed than he. It disconcerted her to
know that she was blushing. That was a silly way to do, she told
herself. It annoyed her to give an exhibition of gaucherie.
“Yes,” she murmured.
“I’ve come to the conclusion that we made a mistake,” he said. “We
rushed into a decision too hastily.”
“Yes,” Betty agreed.
“You’re young. I hadn’t given enough consideration to that. Shall we
forget our differences and be as we were, Betty?”
“You don’t mean—be engaged?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Oh, Justin, I can’t. I thought you meant we’d made a mistake in ever
being engaged. We did. We’re not suited to each other.”
“I don’t agree with you. Your letter convinced me that we are.”
“I didn’t mean it that way at all,” she said unhappily. “We’re not,
Justin. Not a bit. I’m too—too kinda wild for you. You don’t want a
wife like me. If you knew, you wouldn’t want me a bit.”
“I’m the best judge of that,” he answered, smiling a little.
“But you don’t. I’d always be troubling you with my crazy ways.”
“No. It’s just that you’re young,” he insisted.
“It isn’t. I’m born that way. I’ll always be like that. Besides—” She
stopped, searching for a way to put it gently. “Besides, I’d want a
husband—if I ever marry at all—who needs me, who has to have
me, who can’t get along without me.”
“I need you,” he said.
“Oh no, you don’t. Not really. You think you do, maybe, but not in the
way I mean. You’re strong—self-sufficient. Please, I don’t mean it in
an uncomplimentary way. But you are big, you know. A wife would
have to fit into you—be just a—an important detail of your life. I
couldn’t do that. I’ve got to be everything to a man—help him—talk
over his difficulties with him—be just the biggest thing in the world to
him. I couldn’t really do anything for you. You’re complete. You don’t
need anything done for you. With or without me, you’re going to be
awf’ly successful. Oh, I know it sounds silly, but it isn’t.”
“Do you mean you like me less because I’m reliable and efficient and
—well, I take your own word—on the road to success? Would you
want to marry an irresponsible failure?”
The allusion was plain, and she did not like him better for it. None
the less, she recognized that this man, standing there in the quiet
arrogance of strength, had qualities admirable and worthy of great
respect. He was master of himself and, so far as one can be, of his
destinies. The cleft chin, the square jaw, the cold gray eyes so keen
and steady, expressed character, and of a kind that would take him
far. But it was a road she would not travel with him.
“No. But I’d like to know that I was a help to my husband in making
his success. You can’t understand, Justin. I’m not what you want—
not at all. If you saw me as I am, you’d know it. I’d always be
affronting your sense of the fitting thing. The right wife for you is one
who would sit at the head of your table well-dressed, handsome, and
charming, an evidence of your standing in the community. You know
—a gracious hostess, good at teas and bridge and that sort of thing.
You’re really a city man. I’m not a city woman and never shall be.”
To Merrick, clear-eyed in spite of his fondness for her, came a flash
of insight that told him she had been wiser than he. He could never
mould this wildling to his heart’s desire. Some day he would look
back on this episode and smile at it. But he had not reached that
state of philosophy yet. His vanity was still engaged, and more than
that—the last passionate flame of the boy in him that was being
sacrificed to ambition. He craved inordinately the willful charm of this
devastatingly sweet girl with the quick, disturbing eyes. She
represented to him certain values he was deliberately trampling
down, not because they did not seem to him good, but because they
warred with something that he wanted more. He had impossibly
dreamed that she might stay what she was and yet become
something different.
“Are you going to marry Hollister?” he asked.
She might reasonably have told him this was a private matter of her
own. She might have evaded the question. Instead, she told him the
truth.
“I don’t know.”
“Has he asked you?”
“No.”
“But you will if he does.”
“Yes.”
“Knowing what he has been, what he may be again?”
“Knowing what he is,” she corrected.
“Will girls never get over the folly of marrying men to reform them?”
he flung out impatiently.
“I’m not marrying him to reform him—that is, if I’m marrying him at
all, which isn’t likely. He does not need reforming.”
“How do you know he won’t slide back into his vice?” He answered
his own query. “You can’t know. There’s no way of knowing.”
