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I wish I could say these are all St Patrick's Day themed stories but, unfortunately it's a holiday that isn't often showcased. If you know of any in the LGBTQ+ genre please feel free to share the titles in the comment section below or if you found yourself here through my Facebook shares, feel free to comment there too. So, onto St. Patrick's Day 2023, below you'll find 5 tales with strong Irish connections and/or Ireland settings. As with all my holiday-themed posts, if the book links don't currently work, check the author's website and/or social media to find the availability.
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Summary:
New York City, 1924
Once their paths cross, their worlds will never be the same.
Danny Moore and his crew only meant to rob the hotel suites of rich guests. He wasn’t supposed to find himself in gangster Ricky il Sacchi’s room. And il Sacchi wasn’t supposed to wind up dead. Now Danny has the attention of another notorious gangster.
Carmine Battaglia is intrigued by the Irish thieves who would have made off with a huge score if not for il Sacchi’s death. They’re cunning, careful, and exactly what he needs for his rum running operation. But Danny’s already lost two brothers to the violence between New York’s Irish and Sicilian gangs, and he’s not about to sell his soul to Carmine.
With a gangster’s blood on his hands, Danny needs protection, whether he likes it or not. And that’s to say nothing of the generous pay, which promises to pull him and his crew—not to mention their families—out of destitution.
Working together brings Danny and Carmine to a détente, then to something so intense neither can ignore it. Something nearly enough to make them both forget the brutal tensions between their countrymen.
But the death of Ricky il Sacchi hasn’t been forgotten. And someone is determined to make Danny bleed for it.
The Venetian and the Rum Runner is a gay historical romantic suspense novel set during Prohibition and the Roaring Twenties.
CW: graphic violence, PTSD
Every St. Patrick's Day I go to my book rec groups on FB asking for Irish-themed stories, maybe it's just Irish characters, set in Ireland at least in part, and a special kudos to any that actually have at least a St. Patrick's Day scene. This year someone rec'd The Venetian and the Rum Runner by LA Witt. So glad they did because . . . YUM! Talk about a story I've been looking for on multiple levels.
1920s✅
Prohibition✅
Mafia✅
Irish characters✅
Mentions of Influenza Epidemic of 1918✅
Post WW1✅
Just so many of my boxes ticked.
I love the whole slow burn trope and this may be one of the slowest slow burns I've read in recent memory and that is not a bad thing. The era and even more so the alpha male label that gangsters are known for wasn't exactly conducive for those who were LGBT. Besides the immoral umbrella too many saw LGBT as falling under, it was also seen as weakness when it came to the mafia. Let me tell you there isn't any man in this story that is weak. There are characters who may see themselves as weak for a variety of reasons but they aren't, nor are they broken. They have just seen too many horrors in the world that leaves them hurting. Danny's friend James is a perfect example. He may be a priest but he also served during WW1 and those nightmares will always follow him. I loved the friendship between James and Danny, they understand each other and accept each other.
As for Danny, as one who has many Irish branches in my family tree I may not understand the battles between the Irish and Italians in 1920s New York-based mafia(my ancestors came through Canada to Wisconsin in the mid-1800s) but I do understand the stubbornness Danny feels in his opinion of Italians. I am definitely stubborn and know that I mainly inherited that trait from the Irish side. I think it's that stubborn certainty to have ill will against all Italians for the actions of a few and still be able to work for them when he is faced with no other options, it shows a lot of courage on his part.
Carmine. What can I say about Carmine? He too has some preconceived notions on the Irish but it's not really deep seated in hatred like Danny's for Italians. His willingness to work with them also shows a level of courage and growth. His relationship with his sister, Giulia, is your standard brother/sister and though he only has her protection in mind with his actions, it is pretty clear early on that Giulia is not shrinking violet.
Put these two men together and you have a chemistry that is instant(although not explored other than inner monologues for quite a while) and never ending. Frankly I loved the progression the men take from boss man/rum runner to oh so much more. I will admit I can see where it could almost be too slowburny for some but not me. Could the author have lessened some of the inner musings? Sure. Would those cuts have made the story better? Maybe. Would I have wanted to see it shorter? Hell No!
I can't imagine it being written any other way than how the author has told it. It's that combination of main characters growing, secondary characters showing their friendship and loyalty, bad guys being super bad, good guys having some bad tendencies but done with a purpose, romance, mystery, heat, suspense, and heart that makes The Venetian and the Rum Runner so bloody brilliant!
As for what draws me to the genre . . .
Maybe it's having grown up about 30 minutes from St. Paul that went a long way to pique my interest in the era. I don't think enough people realize just how many gangsters of that era came through the area. You can still find the tommy gun bullet holes in the Wabasha Caves nearly 100 years later. Maybe it's the glamour side that Hollywood has always portrayed that decade to be. Obviously it's not all glamour and Hollywood has never had a problem with fact-stretching but as a little girl I can't deny that film genre went a long way to forming my interest and as I got older and the realities of the time became more clear, my interest was already embedded.
I've read a few stories that touched on my earlier checklist and loved them all, there's just not enough in the LGBTQ+ historical mafia genre to feed my hunger. Or perhaps there are and I'm just not looking in the right place. Whatever the answer is to that, at least this LA Witt novel crossed my reading journey and I'm beyond thankful for that.
Whether you are a fan of historical 1920s prohibition era mafia stories or not, I still highly recommend giving The Venetian and the Rum Runner a chance. It is most certainly not a quick read but it is an entertaining one that kept me hooked all the way through and left me sad when I reached the last page. I've already purchased the audiobook and look forward to many re-visits to come.
Summary:
Omega Holidays #3
I’m pregnant, desperate, and living in a mall with my two children. Will I let my dream alpha be my savior?
Heavily pregnant omega Liam “Lucky” Moriarty isn’t living up to his name. When his sons’ A-Mom falsely accuses him of child abuse, he runs from the Omega Center to keep his kids from child protective services. Homeless and desperate, his family takes up residence in Rosetown Mall. When Lucky meets mall security guard Kellen Murphy, everything he’s ever believed about love gets turned on its head. He wants to fall for the hero alpha of his dreams. The problem is, Kellen’s hot on the case of finding the mystery mall thief, and every part of Lucky’s existence is threatened. Can Lucky get back on his feet in time to escape discovery and make Kellen his?
Kellen Murphy’s an alpha who can’t seem to get what he wants in life; to make a difference, to be a hero, to be the alpha of someone’s dreams. He ready for a family, but he can’t find the omega that’s ready for him; that is, until he stumbles on pregnant omega Lucky and his sons. As Kellen tries to convince Lucky to give him a chance, he learns of an after-hours thief in the mall. Kellen needs to prove he can keep Lucky and his sons safe, and he’ll stop at nothing to catch the thief. What happens when his own protective instincts uncover Lucky’s secrets?
