beyond the Bar

chapter7

Irish (POV).

This is exactly why I don’t entangle myself with teenagers — drama, after drama.

I laid her flat on the bed. She’d fainted; I guessed she couldn’t take the shock of her friend’s arrest. It was what it was. They’d crossed me, and now they were paying the price. Never mess with me and think you’ll get away with it.

When I left her room I ran into my nanny, Aunt Salia — the only woman who’d ever been there for me more than my parents. My mother chased money; Aunt Salia had been my nanny since I was eight. When I moved out she volunteered to come with me, insisting I couldn’t take care of myself. I laughed. A grown man like me — a man who owns multiple companies and runs business even in the underworld — doesn’t need a babysitter. Still, she wouldn’t be parted from me, so I took her along. Five years later she runs the house and looks after my needs in a way my mother never would. She’s the mother I know.

She was in the kitchen, humming along to a Dolly Parton song while she made lasagna with steak on the side. When I came close she stopped and smiled.

“I saw you carrying a girl,” she said softly, curiosity in her eyes. I wasn’t the kind of man to bring girls home. I was a one-night-stand kind of guy. I don’t believe in love — I once did and learned the hard way — so I stick to flings. She raised an eyebrow as she saw me; she knew me well enough not to pry.

I forced a smile and lied. “She’s my prisoner. Don’t worry, watch her for me. If she needs anything, give it to her. I’m going out — I’ll be back.” I said it as I packed my things. She only smiled. Aunt Salia understood the kind of man I was; she didn’t ask questions.

The streets were already dark by the time I drove my latest BMW toward the police station. I never had anyone chauffeur me. I like my own space. When I arrived the officers greeted me with the deference I was used to — they knew who I was. I ruled those streets; respect was what people offered in exchange for that knowledge.

“Irish,” said one of my inside men when he spotted me. Rodrigo came forward with a grin. I scanned the station and asked, “Where are they?”

Rodrigo’s smile broadened. “Getting a beating. They were mouthing off, so we taught them manners.”

I smiled. Good. Teenagers who think they have no limits needed lessons. Rodrigo’s work was disciplinary — let them learn to think twice before messing with me.

I told him I wanted to see them and he led me to the room. Pity wasn’t in my nature; I was trained to be ruthless. Weakness in my world was failure.

At the far end of the room three of them huddled together, hugging, their bodies shaking with sobs. I could hear the faint sniffles. When I cleared my throat they looked up; fear snapped into their faces. The rage they’d shown while destroying my property had vanished. My Atlas — my money-making machine — had been ruined. They had no idea what they’d set in motion.

Ivy — the one I’d learned a name for — stared at me with hatred and something like pleading. She mouthed questions about her friend, but I wouldn’t give them answers.

I walked over and squatted so they could see me properly. Let them look. Let them see the consequence of what they thought was fun turning into their worst nightmare. I remembered telling my men to stop short of killing them; they’d taken enough.

“If I don’t bring her back out,” they’d threatened, “we’ll destroy what you own.” They’d thought I’d let things slide because of a woman I slept with. They were wrong.

What we had together had been beautiful in its own way, but it didn’t change who I was or what I protected. I owed them nothing.

I scanned each of them slowly, listening to the ghosts of their bravado in the silence. Then I spoke, cold and calm.

“I guess you learned your lesson today,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you go easily. Before Harvad files a missing-person report, you’ll do what I tell you if you want to keep living in this city. The property you destroyed cost thousands. It could bankrupt your parents. The four of you, including that beautiful friend of yours — Rosa — will be in trouble for the rest of your lives if I want it.”

Their faces went pale. One of them swallowed hard. I noticed the nervous glances about a small stash we’d found in their hotel room — drugs, a mess that would not be ignored. Their tiny empire of bad choices had collapsed on them.

I didn’t give them time to explain. “Drop out of Harvard,” I said, letting it land like a weight. “Go your separate ways. Don’t contact each other. You’re 19; you’re already into drugs, casual flings with men, stealing, and pretending you’re just ‘having fun.’ That’s not fun — it’s self-destruction.”

I slid a paper across the table. “Sign this agreement or I’ll make sure every one of you has a criminal record. You won’t just be expelled — you’ll be marked. You’ll never work in this city again. One more word out of any of you and I’ll lock you up for good.”

They looked at each other — hugging, wet-eyed, shivering from more than the cold. Mercy wasn’t my role. I walked out of that cold room and left them there to reckon with their choices.

Now I had to deal with the one I’d brought home.