“He won’t.” She said it quietly, with absolute conviction.
Her attitude tremendously irritated him. It was a reflection on all the
copybook virtues that had made him what he was. “Are you waiting
for this tramp, this drug fiend, to make up his mind whether he wants
to marry you or not?”
There was a spark of anger in her eye. She would not modify even
his phrasing. It could stand as he put it.
“Yes.”
“Sheer perversity.”
“Isn’t it?” she agreed, with dangerous sweetness.
He knew he was being punished for having indulged himself, as he
rarely did, in a display of temper. At once he took himself in hand.
“I’m serious about this, Betty. A girl has no right to take chances of
this sort. I grant you Hollister has qualities—splendid ones. But the
damning fact remains.”
Betty relented. He was human. He had cried out because he was
hurt. “I don’t think it remains, Justin. I’m absolutely convinced that it’s
conquered—what you call his vice.”
“What I call his vice! Wouldn’t every sane person call it that?”
“Not if they knew the circumstances. He was left with terrible pains in
the head after he was wounded. They gave him morphine—a lot of
it. He got to depending on it. The habit grew on him. Then he woke
up and shook it off. It’s to his credit rather than the reverse.”
“Even so. There’s a danger that he’ll go back to it.”
And again she denied it, with the certainty of one who does not need
evidence to bulwark an absolute assurance. “No danger at all.”
They were standing in front of the porch. Reed came toward them
from the stable. Both knew that the last word had been said.
Justin Merrick struggled with himself a moment, then held out his
hand. He did not want to be a poor loser.
“The best of luck, Betty,” he said.
Gladness gleamed in the soft eyes through which the eager spirit
seemed to yearn to comfort him.
“You, too, Justin,” she whispered.
 CHAPTER XXXV
BIRDS OF A FEATHER

They sat on opposite sides of a table, the food and dishes not yet
cleared away after their supper. A cheap kerosene lamp lit the room
insufficiently. The smoke from a ragged wick had entirely blackened
one side of the glass chimney. One of the men had cunningly utilized
this to throw the face of his companion into the light while his own
remained in shadow. His bleached eyes watched the emotions come
and go as they registered on the twisted, wolfish countenance of this
criminal on the dodge. He was playing on his evil instincts as a
musician does upon the strings of a violin.
“Me, I said right away, soon as I seen you, ‘This Cig’s no quitter; he’ll
go through.’ So I tied up with you. Game, an’ no mollycoddle. Tha’s
how I sized you up.”
“You got me right, Prowers. I’ll say so.”
The little man with the leathery face watched his victim. In the back
of his mind a dreadful thought had lodged and become fixed. He
would use for his purpose this vain and shallow crook, then blot him
out of life before he turned upon him.
“Don’t I know it? Cig ain’t roostin’ up here for his health, I says to
myself. Not none, by jiminy by jinks. He’s got business.”
“Business is right,” agreed the New Yorker. “An’ soon as it’s done, I
ain’t stickin’ around dis dump no more. I’m duckin’ for ’Frisco. But get
it straight, Prowers. I taken all de chances I’m gonna take alone.
See? An’ it’ll cost you two hundred iron men for my share of de job.”
“Not that much, Cig. We’ve both got our reasons for wantin’ to pull
this off. Clint Reed an’ his foreman ain’t exactly friends of yours. You
got yore own account to settle. But I’ll dig up a hundred. That’ll take
you to ’Frisco.”
Cig looked at his mild vis-à-vis sullenly. This harmless-looking old
fellow was his master in villainy, more thorough, more ruthless.
There were times when his bleached eyes became ice-coated, when
the New Yorker had sensed back of them the crouched threat of the
coiled rattlesnake. If he had known what Prowers was thinking now,
he would have shuddered.
“Some generous guy, youse are,” he sneered. “An’ how do I know
youse won’t rap on me—t’row me down when de rubes make de big
holler after de job?”
The old cattleman was at his suave mildest. No malignity showed in
his smile. “I don’t reckon I can give no written guarantee, Cig, but I
never sawed off trouble yet on a fellow takin’ the trail with me. Those
who have rode with me could tell you that.”