Will Kellen discover Lucky’s the mall resident? Can Kellen win Lucky’s trust and earn himself a ready-made family? Can Lucky convince himself he deserves a good thing?
This book is about 70,000 words and has a HEA. 18+ readers only, please! This book contains occasional strong language, MPREG, and hot, spicy grownup-times. The omegas are heating up and the alphas are very knotty boys. Get a FREE short story when you join the newsletter family!
Summary:
Good Bad Idea #3
Rune is jaded by his shallow life as a fashion model. But he rediscovers joy when he meets a ray of sunshine named Callum. Can the unlikely couple find true love together?
Callum O’Rourke
When I meet Rune, I discover my dream partner exists for real. My heart doesn’t care that the older man is way out of my league. I want my first time to be with him.
But why would somebody as famous as him want to date a twenty-year-old nobody like me?
Rune Tourneau
My world was dark and cold until sunny Callum changes everything. Like a breath of fresh air, he brings the joy and laughter to my life that I had been missing.
I had always believed true love was a lie, but Callum makes me wish we could have a happily ever after.
Isn’t a lifetime of happiness together worth taking a chance on love with him?
Fancy Love is the third book in the Good Bad Idea series and part of the Sunnyside universe. This novel features an age gap, grumpy/sunshine, first time, opposites attract, gay romance. If you love cute sweetness, sexy fun, and low angst stories that will make you laugh and swoon, you’ll enjoy this satisfying HEA without cliffhangers. Each book can be read as a standalone or as part of the series in order.
Summary:
Mountain Springs Omegas #4
Sean just wanted to get rid of his nausea before finals, but when the doctor tells him he's pregnant his whole world changes.
Sean doesn't remember the party that led to his baby, but he knows that it wasn't his choice. He'd long before decided to wait until the right alpha came along, and learning of his pregnancy gave him the determination to fight back. It would be easier though if his baby wasn't making him knot-crazy.
Russell needs more experience as a lawyer, but the gorgeous, pregnant, omega tests all his instincts.
Russell is ready for a break after a case with a trying client, but he's not one to turn down a chance to work on a major case. But when he sees the gorgeous omega, and learns what happened to him, his alpha side rages. All he wants is to ptotect the handsome man, and his baby. Can he keep his alpha side in check when all he wants to do is enact revenge on behalf of the man his instincts claim is his?
Recipe for Romance:
One Determined Omega
One Protective Alpha
An unplanned baby
An impending lawsuit
A field of spring clover
Clover Kisses for the Omega is a 13K word , non-shifter, M/M, Mpreg romance, featuring an omega determined to do whtat's right for himself and his baby, an alpha determined to protect them both, some knotty fun, and a bit of luck.
Trigger warning: Sexual assault is a background topic, though not graphically discussed
As for Clover Kisses. I do think there was a bit more of a darker side to this entry but not dark enough to cast a shadow over the love at play between Sean and Russell. Truth is, in my reading experience at least, that balance of dark and light isn't often found in short stories and when it has been there it's hard to get that balance realistically entertaining. Okay, so "realistic" seems like an odd term for the mpreg genre but emotions are always real no matter the genre or subject.
It's something that happens too often(perhaps not for the same reasons or results as this mpreg tale) and you can feel Sean's fear AND fight response jump off the page and it made me root for him all the more. The anger and protect mode that Russell faces when he meets Sean is also palpable. The two of them together had me warring between wrapping them in bubblewrap and Mama Bear hugs to keep them safe and giving them whatever they needed to fight and protect the little one inside Sean.
A wonderfully emotion charged, heat-filled story with plenty of heart and the right dash of humor that sucks you in and leaves you not ready to say goodbye when you swipe the last page. Definitely a winning gem.
RATING:
RATING:
Unfinished Business #4
Ruari Byrne may not have had an easy life, but now he’s determined to live in the present, not his past. Trouble is, it’s hard to be independent when you’ve no money and no qualifications. All Ru knows is horses, and when he finds out that his beloved Joni and Cookie are off to auction, his heart is in his throat. How can he protect them if he can’t even look after himself?
Jasim bin Rajhi hadn’t intended to buy two working mares; the horses in his rarefied life are expensive polo ponies, but there’s something that intrigues him about the guileless young man who’s so concerned for their welfare. They might be worlds apart in every way, but Jasim doesn’t want this to be the last time he sees Ru. It can’t be, because Ru might just be the one he’s been waiting for.
Reunited at Jasim’s polo grounds, the pair bond over lives lived in darkness and secrecy. But there’s a truth about Jasim that should make Ru bolt like his beloved horses. Jasim knows he should let Ru go for his own safety, and yet it feels like happiness might be within their grasp. Can they overcome their pasts to trust in a future, or will Jasim’s obligations forever have a hold on him?
Warning: contains references to past abuse and paid-for sex (In a different book), physical violence and abduction. There is one oblique reference to suicide. But no horses were seriously harmed in the making of this tale :)
The Venetian and the Rum Runner by LA Witt
Chapter 1
Manhattan
January 2nd, 1924
At quarter to ten the second night after New Year’s, having arrived at the address on the card he’d been given, Danny Moore found himself standing in the falling snow outside a butcher shop.
It was still open despite the late hour. He supposed that wasn’t a surprise, especially as a young couple sauntered in through the front door in attire no one wore to visit the butcher. Clearly, then, this was not unlike the florist shop that acted as a benign and perfectly legal front for the speakeasy Danny frequented. Given that the man he was here to see was a powerful bootlegger, a front seemed more likely than Carmine Battaglia moonlighting in the meat business, particularly the business of staying open late to sell meat to customers in their finest evening wear.
Danny cast a wary glance around the dark and mostly deserted street, then walked inside. The butcher shop itself was nothing remarkable. Sausages and cuts of everything imaginable hung in the windows or were displayed in a glass case beside a large scale and a cash register. On the wall, prices were listed, but Danny didn’t bother to read them. He was not, after all, here to buy meat.
The young couple was gone, having likely been escorted through a secret door into the speakeasy beyond. A middle-aged Italian woman watched him through wire-rimmed spectacles.
Clearing his throat, Danny showed her the card. “I’m here to see—”
“You got an appointment?” The question was terse.
“I do, yes. At ten o’clock. With, um… With Mr. Carpenter.”
She gave a curt nod, turned away, picked up the telephone, and dialed. After a moment, she said, “Mr. Carpenter’s ten o’clock appointment is here.” She hung up and turned to him. “Wait right here.”
Danny waited. Another couple came through the door, the woman waving a long cigarette holder between her fingers as she and her companion laughed at something one of them must have said outside. She was blond, dressed in sparkling silver and green beneath a snow-dusted overcoat, and both her hair and skirt were as short as was fashionable these days. Her companion was in a smart suit and shined shoes. Clearly here to buy meat.
