Bride by Initiation: Secret Society Mafia Marriage Pact (The Underworld Book 1)
Bride by Initiation: Chapter 7

Two Weeks Later

Liam has kept me from focusing on anything but work since our meeting a couple of weeks ago. I only get to think about The Underworld or my father’s involvement when lying in bed. And Liam hasn’t given me much time to do that lately either.

All O’Malleys go through specific training, so I’m used to running on no sleep. It’s important we can function without it at any time. So, while it’s annoying that Liam’s keeping me on a short leash, the lack of sleep isn’t affecting me.

The first few days, his jobs bored me to death. Brax wasn’t happy he got chosen to be my sidekick, claiming it wasn’t fair he was in trouble when I wouldn’t tell him what the meeting was regarding. But I stood my ground, maintaining my silence.

Mid-week, Brax caught one of our enemies attempting to hack into our gambling operation. He tried to figure out who it was, but it wasn’t clear who had the balls to fuck with our business. So we moved most of the money out and left a few million.

Declan instructed Brax to install a bug on the remaining assets. Then, he reduced the level of security and made it easier for the hacker to access our account.

Once he was in, the bug traced the money to an account owned by the Baileys. As soon as the first transfer hit, it was all hands on deck at O’Malley Cybersecurity.

It took me two days to hack into the account and determine the culprit behind the novice operation. And it was so weak, I kind of felt bad for the guy. Only an amateur would move the money directly to the real account instead of several ghost ones.

Paddy Bailey’s only saving grace was he hid pretty well. Except he wasn’t that good. It only added ten days to his freedom.

Yesterday morning, Brax and I picked him up. The rodent-infested, crappy apartment in a beaten-down building on the south side of Chicago showed how low he was on the Bailey totem pole.

We took the skinny computer geek to headquarters. Decades ago, Liam’s father, Darragh, transformed an empty warehouse space into a combination storage unit and torture chamber. We keep enough ammo and firearms to take out the entire state of Illinois if needed, along with fleets of vehicles and other items. Any device you can think of to make someone suffer is in a separate section. And a huge room full of screens allows us to hack into any security camera or public footage as needed.

The first thing we did was tie rope to Paddy’s wrists and ankles. Then we got rid of all the slack. For the last twenty hours, he’s been hanging in the air, stretched out in the shape of an X.

Once we had him shackled, I made sure there wasn’t a bug on the money. When assured, I transferred our money back into our account, along with another four million of Bailey assets. Brax erased their account and the digital trail the second the money moved out.

On Liam’s orders, we programmed the thermostat to rotate every two hours between forty degrees and one hundred ten. We turned on a recording of several men screaming from our past torture sessions, shut all the fluorescent lights off, then left.

Today, around noon, Brax and I were called to the warehouse. It’s now time for Paddy to pay for his sins.

When we arrive, Liam’s sitting in a metal chair, wearing a thick winter coat. He presses his gloved palms together, his lips pursed and eyes blazing at Paddy.

‘P-please,’ Paddy cries, covered in sweat but shaking from the cold, his breath coming out in a fog. Crystalized frost covers his nipples. His nose, lips, fingers, and toes are dark purple.

‘Fucking cold in here, what temperature is it?’ Brax questions.

Liam’s lips twist. He casually glances at us. ‘Thirty-three. Go bundle up.’

Brax and I don’t question our orders. It’s one degree above freezing, and our egos aren’t big enough to want to fight the chill. We go into the closet, grab coats and gloves, and put them on.

Liam rises and pulls out his pocket knife. He approaches Paddy, puts the blade against his throat, and snarls, ‘You think you can take what’s ours?’

‘P-please. I d-didn’t. It w-wasn’t m-me,’ Paddy claims.

It’s a lie. We all know it, and nothing Paddy says will stop his fate.

Liam slowly drags the knife across his throat. A thin line of blood appears, and Paddy sobs. Liam murmurs, ‘While I’d love to do the honors, I allow those who do the work to have the fun.’ He turns to Brax and me and nods his head toward Paddy. ‘Finish him off, boys. I have to get to Hailey’s school. It’s teacher appreciation day. I’m bringing cupcakes.’

‘You could have brought us some,’ Brax whines.

‘Send me some videos of the next few hours, and I’ll have some sent to your house. They’re from Sullivan’s,’ Liam replies with a twinkle in his eye.

‘Are you getting the strawberry champagne ones?’ I ask.

‘Of course,’ Liam affirms.

Braxton adds, ‘Toss in some peanut butter cup ones in my box.’

‘Footage better be good, or you’re just getting vanilla,’ Liam warns.

‘Don’t worry. Watch your secure app,’ I state.

Approval fills his expression. He walks out, and the door slams shut behind him.

I study a distressed Paddy, asking, ‘Should we bring out the torch or the fire extinguisher?’