The crook from the East was uneasy. He did not know why. His
restlessness drove him to the door of the cabin from which he looked
out upon a cynical moon riding high above the tops of the pines. He
shivered. This bleak world of white appalled his city-cramped spirit. It
had been bad enough in summer. Now it was infinitely worse.
“Looks like there’s a hoodoo on me,” he growled. “It’s de Gawd-
forsaken country that puts a jinx on me. I’m losin’ me noive. Every
job I tackle is a flivver. After dis one, it’s me for de bright lights.”
“That’s right. A getaway for you, pronto.”
“When do we get busy?”
“To-night,” Prowers answered. “Merrick has left two watchmen at the
dam. One of ’em lives at Wild Horse. His wife’s sick. He got a call
half an hour ago sayin’ she was worse. He’s hittin’ the trail for town.”
“Leavin’ one guy on de job. Do we bump him off?”
“Not necessary. A quart of bootleg whiskey reached him this
afternoon. Time we get there, he’ll be dead to the world.”
“You sent de booze?”
“Merrick didn’t,” Prowers answered, with his impish grin.
“Sure he ain’t on de wagon?”
“Dead sure. He can’t leave it alone.”
“Looks like a lead pipe,” Cig admitted. “But de jinx on me—When I
gunned dat Tug Hollister I’d ’a’ swore I got him good. Nothin’ works.”
Jake could not quite forbear sarcasm. “You’d ought to take one o’
these here correspondence courses in efficiency. It’ll be different to-
night, though. I ain’t used to fallin’ down on anything I go after.”
“Meanin’ that I do?” Cig demanded sourly out of the corner of a
drooping mouth.
“Meanin’ you ain’t been lucky lately. Let it go at that.”
Prowers moved about making his preparations. The dynamite and
the fuses already made ready were put in a gunny-sack. The tools
were packed. Beneath his coat Jake put on a gaberdine vest, for it
was possible that the weather might turn cold.
Presently both men were ready. The cattleman blew out the light and
they passed from the cabin into the starry night.
They did not go direct to the dam. Prowers had in him too much of
the fox for that. He would not leave tracks in the snow that might
later take him to the penitentiary. Their footsteps followed the beaten
trail that ran from the cabin to a road meandering down into Paradise
Valley by the line of least resistance.
Half a mile from the point where they struck it, another road
deflected from this one, leading to Merrick’s camp at the Sweetwater
Dam. Into this they turned. The snow had been beaten down by
scores of passing feet. The top crust did not break beneath their
weights, so that no evidence would be left written there as to who
had made this midnight trip of destruction.
Cig’s eye took in the ghostly white hills and he shivered. “Gawd,
what a dump!” he groaned. His vocabulary was as limited as his
emotions. He could never get used to the barren grandeur of the
Rockies. They awed and oppressed him. They were too stark and
clean for him. He struggled with a sense of doom. In cities he never
thought of death, but premonitions of it had several times shaken his
ratlike courage since he had been here. Twice he had dreamed that
he was being buried in these hills and had wakened in a cold sweat
of horror. He made up his mind to “beat it” for the Pacific coast at
once.
They came down into the bowl where the dam was, skirting the edge
of the timber to attract as little attention as possible in case a
watchman should be on his beat. No sign of life disturbed the
stillness. They crept to the tents and made a hurried survey. In one
of them a man lay on a cot asleep. He was fully dressed. His arms
were outflung and he was breathing stertorously. A bottle, one third
full, stood on a small table close to the cot.
“Like I said, dead to the world,” Prowers commented.
He turned away. Cig swiftly snatched the bottle and slipped it inside
his coat. He wanted a drink or two pretty badly, and, like enough,
Prowers wouldn’t let him have them if he knew.
The two men crossed the dam-head to the gates.
“It’ll be here,” the cowman said as he put down the gunny-sack.
Before they set to work, Cig concealed his bottle, but in the course of
the hours that followed he made frequent visits to the spot where he
had hidden it. Since Prowers was neither blind nor a fool he became
aware of what the other was trying to keep from him. He said
nothing. The bulk of the work fell on him. No complaint came from
his lips. There was a curious smile on them, ironic, cruel, and
unhuman.