The man murmured something to the woman behind the counter, and the woman again picked up the telephone, this time saying something Danny didn’t hear. A moment later, an unseen door in the back opened, and the butcher stepped out, wiping his hands on his dingy white apron. With a sharp nod, he beckoned for the couple to come with him, and they followed without hesitation.
Outside, a pair of policemen strolled by. One cast a disinterested look through the windows, put his cigarette to his lips, and kept right on walking into the frigid night. They had to know what went on in here. It was hardly a secret what it meant when a regular business had patrons dressed for a night out coming in through the front door at this hour. Either the policemen didn’t care or they didn’t bother because there were dozens of places like this nearby. More likely, they didn’t see anything because a few crisp bills in their pockets said there was nothing to see.
“You here for Mr. Carpenter?” The voice pulled Danny’s attention from the vacant sidewalk where the police had been patrolling, and he turned to see a hulking Italian man in a suit glaring at him from behind the counter.
Danny cleared his throat. “I am, yes.”
A sharp gesture summoned him into the back of the butcher shop. Danny hesitated—whether or not it was a front for a speakeasy, this was a legitimate butcher shop, and he wasn’t sure he liked venturing away from the windows into a place with knives and meat hooks. Not with an Italian wise guy, and especially not after what had happened on New Year’s Eve.
The Italian glared at him. “You coming?”
Well, if he didn’t, then four of his friends would likely land in the workhouse soon. Or worse.
So, swallowing his nerves, Danny followed the man into a larger room in the back. Here, the butcher was methodically cleaving apart some creature’s hindquarters, and he eyed Danny and the Italian with no expression on his face.
At the other side of the room was a door. Danny and the Italian stepped through it, and Danny jumped when it banged shut behind him, sealing them into a narrow, dark stairway that was as cold as the January night outside. They walked silently down the stairs, and Danny tried not to liken this to descending into the pits of hell for a meeting with the Devil himself.
When they reached the bottom, the Italian faced him and held up a canvas bag.
“Put this on,” he ordered.
“Put it…” Danny eyed the bag, then the wise guy. “Why?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You want to meet Mr. Carpenter or not?”
Well, no, now that he’d asked, but Danny didn’t have a lot of choice here. And he supposed now that he’d been into the tunnel behind the butcher shop, there was no turning back. He’d already seen too much.
Muttering a few choice words in Irish, Danny pulled the bag over his own head, and he tried not to let his mind linger on what exactly he was smelling. Something sour and decayed. Thinking any deeper than that, he’d probably throw up inside the bag. In fact, maybe that was what—
“This way.” The Italian took his arm, and what could Danny do but follow him?
They walked for what felt like miles. Maybe that was just his nerves, or maybe time seemed to be crawling by because of the horrid stench so close to his face. All he knew was he’d long since lost track of the turns and switchbacks, and that with every set of stairs—even those going up—he was sure he was getting closer to literal hell.
Finally, he was ordered to halt. Something squeaked, and he thought he heard a door open, but he wasn’t told to move, so he stood there stupidly and waited for something to happen.
The Italian’s gruff voice made him jump: “Your ten o’clock is here, boss.”
The response came in a smoother voice that made Danny’s already racing heart beat faster: “Bring him in.”
Danny was shoved unceremoniously forward, and he just managed to keep himself from falling. When he’d righted himself, the bag was yanked off his head.
He blinked a few times—the room was dimly lit by a few bare bulbs strung around where crown molding would have been in a classier place, but it was still bright for a man who’d been in darkness for the last… the last however long he’d been hooded.
A heavy metal door slammed shut behind him, and a lock clanged into place. It sounded like the kind of door they used for bank vaults, and that didn’t settle Danny’s nerves at all. There was a reason he and his crew had never bothered trying to rob banks.
As his eyes adjusted, he shivered and took in his surroundings. Aside from being cold, the room was rough, its floor made of wood but its walls out of ragged concrete. A few pipes went across the ceiling and along one wall, but otherwise it looked like an office—a desk with a couple of chairs and a telephone. Several ledgers and pens. It wasn’t even as big as the modest parlor in Danny’s Broome Street tenement apartment, and the low ceiling and dim light made it feel even more cramped and tight.
Or perhaps that was because of the locked door and the man gazing back at him from behind the broad desk.
He was Italian in the usual expensive suit, and he was plainly a gangster. As easy to recognize as Ricky il Sacchi. The way he carried himself, even while sitting down. The way he looked at Danny like he owned everything in this room including him. The pinstriped slate gray suit and the fedora on the desk. And who else but gangsters held meetings in dark basements with men summoned by threats? He couldn’t have been anyone other than a gangster, and Danny suspected this “Mr. Carpenter” was, in fact, Carmine Battaglia.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“It ain’t ‘kid,’” Danny growled, hoping his nerves didn’t betray him.
A dark eyebrow arched.
Danny gulped. “Daniel. My name is Daniel Moore.”
To his surprise the Italian got up and came around the desk. He was slightly shorter than Danny—an inch at most—and he looked Danny right in the eye as he extended a hand. “Carmine Battaglia.”
Unsure what else to do, Danny shook Battaglia’s hand.
So this was him. Carmine Battaglia. The gangster who’d demanded Danny’s presence and threatened to send four of his friends to the workhouse if he didn’t show.
And maybe if Danny hadn’t been so uneasy with this whole situation, he’d have spent a little more time focusing on those full lips and near-black eyes. Or the way the bare electric bulbs cast harsh shadows on sharp, olive-skinned features.
He’s one of them, Danny fiercely reminded himself. Stop staring and find a way out of here.
“Well? You wanted to see me.” Danny spread his arms. “I’m here.”
“Yes, you are.” Battaglia leaned casually against his desk, head tilted his head as he studied Danny intently. “I understand you’re in charge of a group of thieves who broke into some suites at the Plaza Hotel on New Year’s Eve.”
Danny swallowed, not sure how to proceed.
An odd smile formed on Battaglia’s lips. “I’m not the police, Daniel. I’m—”
“You’re a gangster.” The words came out with more venom than perhaps was wise. “Just tell me what you want so you won’t send my friends to the workhouse.”
Battaglia shook his head, chuckling softly. “I’m not interested in sending you or your friends to the workhouse.”
“But you said… If I didn’t come…”
“And you did come.” Battaglia shrugged. “You held up your end of the deal, and now I’ll hold up mine.”
It wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be. Nothing ever was with gangsters involved.
“So what is it you want?”
“What I want is to put you and your crew to work.”
Danny blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I want to put—”
“Yeah, I heard that part.” Danny stared at him in disbelief. “You want us to come work for you. For gangsters. For Sicilian gangsters.”