A tear falls down Paddy’s cheek.

Brax’s smile twists. He walks over to the bench, picks up the torch and the fire extinguisher, and answers, ‘I say we do both. I’m feeling like being on flamethrower duty, though.’ He hands me the extinguisher.

I chuckle.

Brax steps in front of Paddy and turns on the flame, holding it close to Paddy’s lower body.

‘P-please don’t,’ Paddy cries out.

Brax scowls. ‘Did you think you could hack into our system and take what’s ours? It doesn’t work like that, and you should know better. There are consequences, and now it’s time to pay the piper.’

‘Make sure you only sear him; don’t kill him yet,’ I remind Brax.

Paddy starts to sob, begging, ‘Please. I have ch-children.’

‘You should have thought about that before you stole our money,’ Brax states, moving the flamethrower close enough so that his pubic hairs singe into black ash.

Paddy’s whine fills the air.

‘He’s just getting started,’ I taunt, and step beside Brax. I take two nails out of my pocket and run them down his cheek as lightly as Liam did his knife on his throat.

A whimper falls from Paddy’s lips as blood seeps from the wounds.

‘Come on now. This is nothing compared to what you’re going to feel,’ I inform him, then dig the nail deeper over the same spot.

He wails as blood coasts down his face and drips onto the floor.

Brax suggests, ‘Maybe we should collect his blood. I heard they’re low at the blood bank, and there’s going to be a lot of it tonight.’

I leer at Paddy. ‘Nah, no one wants tainted donations.’

‘P-please, it wasn’t m-me,’ Paddy cries out.

‘Your nipples look cold,’ Brax states, then takes the torch to each side of Paddy’s chest.

A screech rings through the room.

Brax’s eyes light up as hot as the flame in his hands. ‘The Baileys should have taught you better about what happens when you fuck with O’Malleys.’

Paddy gets a kick of courage and spits out, ‘What would you know? You’re not an O’Malley. You’re a wannabe O’Malley.’

Brax’s expression turns angry, but I put my hand on his chest. ‘Hold on, brother. I think I’ll handle this one.’ I take the fire extinguisher and step behind Paddy. ‘Lean him over,’ I instruct to Brax.

Brax gives me a satisfied look. We’ve partnered on torture sessions too many times over the years. We can foresee each other’s moves.

He goes over to the wall and hits a button. The tension loosens on Paddy’s wrists and his body slumps forward. Brax hits another button, and Paddy’s legs stretch farther, spreading his ass cheeks.

I take the fire extinguisher and blast it at his cheeks and balls.

His shrill scream would haunt a normal man. Not us, though. It only encourages us to keep going.

I walk around his body and tug his head up. I lean toward his ear and ask, ‘Do you have anything else you want to say about my brother?’

He hysterically sobs.

We torture him for a few hours until his body can’t handle it anymore. When he hangs lifeless, his corpse burnt, bloody, and frozen, we call it a day.

Brax points to the cameras. ‘Don’t forget the video so we get our cupcakes.’

‘Good call.’ I take off my gloves and sit in front of the computer.

Brax takes the seat beside me, and we spend another hour splicing and editing footage. We send the videos to Liam via our secure app, and he replies with photos of cupcakes.

Brax grins and holds out his fist, and I fist-bump him. ‘Let’s get the cleanup crew in here.’

It’s good to have so many younger cousins who still need to prove themselves to the clan. Brax and I spent years on cleanup duty.

He adds, ‘Which ones should we bestow the joy on?’

I reply, ‘I saw Mikhail with L.J.; I’m sure their fathers will approve.’

His grin widens. Mikhail is Dmitri and Anna Ivanov’s son. Liam’s son, L.J., short for Liam Jr., and Mikhail are thick as thieves. They’re twenty-six and just as cocky as Brax and I were at that age. But they still have a lot to learn, especially L.J., who by birth is expected to someday take over the clan. And Liam doesn’t show him one ounce of favoritism.

Brax pushes the button on the speaker and orders, ‘L.J., Mikhail. Get your asses in chamber three.’

In less than a minute, the door opens and they stroll in.

L.J. asks, ‘What’s up?’

‘Looks like you two had a fun day,’ Mikhail mutters, staring at the corpse.

L.J. glances over at Paddy, then walks around him, assessing our work. He affirms, ‘Sure does. Thanks for not including us.’

‘Oh, we’re including you,’ Brax states.

‘He’s dead,’ Mikhail points out, as if we’re stupid.

I smack him across the head.

‘Ouch!’ he cries out, jumping back.

‘No shit, he’s dead. Clean it up,’ I order.

‘But I was on cleanup duty for your last guy,’ L.J. whines.

‘So?’

‘So why don’t you call someone else? The warehouse is full of O’Malleys.’