Cig was in turn gay, talkative, maudlin, and drowsy. His boastings
died away. He propped himself against the cement wall close to the
gates and swayed sleepily. Once or twice he cat-napped for a few
moments.
The old man continued to prepare the charges. Once, watching his
accomplice, he broke into a cackle of mocking mirth, so sinister that
Cig would have shuddered if he had been alive to impressions.
The tramp slid down to a sitting posture.
“Done up. Shleep a li’l’ ’f you don’ min’,” he murmured.
Presently he was in a drunken slumber.
Prowers finished his work and lit the fuses. He looked at the weak
and vicious instrument he had been using, a horrible grin on his
leathery, wrinkled face.
“You comin’ or stayin’?” he asked squeakily.
The doomed man snored.
“Suit yoreself,” the little devil-man said. “Well, if I don’t see you
again, good-bye. I got to be hittin’ the trail right lively.”
He moved briskly along the great wall of the dam, climbed the steps
at the far end, and followed the road leading out of the basin. Once
he turned to look at the deep lake lying placidly behind the rampart
Merrick had built to hold it.
A great flash and roar filled the night. Even where Prowers stood, he
felt the shake of the earth. Masses of torn concrete, of rock and
sand, were flung into the air. The echoes of the explosion died, but
another sound reached the anarchist on the hillside. He listened,
with the diabolical grin on his lips, to a murmur of rushing waters.
The Sweetwater Dam was going out.
“The Flat Tops are liable to be irrigated good an’ plenty, looks like,”
he murmured. “Well, this is no place for sight-seers.”
He shuffled along the trail, the Satanic smile still on his leathery face.
It would have vanished promptly if he had known that a pair of eyes
were looking down on him from the shadow of a pine above the
road.
 CHAPTER XXXVI
A STORMY SEA

Betty, about to return to the Quarter Circle D E, found herself

importuned by her small sister to take her along.
“I’ll be the goodest, ’n’ not bovver you, ’n’ go to bed jes’ the minute
you say to,” she promised.
The older sister hesitated, then turned to her father. “Why not? I’m
staying there only one night.”
“Fine. Take Little Nuisance along,” Reed said, and poked a forefinger
into Ruth’s softly padded body. “I’ve got to go to town, anyhow, an’
won’t be back till late.”
It was nearly two weeks since Betty had shaken hands with Justin
Merrick and closed in good-will a chapter of her history. She had not
seen Tug Hollister since then, but word had reached her that he had
gone back to work in the hills. Merrick’s men were on the Flat Tops
running the lines where the ditches were to go.
She was waiting for Tug to come to her. Surely he did not intend to
let things end between them as they were. He would ride up some
day and tell her that he had been a stiff-necked idiot who had at last
seen the light. Every day she had looked for him, and her eyes had
moved up the road in vain.
In the pleasant sunshine Ruth prattled cheerfully of puppies, dolls,
gingerbread, Sunday school, her new pink dress, and warts. Betty
came out of a brown reverie at the name of Hollister.
“I fink he might come an’ see us. I’m jes’ as mad at him,” the child
announced. “’N’ I’m gonna tell him so, too, when he comes.”
“If he comes,” Betty found herself saying with a little sigh.
She knew that if he did not make the first move she would take the
initiative herself. A little point of pride was not going to stand in the
way of her happiness. But she believed he ought to come to her. It
was a man’s place to meet a girl more than halfway.
It was, of course, some fantastic sense of duty that was holding him
back. She had not very much patience with it. Why was he not
generous enough to give her a chance to be generous about this
fault he magnified so greatly? He did not seem to appreciate her
point of view at all.
On Betty’s desk at the Quarter Circle D E an unopened letter lay
awaiting her. She had never seen Hollister’s writing, but at the first
glance after she picked up the envelope her heart began to hammer.
She knew who the message was from. The postmark was Wild
Horse. Evidently the mailman had delivered it an hour or two earlier.
She tore the flap and read:
Ever since I saw you last I have been close to happiness
in spite of my distress. You love me. I tell myself that over
and over. I cling to it and rest in it. For this is the greatest
thing that ever came into my life.