Battaglia inclined his head. “You would hardly be the first Irishmen on my payroll.”
Setting his jaw, Danny glared at him. “Your kind put two of my brothers in the ground. I’d sooner work at Tammany Hall than with the likes of you.”
Battaglia’s expression hardened just slightly, but his voice stayed calm. “And you don’t think plenty of my kind are in the ground thanks to Irishmen?”
“With any luck, they’re in hell.”
The gangster’s eyebrow rose slowly.
Danny’s heart went wild. This was dangerous. So dangerous. He may as well have spat in the man’s face and cursed his mother.
Perhaps not the wisest thing to do when he was in a locked underground office with a powerful gangster and not the faintest clue how to get back to street level.
But he didn’t take it back.
The Accidental Shamrock by Ava Beringer
1
LUCKY
“You’re making a huge mistake, man. I know this guy. No way he’d put his hands on his kids.”
I froze, my shoes making a slight screech on the floor that I hoped no one heard. That was Zach’s voice. Zach had such a laid back, surfer-like vibe, you would never think he was the director of the Omega Center until he got serious. Right now, he was serious.
I peeked my head around the corner toward my room. Zach was at my door. Well, not my door. It was the cramped room I shared with three other homeless omegas and their kids. Zach was gesturing toward a man and a woman in cheap suits, pleading his case. He was the coolest customer I knew, but his body language was tense, his brow furrowed in anger and frustration. He took his backward snapback off and brushed a hand through his longish blonde hair before replacing it.
“You can’t take them. You telling me you believe a deadbeat A-Mom over him?” My blood ran cold. I knew a little something about deadbeat A-Moms.
“Mr. Morrey, you know better than to stand in the way of Child Protective Services. These situations are never easy, but it’s what has to be done.”
“You’re gonna traumatize a couple of kids by ripping them away from the only parent that’s there for them? For what? How’s that fair? How does that make any sense?” Zach’s light eyes flashed over to where my head was peeked around the corner. His face was stone. He gave me the slightest head shake. I ripped my tall frame back around the corner before I could be seen, my back falling silently against the wall as I listened in.
“The parent reported bruising on her son’s face during visitation and provided us with photo evidence. We’re doing our due diligence on behalf of the child.”
“That’s bullsh- that’s thin at best. An alpha who sees her kids a couple times a year and doesn’t want to pay child support just so happens to call you about some bruising? Kids have accidents all the time. They fall off bikes and climb trees and slam their hands in doors. Sounds like this A-Mom is gaming you and your backwards system.”
“I’m gonna kill you, Nicole,” I growled to myself. I’d finally won my child support case against her in court. Instead of helping me with her very own children, she pulls this shit? I couldn’t breathe. My hand clasped at my throat and the other cradled my belly where my third child, another boy, kicked up a storm. He was gonna be a cute little hell-raiser like the first two.
The man took on a somewhat gentler tone. “We don’t know how long we’ll have the kids. It could be temporary, just until we complete our investigation.”
“But you don’t know for sure.”
“Morrey,” the woman said with an edge to her voice. “Don’t try to pull any of your crap this time. You know what happens if you get in our way.”
I couldn’t listen to anymore. I set off down the hallway, careful to keep my feet whisper quiet. I needed to find my sons, immediately.
I waddle-jogged easily down the hallway.
“You’re heavy, kiddo,” I said to my belly, cradling the underside to help me balance as I pumped the other arm. “It’s a good thing your O-Dad’s still got it.” As pregnant as I was, I was six-two and a former high-school athlete so I could still move fast. Too bad I didn’t stick to sports. I let alphas distract me instead.
“Another great choice in the highlight reel that is my life,” I muttered.
I jogged down to the cafeteria, where most of the families gathered during the day. Even though the center was in an old, abandoned school with weathered floors and yellow fluorescent lighting, Zach kept it spotless and as cheerful as possible. I ran past streaks of pink and red Valentine’s Day hearts decorated by the center’s kids.
“A pox on Valentine’s Day,” I huffed as I jogged, “so-called ‘love’ is what got me into this in the first place. I’ll never make that mistake again.”
I skidded to a stop in the cafeteria, looking left and right. The space was huge and there were dozens of people, but I knew my sons weren’t there. Too quiet. I ran through the kitchen into Zach’s office, where the boys often ended up because they were being mischievous. I caught myself on the gray metal doorframe, skidding on the red porous kitchen tile.
Empty.
“Don’t panic, Lucky, don’t panic. It’s good they’re not here, ‘cause CPS woulda got ‘em.”
I raised my head to the kitchen crew. “You guys seen Bam Bam and Chunk?”
“We thought they were in the play area,” one of the cooks called.
“They’re not back here,” said another with a laugh. “Too quiet.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “You got that right.”
“Everything okay, Lucky?”
I looked down at my hands and realized they were trembling. “Fine. Just fine.” I walked off before anyone could ask any more questions.
Back in the dining area, I rubbed my belly out of nervousness. “What am I bringing you into, kiddo?” I whispered to my newest baby. My emotions tried to overwhelm me. I blamed the pregnancy hormones; I never cried, and I wasn’t about to start now. I marched across the wide space, heading for the play area, when suddenly Zach and the two CPS agents appeared out of the far residential hallway. Zach’s eyes went wide and he waved me away while the agents weren’t looking. I ducked into the nearest unlocked door, a little utility closet, and held my breath waiting for them to pass. Once they were gone, I streaked for the kid’s playroom.
The playroom was the former gym, and it had lots of repurposed school equipment plus a playground built on rubber padding. Again, I used my ears, trying to locate the most commotion. Nope, just a normal amount of commotion.
I snapped my fingers. “The bathroom.” And not the kids’ bathroom either, because they got caught there the last time. I ran out of the play area to the residential bathroom closest to the play area. As I opened the door, the sound of a toilet flushing and two arguing boys greeted my ears. I melted back against the doorway, relieved.
I burst through the third stall door, chips of blue paint falling away to reveal red rust as it banged on the inside of the stall. Two pairs of wide blue eyes, just like mine, stared back at me in panic. They were frozen over the toilet, their hands full of little toy soldiers, tissue paper all around.
I went into O-Dad mode without thinking. “What are you putting in there?!”
“Nothin’,” said Chunk, hiding his four-year-old hands behind his back. Chunk’s hair and collar were wet. The bruises on his forehead and chin were healing, greenish-yellow now. Big brother Bam Bam had wrapped a towel around his neck as a cape and convinced him he could fly down a flight of stairs last week, which is where all this madness began.
I turned my dad-is-not-happy look on my eldest son. “Did you try to flush your brother down the toilet?”
“It was his idea!” Bam Bam yelled, pointing at Chunk.