‘I’m an Ivanov. Why do I have to do it?’ Mikhail questions.

Brax wags his finger in front of them. ‘Tsk, tsk, tsk. You know the rules.’

They freeze.

‘I was just joking,’ Mikhail states.

‘Me too,’ L.J. quickly adds.

‘You sure about that?’ I ask, crossing my arms.

They nod and move toward the closet, knowing you don’t break the rules. You obey whoever has a higher status than you. Right now, that’s Brax and me. As far as Mikhail is concerned, if you come into O’Malley territory, you don’t get to pick and choose your role. It’s the same if we step into the Ivanov garage, which is their version of our warehouse.

Brax shakes his head at me. ‘Young lads. They’re so naive, aren’t they? Thinking they don’t have to put in the time…’

‘Agreed. I’m going to go shower. You two know what to do,’ I add, then exit the room as they grumble behind me.

Brax follows, and we go into the locker room. We remove our pants and shirts, disposing of them in the incineration can. We shower and grab new clothes off the shelf.

As I’m putting my head through the T-shirt, my phone buzzes. I pull the cotton over my abs and then grab my phone.

The hairs on my neck rise. There’s an address on the lower East side of Gary, Indiana. It’s a town about forty-five minutes from Chicago, known for its abandoned factories and high crime rate.

Another message comes in right after it.

I glance at the time on my phone and curse. It doesn’t leave me a lot of time.

I don’t have to go. Who are these people to dictate to me what I need to do?

If I don’t show up, I won’t get any closer to the truth about my father.

My phone buzzes again.

Brax interrupts my thoughts. ‘Which club are we hitting tonight?‘

My chest tightens. I glance at him. ‘Sorry, I can’t go.’

‘What are you talking about? We always go celebrate after we take our enemy out.’

‘Sorry, I can’t. I have somewhere I need to be.’

‘Why? Where are you going?’ he asks.

‘It’s personal,’ I reply, then move toward the other side of the warehouse.

Brax follows on my heels. ‘Sean, stop bullshitting me. What’s going on with you?’

‘Nothing. I’ve just got something I’ve got to do.’ I jump in one of the dated Jeeps from the early 2000s.

The fleet of cars Liam stocks in the warehouse is an assortment of vehicles. Some are nice and fancy, like the Range Rovers. Some are old and beat-up but have engines that can outrun a sports car. Since Gary tends to be rough, flashy isn’t a great option.

I open the garage door and leave. I glance at the rearview mirror. Brax stands outside with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

I feel bad. I hate keeping secrets from him, but I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know what I’m stepping into anyway.

It’s early evening, and the sun is starting to set. I follow the directions on my phone and then pull up to a warehouse. There’s no glass on the windows and no other cars in sight.

My heart races. The last thing I want to do is put myself in an unknown situation, but that’s exactly what I’ve done.

I reply to the text.

I should insist they tell me what this is all about, but I know they won’t. And I assume it’s about whatever fight they referred to in the text that was sent weeks ago. So I grab the gun from the glove compartment just as another text comes in.

I think about what I want to do. I consider putting a knife in my boot, but I decide maybe it’s best if I don’t. And then I get another text.

‘Dammit!’ I slam the glove compartment closed and then exit the vehicle, glancing around and muttering, ‘This place is a fucking shithole.’

I walk to the only door in the building, turn the handle, and push the heavy metal door. It opens with a creak.

The only thing in front of me is a staircase leading down. I step inside and turn on the flashlight on my phone.

The door slams, and the sound of an electrical bolt locking fills the air. It makes me hesitate, and I wonder again what I’m getting myself into.

It’s now or never.

I walk down a flight of stairs, then turn and descend another. Four floors down, another door appears.

Muffled sounds come from the other side. I take a deep breath, push it, and stale air hits me. Loud shouts deafen my ears.

I step inside, shocked. The room is dim. Light bulbs hang from the ceiling, and there’s a dirt floor. A massive crowd fills the room from wall to wall.

Women, men, and even some children make up the group. They scream insults and cheer with joy. There are so many people, I can’t see past them to know what causes them to yell.

From the shadows, John steps out. He pats me on the back and says in an Irish accent, ‘Made it with ten seconds to go. Well done.’

The crowd roars louder, and I realize it’s the same as when I’m fighting, but I can’t see any fighters. There are just too many people.

I question, ‘How did all these people get here? There are no vehicles anywhere.’

John taps his head. ‘Aye. That’s for me to know.’

I glance between him and the crowd. ‘What is this place?’

John’s lips twist. ‘It’s something you’re going to love.’

‘Yeah? Why is that?’ I ask doubtfully.

‘Because your father imagined, designed, and loved it,’ he informs me.

Adrenaline rushes through me. I hate that it does. I don’t want John to predict how I’ll think or feel, yet he’s correct.