I wish, dear, dear friend, that I could show you my heart. I
wish you could understand how great is the temptation to
throw away discretion and accept this wonderful gift. A
thousand times I have been over the ground, trying to
persuade myself that you are right and my caution a
coward’s fear with no basis in reason. But I can’t. I can’t.
Before I dared to take your life into my keeping, I would
have to be sure. And how can I be? How can I know that
this horrible thing won’t rise up some day and throttle your
happiness?
Why did I not meet you before I had given hostages to this
destructive menace? I keep asking myself why. I can find
no answer that is not born in bitter mockery.
If you could know what you have done for me, how you
have rebuilt my faith in good, in God! No man ever had so
 wonderful a friend.
That was all, except the signature at the bottom. But it made her
heart sing. Her doubts were at rest. He loved her. That was all she
wanted to know. The difficulties in his mind would vanish. Her love
would beat them down. What scruples, what fears could stand
against this joy that flooded them both?
She longed to tell him so, to pour her heart out in what was to be the
first love-letter she had ever written. Yet she was not impatient of the
delays forced on her by ranch details, by Ruth’s imperious demands
for attention. She could attend to these competently and without
irritation because subconsciously her being floated in happiness. Life
had always given Betty what she wanted. It was unthinkable that
there should be withheld from her that which was the crown of all her
hopes.
Alone at the desk in the living-room, after everybody else on the
ranch had retired, Betty gave herself up to the luxury of dreams. She
felt very wide awake. It would not be possible to sleep until she had
written an answer. There was no hurry about it. She wanted to take
plenty of time to think out what she wanted to say before she even
started on it.
When she began to write, her thoughts flew fast. They kept busy the
flashing finger-tips that transmitted the messages to the white page
on the carriage of the typewriter. The sentences were short,
impulsive, energetic. They expressed the surge of eagerness in her.
She knew she would copy it in long hand, would go over every word
of every sentence. The other side of her, the shy-eyed maiden of
dreams who must be the wooed and not the wooer, would insist on
deleting, trimming down, making colorless the swift and passionate
staccato of the words. The letter she would send to Hollister would
be pale and neutral compared to this cry of the heart she was
uttering.
The little glass-cased clock on her desk struck two. Betty was
surprised. She had been here alone with her thoughts for four hours.
The fire in the grate had died down and the room was beginning to
chill. She gathered the live coals and put upon them two split lengths
of resinous pine.
For a few minutes she sat before the blaze warming her hands. That
was the obvious reason for her staying. A more compelling one was
that she saw pictures in the coals, dream pictures of the future in
which two figures moved to the exclusion of all others. These had
the texture of fiction, not consciously, but because our conceptions of
the future must always be adjusted to a reality affected by
environment and human character.
Betty lifted her head and listened. What was that rushing, swishing
sound? She rose, startled, affected instantly by a sense of insecurity
and danger. Something crashed heavily against the wall. The floor
seemed to weave.
She went to the window and looked out into the darkness. A river,
swift and turbid, was roaring past where the lawn had been a few
minutes before. The girl stood terrified, her mind caught in the horror
of unknown disaster. Even as she stood there, she saw that the
waters were rising.
Again there sounded a rending crash of timbers. Like a battering-ram
the end of a telephone pole smashed through the side of the house,
crossed the room, and came to rest in the fireplace. With it came a
rush of water that covered the floor.
Betty screamed. Her panicky heart beat wildly. Was the world
coming to an end? She looked out again. What she saw was
appalling—a swirl of rising waters tossing like the backs of cattle on
a stampede. She noticed that the barn, plainly visible a few moments
before, had vanished from sight.
The sloshing tide in the room was rising. Already it reached the
bottom of her skirts. There was no longer any doubt that the floor
was tilting. The house had been swept from its foundations. Built of
frame, it was tossing on the face of a rough sea.
Betty waded to the stairway, climbing over the telephone pole.
Except Ruth and the old colored woman Mandy there was nobody in
the house with her. Both of these were sleeping on the second floor.
In the bunkhouse were three men employed by her, but she realized
that it, too, must have been carried away.