“It’s never his idea.” I told my rambunctious, rebellious seven-year-old, who lived up to his name. “It’s always your idea.” I choked out something between a laugh and a cry and dropped to my knees, hugging both of them to my chest, kissing the tops of their heads. Only a dad would kiss his toilet-dunked child’s head. “Your hair is gross, Chunk, you’re getting a bath asap.”
“Noooooo,” he moaned.
I laid a kiss on the chubby cheeks that earned him his nickname as a baby. “Oh yeah, I’m putting you through the car wash, bud.”
“Dad, why are you hugging us?” Bam Bam hugged me back, but he gave me the side-eye. “Is this some kinda Jedi mind trick? I know we’re in trouble.”
“What do you know about Jedi mind tricks?” The things kids say. We were in trouble, alright, but a kind of trouble that was way over his adorable head. “And the answer is yes. See how I knew exactly where and when to catch you? I’m a dad and we know all the Jedi mind tricks. Don’t ever forget that.” I squinted at him. “If you knew you’d get in trouble, why are you doing it?”
“Didn’t think we’d get caught.”
I kissed his forehead again and squeezed him tight, both boys up against my belly. “I love you little monsters to death. And you just might kill me.” I put my hands on my knees and groaned as I pushed up straight. This third pregnancy had been pretty easy, but somehow, I forgot how hard it was to move around in the third trimester.
I stared at the carnage my sons caused, twisting my lips at the mess.
“I swear, when I land my rich sugar-alpha I’m gonna pay Zach back for this. Leave it and let’s go. Quick, quick.” I gripped their shoulders and hustled them out of the bathroom.
Bam Bam leaned behind my back, trying to have a secret conversation with his brother. He whispered, loud enough to wake the dead, “We’re not getting in trouble, Chunk!”
Despite the circumstances, I had to hold back a laugh. “Yes, you are. I’m gonna think up something super special, just for you.” The two of them groaned.
“Dads hear everything,” Chunk grumbled.
“Jedi mind tricks,” Bam Bam agreed. Score one for super dad.
Outside of the bathroom, I poked my head out and looked both ways, making sure the coast was clear. It was only the other families; no sign of any CPS workers in cheap suits.
Back in front of our room, I pushed our door open with a soft click and a creak. I poked my head in and looked around.
“Dad, is something wrong?” Bam Bam asked, suspicion in his voice. He sounded thirty-seven, not seven.
“You know how much I can’t stand Tammie-Lynn.”
Bam Bam put on a serious scowl. “Because she doesn’t know how to mind her damn business.” He said with a nod.
“Exactly. Wait a minute.” I held his face in my hand, squeezing his cheeks gently, making him do the fish face. “What did I tell you about cursing?”
“Do as I say, not as I do,” he said, his lips smushed together.
“Very good.” I peeked around the room. Empty. Thank goodness everybody hated to crunch into this crowded little room.
“C’mon.” I nudged them firmly inside the room. “Grab your stuff. All of it.”
I hustled over to our bags. I was stricken with frustration. I wouldn’t be able to take everything. I had next to nothing, and I still had to leave most of it behind. Maybe Zach will keep it for me until I come get it. Maybe he’ll get to it and put it away before it gets stolen. Mentally, I let go of whatever I couldn’t fit in my backpack. The boys’ baby pictures and our important documents, a change of clothes, what little food we had, and that was it.
Do you know what you’re doing, Lucky? I looked around the dingy little room with the rows of bent aluminum-frame bunk beds, everything a shade of gray. It was little more than nothing, but it was something.
I looked down at my boys; Bam Bam was ripping the arm off an action figure and Chunk was digging in his nose. They were the more precious to me than anything else had ever been. I couldn’t risk being separated from them, not for one second.
“Come on, my little rugrats. Let’s go have some fun.”
Both started jumping up and down immediately.
“Where are we going, dad? Where are we going?” Bam Bam asked.
“Yeah, where are we going?” Chunk chimed in.
“Um…” I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “It’s a surprise.”
“A surprise?” They both were bouncing around now, ready to rock and roll.
“Yep, a surprise. To me, too,” I muttered under my breath.
They threw their matching red Transformers backpacks over their shoulders and beat me out of the room.
“Wait!” I called. They both stopped dead at the desperation and severity in my voice. I didn’t mean to let that slip. “Stay close, where I can see you. You have to be on your best behavior to get your surprise.”
They bounced back quick and stuck close to my side as I led them back to the cafeteria, my eyes peeled for the people who wanted to take them away from me.
Right outside the kitchen, I slapped a hand on the doorframe.
“Joel, can we have lunch to go today? Please and thank you, brother.”
“Got some fun plans, Lucky?”
I gave him a half-grin. “Yeah, you could say that.”
Joel noticed the bags. He squinted his eyes at them, then at the way my hands fluttered at my sides.
“You alright, Luck? Not ready to pop, are ya?”
“No way. When I am, you’ll be the first one I call. Still got those kitchen tongs on you?” Joel threw his head back and laughed, handing over three brown bags, cartons of milk, and bottled water.
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem. You take it easy with these three.” He pointed a finger at the boys, bouncing around and crowing about their surprise, and my protruding stomach.
“You kiddin’? I’m on easy street.” Joel laughed again, and I decided that was enough. “We gotta go. Tell Joel bye and thank you, boys.”
“Bye Joel!” They yelled. “Thank you!” I put my hand on their backs and nudged them toward the main entrance.
Outside in the fresh California air, with the warm sun on my face, I snuck in a quick breath. Spring would be here soon. That was enough to smile about, wasn’t it?
I cast my eyes left, then right. On the corner was a tiny yellow sign and it drew my eyes like a beacon.
“Bus stop,” I said to the boys, pointing. “Race you.” I lifted a knee, pretending to take off running and the boys didn’t hesitate. “First to sit on the bench wins!” I yelled, a hand cupped over my mouth. They could never resist a challenge like that. Both boys took off like a shot, climbing on the bench and shoving at each other.
Bam Bam was bigger and stronger. “I got here first!”
Chunk would do anything Bam Bam asked, but he didn’t take his bullying lying down. He shoved back as best as he could. “No, I did!”
“Look on the bright side, you both beat me,” I called with a grin. There was a hiss of hydraulics and a roar of a big engine. A bus was coming around the corner. I didn’t care where it was going, I just needed to be on it.
“Boys! Wave down the bus!” I yelled.
Bam Bam and Chunk were all too happy to wave their arms and jump up and down to get the bus driver’s attention. The bus ground to a stop with a squeal of the brakes and the doors shuttered open. I hustled up as best as I could, climbing onto the bus with the boys in tow.
“Thank you,” I nodded to the bus driver, a gentleman with curly white hair, nut-brown skin, and a tired face. He gave me a nod nonetheless.
“You got it, kid.”