It’s only one reason I don’t like him. I’ve loathed him since the minute I saw him talking to Zara. I hate how he’s mysterious and only gives me little tidbits of information. I can’t stand how he has the same brand as my dad, when I don’t even understand what it truly represents. And I detest that he seems to hold the keys to a world my father took part in, and that the rest of my family doesn’t know about it, or does and wants to keep me in the dark.

He steps beside me, puts his arm around my shoulders, and leans into my ear. He declares, ‘It’s time to see if you’re meant to follow in your father’s footsteps.‘

My gut flips. ‘What are you talking about?’

He points around the room. ‘No one could beat him.’

I blurt out, ‘My father was an amazing fighter. Nothing scared him.’

‘Aye, he was, and you’re right. He was braver than most men.’

‘Why do you have an Irish accent tonight? You never have before.’

John’s lips twitch. ‘I have many accents, son.’

‘I’m not your son.’

‘Aye, you’re not, but this is your destiny. But first, you must prove you’re as worthy as your father was, as blood doesn’t give you an automatic seat on the throne,’ he asserts.

My pulse races, and my mouth turns dry. I don’t understand what the throne is, and I’m pretty sure why he summoned me here, but I still ask, ‘Doing what?’

John smiles.

It’s eerie, and goose bumps erupt over my arms.

‘When that man in the ring dies, you will step forward. Whoever stands at the night’s end, still breathing, wins the bid.’

‘You keep talking about this bid, but I don’t know what you’re referring to,’ I remind him.

‘You will when it’s time. But trust me, you want to win the bid. And especially tonight, because if you don’t, you’ll die.’ He grins wider.

I tear my eyes off him, staring at the crowd dressed in street clothes. They look like normal people, but I still don’t know how they got here.

The crowd erupts with louder shouts, and within several seconds, I wince from the ear-piercing screams.

And a chill runs down my spine when I notice many men with the same brand my father had. Some have no color. Some have light pink in them. Some have other colors of the rainbow. Some have shading while others have none.

‘Aye. You’re up.’ John nods and steps toward the crowd. Then he stops and turns his head. ‘Are you coming?’

Without hesitating, my feet move. It’s as if something takes hold of my body, and I couldn’t stop myself if I tried.

John pushes through the mass of bodies until we’re at the center, and there’s a bloody, unrecognizable dead man lying on the ground. Another man’s barely able to stay on his feet as he holds up his arm in victory.

A bald, stocky man with three hoops through his nose and tattoos all over his face jumps into the circle and makes an X with his arms above his head.

Two men grab the corpse’s legs and arms and cart him to the edge of the circle. The crowd parts, and they disappear.

The fighter who won gets led to a metal chair. A woman holds a bottle of water to his lips, almost as if it were a fight in the ring.

But it’s not.

The ring has rules and structure. There’s a referee to ensure people can breathe at the end, even if barely. That’s not the situation here.

John orders, ‘Drop your pants.’

‘What?’

‘Drop your pants,’ he sternly orders.

I glance at the fighter sitting down. He’s in a pair of red silk boxer shorts. I do as instructed and strip out of my jeans.

A woman with long blonde hair approaches me. She bats her lashes and holds out a pair of green silk shorts.

I take them and put them on.

The crowd cheers, ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’

Adrenaline courses through me as my fighter instincts turn on.

John directs, ‘Take your shirt off. Shoes too.’

I obey.

He points to another chair someone moved into the circle. I take two steps and sit down.

A man with reddish-orange hair steps in front of me. He’s older, probably the age my father would’ve been. He peers at me closer, and something washes over him. He says, ‘Aye, you look just like him.’ And I realize it’s nostalgia he’s feeling.

Emotions fill me, but I don’t have time to think about my father and what I lost when he was murdered. I’m in a life-or-death situation. I’m not stupid. I understand what this fight is meant to be.

The man states, ‘I’m Byrne.’ He holds a bottle of water to my mouth. ‘Drink it. You’re going to need it.’

I don’t question him, and guzzle the entire bottle.

A woman in electric-blue lingerie screams in the center of the ring, ‘Bets! Bets! Place your bets! You have one minute.’

The crowd turns more chaotic. Then, a bell rings.

‘Up,’ Byrne instructs.

I rise.

He steps forward, puts his hands on my cheeks, and tugs my head down. His green gaze bores into mine. He sternly orders, ‘Go step on the line. And, lad, forget the rules. There are none here. It’s fight or flight. Understand?’

I nod, stepping up to the line.

The man who just killed the last guy steps forward. His swollen face is covered in blood. One eye is completely swollen shut. He’s still breathing hard, and the look he gives from his one partially good eye tells me two things.

He wants to kill me, and he’ll do anything he can to make sure it happens.