The girl flew upstairs from the pursuing flood. She knew now that it
must have been caused by the breaking of the Sweetwater Dam.
The Quarter Circle D E ran along a narrow valley down which must
be pouring all the melted snow and rainfall impounded in the big
reservoir.
Pounded by the impact of the descending waters, the house rocked
like a boat. The lights had gone out when the wires had become
disconnected, but Betty groped her way into the room where her
sister lay asleep in the moonlight. She was running to pick up the
child when Mandy’s voice stopped her. It came in an excited wail.
“De day of judgment am hyeh, honey. Oh, Lawdy, Lawdy, we’re sure
come to de River Jordan!”
The greatest bulwark of courage is responsibility. The old woman’s
helpless collapse steadied her. A moment before she had known no
sensation but terror. Now there poured back into her the sense of
obligation. She had two children on her hands, one old and one
young. She must be a rock upon which they could lean.
Betty stepped out of the room and closed the door in order not to
waken Ruth. She noticed that the two lower steps of the stairway
were already submerged.
“The dam’s gone out, Mandy. We’re caught in the flood,” she
explained.
In despair Mandy threw up her brown palms. She was a short, fat
woman with an indistinguishable waist-line. A handkerchief was
knotted round her head for a nightcap.
“This am shore de night of Armagideon when de four ho’semen of de
Epolipse am a-ridin’. Oh, Lawd, where am you at when pore black
Mandy am a-reachin’ fo’ you-all?”
A lurch of the house flung her against Betty. She clutched at the girl
and clung to her. Her eyes rolled. She opened her mouth to scream.
Betty clapped her hand over it. “Stop that nonsense, Mandy! I’ll not
have it!” she ordered sharply. “You’ll waken Ruth. We’re all right so
long as the house holds together. I’ll not have any of your
foolishness.”
The old woman’s mouth closed. The words of Betty were astringent.
They assumed leadership, which was all that Mandy wanted. Her
voice obediently abated to a whimper.
Betty did not open her mind to the colored woman. There was no
use in filling her with alarms she had not yet conjured up. But the girl
knew their situation was desperate.
At the lower end of the rock-girt valley was a gateway where the
hogbacks on either side of it came almost together. There was room
enough for a wagon to get through and no more. Out of this gap all
the water rushing into the narrow basin would have to pour to the
Flat Tops below. If the Sweetwater Dam had gone out—and of that
Betty had no doubt—the floods would race down for hours much
faster than they could escape to the mesa. The churning stream
would grow deeper instead of subsiding. The house might waterlog
and sink. It might turn over. It might be rammed by trees or rocks. Or
it might be beaten by the waves until it fell apart.
“I’m going in to Ruth,” Betty said. “If you’re coming, too, you’ll have to
behave, Mandy. I’ll not have you frightening her by any silly
hysterics.”
“Yas’m,” assented Mandy meekly.
Ruth was still asleep, though the roar of the sweeping waters came
through the open window and occasionally a drench of spray. Her
sister went to close the casement. Above, the moon was shining
placidly; below, the current boiled and churned. The depth of the
stream, Betty guessed, must be eight or ten feet. It was still rising,
but the force of its downward rush was terrific.
The house pitched like a boat. What was worse, it had tilted so that
water was pouring in at the lower windows. If the stream continued
to rise, it would probably either sink or overturn.
The noise of crashing timbers and beating waves continued. Betty
wondered how much pounding an old frame building like this could
stand. It was built with an ell, the wing a later addition to the
farmhouse. The binding beams connecting the two parts creaked
and groaned under the strain put upon them.
Ruth woke. Betty sat down on the bed and put her arms round the
child.
“What ’tis?” asked the child, frightened.
“Some of the water got out of the dam and we’re floating in it, dearie.
Don’t cry, Ruthie. Betty’ll be here with you all the time.”
There came a series of heavy bumps accompanied by the sound of
rending timbers. It was as though the floor was being torn from under
their feet. Betty thought they were going down. The house listed
sharply, then righted itself so suddenly that the girl was flung to the
bed.
The house had been torn asunder, one wing from the other.
Mandy and the child screamed. For a moment Betty was near panic
herself. But she fought down her terror resolutely.