I tapped my sons’ narrow shoulders. “Sit down in those first two seats and don’t move.” For once, the boys did as I asked.
“Sir, um, where’s this bus headed?”
He looked a question at me, eyebrows pinched, as I dug in my pocket for the fare. The boys were too young to have to pay, but I certainly did.
“Where you trying to go?” The driver asked.
I opened my mouth and closed it. “I-I don’t know.” I dug frantically in my pockets, looking for loose change but finding none. I barely had forty dollars to my name anyway, and I definitely didn’t have the right change.
The driver, his name tag reading “Hugh,” looked me over, his eyes making a pit stop on my belly before looking back at the boys, and even farther back at the Omega Center.
He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
Some of the overwhelming tension leaked out of me. “Thank you.”
“I stop at Rosetown Mall. I’ll let you know when.”
“You’re a hero, sir,” I said as I went to join my kids. “A real hero.”
He grinned. “Whatever you say, kid.”
I sat behind the boys, staring out of the window at the passing downtown scenery as they bickered the way brothers do over who had the coolest toys. I rubbed my belly. Baby boy number three was throwing a parade in there. How did I end up like this? The time to think brought a sense of hopelessness and a burn behind my eyes. Bam Bam’s A-Dad was a deadbeat from the word go, but Nicole and I had been together and in love. At least, I thought we were.
Having Chunk with her had been a joy. I knew we were on the rocks when I got pregnant with our newest addition, but I never thought she’d kick me, kick us, to the curb the way she did. Not with another baby on the way. I blinked, the wetness in my eyes threatening to spill over. Nope. You’re a Moriarty, Lucky. Moriartys don’t cry.
Love. I sneered at the thought. Love can take a flying leap. I’d given up on ever really, truly finding it. I would quell down any desire for an alpha until it didn’t exist anymore. There were no good ones. If there were, I wouldn’t know them if they came up and bit me on the ass. I grinned wryly. Livin’ up to my name.
Riiiiip! The sound pulled me out of my downward spiral and back into reality. Chunk bit off half a granola bar in one bite and chewed like a cow, his mouth partly open and his chipmunk cheeks stuffed.
“Chunk, my friend, what did I tell you about biting off more than you can chew?”
“It means I better get me a stronger jaw.”
“That’s my boy. Keep your mouth closed so nobody sees the garbage disposal in action.”
“Okay, daddy,” he said, trying his best to close his lips over the oats and chocolate.
“Man, you’re cute.” I marveled over the little people I made. I was now a momma bear backed into a corner. I’d do whatever it took to take care of them. Time to get your shit figured out, Lucky.
Bam Bam tore into a granola bar as well.
“That’s all you both get until later.”
“But Dad-” Bam Bam started.
“I mean it, Bam Bam.” To my surprise, he didn’t argue. Maybe it was my tone again, but Bam Bam knew when things were horribly wrong. He’d seen enough in his short life to know. Guilt was a pile driver, smashing me flat to the ground. “What kind of life am I giving you?” I whispered.
Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Zach. I never was one to avoid a difficult conversation, so I tapped the green button on my screen and held it up to my ear.
In a phone-sex voice I said, “Lucky’s house of love and pancakes. What can I serve up for you today?”
“Where are you?” Zach was serious. He cut straight through my bullshit.
“Gone.” It was the best answer I had for him.
“Lucky,” he started, his usual relaxed surfer drawl long gone, “I know it’s scary as hell to have CPS on your ass-”
“I’d never hurt my kids, Zach. Never.”
“I know.” He did know, because he stood up for me.
“I know what kind of position it would put you in if you tried to help me.” If Zach knowingly tried to keep us at the center, or hid us at his house, he could face criminal charges and it would threaten the Omega Center and all the families in it. Zach sighed, and I knew he was taking off his snapback to run a hand through his hair again, the way he did when he was agitated.
“We’ll figure something out,” he said. “The most important thing is your safety. This is dangerous, dude. Just come back and-”
I cut him off again. “Zach, you’ve been a real bro over the past few months. Someday, when I sleep my way to Hollywood stardom, I’m gonna come back and buy you a mansion.” So yeah, I dove head first into arguments. That didn’t mean I was great with mushy feelings.
“That’s not funny, Lucky. Come-”
I cut him off. “Thanks for everything, Zach.”
“Wait, don’t-”
I pressed the red “end call” button and dropped my head on the grimy window. I shut my eyes and keyed into the cold feeling on my forehead.
“Hanging up on people just isn’t the same anymore,” I grumbled. “Where’s a landline when you need one?”
“Mall’s coming up next stop,” Hugh called, and I opened my eyes just as we rounded the corner to Rosetown.
“Come on, boys.” I roused them from their seats where they were playing a gruesome-looking game of thumb wars. “Surprise!”
“The mall!” They both yelled.
We approached the front as Hugh cruised to a stop and shuttered the door open. “What do you say to the nice bus driver?”
“Thank you,” they both said with big smiles and waves, then Bam Bam took a full flying leap from the top step, letting out a Xena-like war cry. He landed on the pavement in a crouch like a little superhero.
I grinned sheepishly at Hugh. “My little monsters can be sweet when they wanna be.”
He nodded at me, his smile gentle. “You should be proud. Take good care, now.”
“Yes, sir.” I gave him a smile in return and a mock salute as I carefully stepped off the bus. We waved as he pulled off and he waved back.
“The maaaaaallllll!” The boys yelled, running full speed ahead.
“Stop at the door!” I yelled behind them. “Stay where I can see you!”
The mall was free, and we’d be indoors. For this moment, it ticked all the important boxes. I’d let the boys run around while I sat down and figured out my next move. Little did I know, when I set foot in that mall, how my life was about to change.
Fancy Love by Ariella Zoelle
Callum O’Rourke
I attempted to apologize for my rudeness, but I couldn’t make a sound as I got lost in the ocean of his eyes. They were an icy blue, but full of a fire that beckoned for me to come closer. The intense connection from before returned in a rush, making it harder to breathe. How was it possible that even his long eyelashes were captivating?
“You must be Callum.”
The deep timbre of his voice saying my name made heat pool in my belly, while it raised chills on my skin. Too stunned to reply, I nodded in response.
He held out his free hand. “I’m Rune. Nice to meet you.”
My reflexes reacted before my brain did, so I reached out to him. The instant our palms touched, my arousal sparked into a roaring blaze that made me inhale in surprise. In doing so, I smelled his cologne. It was dark and inviting, spiced with a hint of something unknown that had me biting my lower lip to hold in a moan. Fuck me.
It became even more difficult to restrain myself when his long, slender fingers wrapped around me as we shook hands. His touch was electric, making every nerve inside me come to life. An image flashed in my mind of him caressing my naked body, shocking me with the graphic thought of us entwined in a sensual embrace as we fucked. The fires of desire raged in me like never before, scaring me with how intensely I experienced the pull of instant attraction to him.
My voice sounded as if it belonged to somebody else as I replied, “The pleasure’s mine.”
His knowing smirk caused my heart to stutter in my chest as I struggled against my hormones that had never gone so haywire over someone before. I mourned the loss of contact when he pulled away to sit down across from me. The experience disoriented me. What the hell just happened?
Emboldened by my lust, my first response had been full of a confident innuendo that was completely foreign to me. With the slight distance between us, I was back to stumbling over what to say next. “Um, hi? Hello. Hi.”
His amused smile at my sudden turn into awkwardness melted me into a quivering puddle. “Hi.”
The single-syllable word sent shivers racing down my spine. What was it about this man that every little thing he did was sexual? Especially how he slid his fingers through the hole of his mug grip, giving me ideas I wasn’t equipped to handle. Christ Almighty, save me from myself. I’m not going to make it.
Clover Kisses for the Omega by Lacey Daize
Chapter 1 - Sean
~Beginning of December~
My stomach roiled, and it was probably only the lack of anything in it that kept me from vomiting into the doctor’s trash can.
I’d been sick off and on for the better part of a week, ever since we’d returned from the Thanksgiving holiday. I figured I’d just ate something bad, and it needed to work its way out of my system.
Unfortunately, finals were the next week, and I didn’t have the luxury of waiting to kick it naturally. I needed to study if I was going to pass all my exams, and running to the bathroom to vomit every time the nausea hit wasn’t conducive to good study habits.
“Good afternoon Mr. Murphy,” the doctor said as he strolled into the exam room of the campus clinic, eyes on my file. “What brings you in today? Nausea?”
I nodded. “Yes doctor. I’ve been feeling sick for about a week.”
He scanned my chart again. “Well, it looks like your vitals are good. Blood pressure, pulse, O-two and temperature are all ok.”
“I think it’s food poisoning. I’ve had nausea and vomiting.”
The doctor frowned. “For a week?”
I nodded.
“Any other symptoms?”
“I’ve been tired, but I think it’s just my body trying to work through this thing.”
The doctor was silent for a moment, going over the chart again before looking at me. “I’m going to have a nurse draw a blood sample to test for a couple things.”
“Umm… ok?”
He cast a smile at me, but for some reason I wasn’t reassured. “She’ll be in shortly. We do our own testing with student assistants, so we’ll have results quickly.”
I nodded. “Should I come back?”
“No, you can wait here.”
“Ok.”
The doctor tried smiling at me again, but it only served to further convince me that something was bothering him.
He left the room, and a female omega nurse came in a few minutes later. I turned my head as she took a blood sample, and noticed the same unease that the doctor displayed.
My thoughts went wild once I was alone in the room. Was there something contagious going around campus? Did I have signs of something more serious than a serving of some bad leftovers?
The questions ran through my head. Luckily I was spared from them continuing for too long by the reappearance of the doctor.
Unfortunately, his expression left me worried.
“Mr. Murphy, when was your last heat?”
I blinked. “They’re not very regular for me, but…” I thought about it. “Beginning of October?”
“You’re sure?”
I bit my lip, then nodded. “It was before midterms. I remember being frustrated because I needed to study.”
The doctor made a note. “And when was the last time you had intercourse?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t.”
The doctor scowled. “You’ve never…?” He left the question unfinished.
“No.” I raised my hands slightly. “My family is a bit conservative and have dissuaded sex before mating, but I just haven’t met an alpha I was willing to go that far with yet.”
The doctor licked his lips and took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to say this Mr. Murphy… but… you’re pregnant.”
I stared for a moment. “That’s impossible.”
He shook his head. “The hormone levels in your blood test are conclusive. You’re just about a month along.”
“No. I’ve never…”
“Has there been any time in the past month or so that you can’t remember, or may have been incapacitated?”
“Not that I…” I paused. “There was a party… a few days after Halloween. I didn’t mean to be drinking, but I must have been handed something. The night is a bit fuzzy, but I woke up in my own room.”
The doctor pulled the stool around and sank onto it. “Mr. Murphy… have you ever heard of a berry party?”
I shook my head.
He sighed. “It’s when… well… Sometimes they’re planned and consensual, but it seems you’re a victim of the other kind. A group of alphas targets several known virgin omegas, spike their drinks at a party, then… pop the berry.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “You mean I was…?” Anger, anguish, disgust, and more emotions than I could name combined and curled through me.
He nodded. “If you’re being honest, and have never had consensual sex, then…”
I curled around myself. I’d been violated, and the baby now growing inside me was the result.
“What do I do now?” I whimpered.
The doctor reached out and rested his hand on my knee. “You have options if you decide that you can’t raise the baby. We have counselors who can help you decide if adoption or termination are a better choice for you.”
I bit my lip, and moved my hand to press on my stomach. I hated how it happened, but I already knew I could never hate my baby. I shook my head.
“I’m still going to recommend a counselor to help you deal with the trauma, and you don’t have to decide right now. Ok?”
I nodded, numb.
“Mr. Murphy?”
I looked at the doctor.
“I can’t give you details, confidentiality laws, but I can tell you that you’re not the only victim. I’ve personally seen other omegas who were likely at the same party.”
My heart dropped. “Pregnant?”
His silence was enough of an answer.
Suddenly anger was my prevailing emotion. “When is the soonest that you can determine paternity?”
The doctor looked startled, then nodded in approval. “That’s what I like to hear. We can schedule a test for that in the next few weeks. It’s not as good as after birth, but these circumstances warrant it.”
“Good. I’ll be testing for paternity then.”
“May I give you some non-medical advice?”
I blinked. “Ok.”
“Don’t talk to the school administration. Their track record isn’t going to help. If you’re fighting, go right to the cops.”
I nodded. I owed it to my baby to prove that their papa was an omega willing to fight for what's right.
Waiting for Ru by Barbara Elsborg
1
RU STEPPED OUT of the terminal building at Dublin airport and froze. For twelve years, he’d carried the weight of grief and despair on his shoulders and as he’d sailed away from Ireland three weeks ago, he’d been able to throw that weight off. Now, it had slammed back.
He rocked forward as someone banged into him, and a suitcase hit his legs before he managed to make his feet move. Edging away from the doors, he found a place to stand where he wasn’t in the way while he calmed down. Exhilaration over his first ever time on a plane hadn’t lasted long. He hadn’t wanted to come back here, but he’d promised Cookie and Joni and the others that he would.
Promises were things that needed to be kept. His brother had told him that when they were boys. Ru knew the horses wouldn’t have understood his promise, but that didn’t matter. He’d told them he’d be back, so he was back. Ru had arranged for them to be taken care of while he was away, but they’d been his responsibility for so many years that he couldn’t just walk out of their lives without ensuring their future happiness.