“See. The floor’s level now.” Her voice was steady and calm. “We’ll
probably be all right. Stop that noise, Mandy. Didn’t I tell you I
wouldn’t have it?”
The housekeeper sniffled. “I’m ce’tainly scared to death, honey, I
shorely is.” She folded her short, fat arms and rocked. “I been a
mighty triflin’ nigger, but I aims frum now on to get shet uv my
scandalacious ways an’ travel de road what leads to de pearly gates.
Yas’m. Glory Hallelujah! If de good Lawd evah lets me git outa hyeh
alive, I’ll shout for salvation at de mourners’ bench mighty loud.”
The situation was too desperate for Betty to find any amusement in
Mandy’s good resolutions, but it occurred to her to turn some of her
fear into another channel.
“Let’s sing,” she suggested.
Above the booming of the wild waters she lifted her clear young
soprano and sang “Safe in the Arms of Jesus.” The first line she
carried alone, then Mandy’s rich contralto quavered in and Ruth’s
small piping treble joined.
With an impact that shook every timber the current flung the house
against a great boulder. The building swung as on a pivot and was
driven into the rocks again. Betty looked out of the window. They
were wedged between two great spars of red sandstone. The furious
buffeting of the racing tide lifted their frail refuge and dropped it upon
the sharp edges of the crags.
“We’re caught at the Steeples,” the girl told the others.
If they could get out and climb the rock spires! But that was
impossible. The house was submerged almost to the second floor in
the swashing torrent which surrounded it and dragged at it with a
violence they could feel.
Again the shipwrecked three sang. This time it was “Rock of Ages.”
They held one another’s hands for comfort, and in their prayer,
voiced through the words of the old hymn, they found a sustaining
strength. Presently Mandy took up “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” and
the others came in with support.
Betty helped to wear away the long night with talk. She forced into
her voice cheerfulness and courage, though there was not a minute
of the dark hours not filled with alarms. It would be morning soon,
she promised. Daddy would come and get them, or Lon, or perhaps
Justin Merrick’s men who were camping on the Flat Tops. Then they
would have fun talking it all over and telling how brave Ruth had
been for not crying (except just the teentiest time) like a silly little girl.
After what to those in peril seemed an eternity of waiting, light sifted
into the sky with a promise of the coming day. The darkness lifted
and showed them a valley of wild and turbid waters. The Quarter
Circle D E ranch had become a furious and rushing river flung back
upon itself by the hogbacks which dammed its free course.
In the darkness it had seemed that the menace of the flood had been
tenfold increased by the unknown peril that lay back of the visible.
But in the light they could see too much. The force of the torrent was
appalling. It showed them to what a puny reed of safety they were
clinging. At any moment the building might collapse like an empty
eggshell under pressure.
 CHAPTER XXXVII
HOLD THE FORT

Hollister was wakened by a sound of lapping outside his tent. It

was a noise feeble as the meowing of little kittens. At first he thought
it must be a memory from his dream. When he had gone to bed the
stars had filled the sky above the dry and arid mesa where they were
camped. No rain could have fallen in sufficient quantity to make even
a rivulet.
But the rippling continued. The source of it puzzled the engineer. He
flung back the bedding and rose. A chill shocked through him. His
feet were in ice-cold water an inch or two deep.
Rapidly he dressed and then stepped through the flap of the tent. A
shallow sheet of water covered the ground except where there were
hillocks. Apparently it was flowing toward the south, as though
before the pressure of a greater volume not in sight.
Tug walked to the tent of his chief and called him. Merrick answered
sleepily, but at the words, “trouble at the dam,” he became instantly
alert. Three minutes later he joined his assistant.
One glance satisfied him. “The dam’s gone out,” he said quietly.
Neither by word nor manner did he betray what a blow this was to
him. That which he had given two of the best years of his life for, had
worked and fought for with all the brains and strength he possessed,
was now only a menace to the community instead of a hope. It was a
staggering disappointment. He had builded so surely, so safely, yet
somewhere must have been a miscalculation that had brought
disaster.
“The water’s probably coming through the Quarter Circle ranch,” he
suggested.