Not that he’d actually be able to do that. Ensuring future happiness wasn’t within anyone’s power. No one knew what the future held, but he’d do his best to make sure the horses had the chance of a good life ahead of them. It was hard to get his head around the idea that happiness for himself might lie within his grasp too, but first he had to do the other thing he’d come here for and speak to the Garda, the Irish police. Not something he was looking forward to.
Ru had checked how to catch the bus to Wicklow, but for the time being, he still couldn’t move, skewered in place by his backpack and leaden feet, but maybe more accurately by his heavy heart. His pulse was still racing. There was nothing here to hurt him, not anymore. Breathe! He clenched his fists inside the pockets of his jacket. I’m safe. He repeated the words several times. He was safe. He had a ticket back to the UK in his rucksack. His aunt and uncle couldn’t touch him. Though they still had the capacity to hurt him with their words, if he let them.
If he let them. That was the difference. Ru had the power now. He was free and they were not. Twelve years spent being what they wanted him to be and not who he was. He still struggled to get his head around the lies he’d been told. He’d dyed his hair a lighter colour in the hope that making himself look physically different would make him feel different inside, though he wasn’t sure it had worked. He was still startled when he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
But what he really wanted was that no one would recognise him. He’d been on the front page of The Herald and The Irish Times, as well as English newspapers, though now he was yesterday’s news. Well, as far as the general public were concerned, but not the Irish police, and in a couple of hours, he was going to be reliving what had happened. He wanted to believe it would be for the last time, but suspected that was unlikely.
His life might be his own again, but it wasn’t the life he should have had and it was going to be a struggle to turn it into the life he wanted. Do I even know for sure what I want? His heart fluttered. He’d sounded confident when he’d told his brother that he wanted to be an equine vet, but even contemplating the chances of that overwhelmed him. Ru moved so swiftly between certainty and indecision, between confidence and insecurity that he never felt balanced, never felt comfortable.
Quite an irony that after he’d been deprived of his freedom, and of everything and everyone he held dear, apart from Bela, his crow, he’d eventually settled into an acceptance of the way things were. This is the life I have. He’d woken up to it and gone to sleep to it for twelve long years. He hadn’t known the extent of the fantasy he’d been dragged into until a short time ago.
There was so much to learn about the world he’d not been allowed to be part of. He’d not watched television, never been to a village or town for the whole of the time he’d been in Ireland, not until after his uncle had to go to hospital. Ru had thought he was lucky to never have needed a dentist or a doctor. Now he thought he’d been unlucky, because things might have unravelled sooner if he’d been ill. Though maybe his aunt and uncle would have let him die rather than risk the truth coming out.
Ru’s life had been the farm, the wild land around it, Bela and the horses. It hadn’t been enough, but he’d made it enough. Though now he regretted not trying harder to leave when he was older. He didn’t fully understand why he hadn’t. Anxiety about his aunt, the horses, a sense of duty? Two of those had been lost the moment he learned the truth.
But now life was different. He finally had a phone. It held five numbers. The most important one was his brother’s, then that of his brother’s boyfriend. Ink and Tay were his family now and though Ink had wanted to come with him to Ireland, he had no passport and really, this was a trip Ru needed to make on his own. Ru’s British passport had been fast-tracked and maybe Ink could have got one that way too, but Ink had understood Ru’s need for independence.
The third number was Vicki’s, the reporter from the English newspaper who’d helped him find his brother, but Ru had done enough talking to the press. He’d been told he shouldn’t have spoken to the press at all, that he’d jeopardised his chances of justice for what had happened and that had worried him until Vicki reassured him that they’d been careful not to overstep the law.
His father’s number was on his phone too, but Ru hadn’t yet decided how he felt about his parents. Maybe that wasn’t true. He knew; he just hadn’t come to terms with his feelings, how love could change to hate so fast. But emotions were difficult things. Ru couldn’t trust them yet. In some ways he was a child inside a man’s body. He shouldn’t be clinging to Bela in the way he was still doing, but she meant so much to him. Had it not been that it was too far to take Bela north to stay with Ink, there was no way Ru would have left her with his father. Bela could look after herself but Ru still worried about her. In a way, she’d been as trapped as him.
His parents had both cried when he’d walked into their house a few weeks ago. The first time they’d seen each other in twelve years. Ru hadn’t shed a tear. He’d done his best to show no emotion at all because the feelings that boiled inside him were anger, resentment, disappointment, desperation and a mixed-up love that he didn’t want to feel. His parents might not have died twelve years ago as he’d been told, but they were not what he needed now. He wasn’t a little boy anymore. He couldn’t be the son they wanted.
The last number in his phone belonged to the Irish policeman in Wicklow who was in charge of the investigation into Ru’s kidnapping. Ru hadn’t yet met him. That was where he was going, once he could move.
He took out his phone.
“Hi, Ru!”
Ru smiled when he heard his brother’s voice. “Hi, Ink. I’m here. It feels a bit strange to be back.”
It still felt odd to call him Ink when to Ru, he’d been Killian, the brother he’d adored, the brother he’d thought was dead.
“Are you okay?” Ink asked.
“I’m grand.” The truth was no, but Ru wouldn’t admit that. Ink had enough to deal with. Ru never wanted to be a worry to his brother.
“How was the plane?”
“Exciting. A bit scary.”
“I wish you’d let me go with you. I could have had a passport rushed through.”
“I’m not going to be here long. I just need to speak to the Garda, then sort out the horses.” Then what? Ru struggled to think further than a day ahead.
“If you need help, call me. Anytime.”
“I will.” I won’t.
“Keep in touch, okay? I love you.”
Ru’s throat seized up. “I love you too.”
He pushed his phone back in his pocket. It had shocked Ru how hard he’d found it to tell Ink that he loved him. He’d been made to say it to his uncle and aunt when he’d been younger and the words had come to mean nothing to him.
So when are you going to get moving?
Sometimes Ru thought the voice in his head wasn’t really his, but an actual person standing next to him. The invisible friend who’d come and gone since he’d lost his brother.
How are you solving anything by standing here?
Ru took a deep breath and began walking.
Fifteen minutes later he was on the bus to Wicklow. When he’d last been in Ireland, he’d driven his uncle’s Land Rover from the farm to Dublin, with no driving licence or insurance. Though he’d driven machinery on the farm, he’d had to steady his nerves before he could risk pulling onto a main road.
A chance sighting of a magazine in Dublin had told him his brother, who Ru had believed dead, was still alive and Ru’s heart had somersaulted in his chest, over and over and over. He still remembered that feeling of intense joy, a sensation so strong that the world had stopped for a moment and his heart had felt as if it were going to explode. Immediately followed by such a profound horror when he read that Ink had spent so long in prison. Two extremes of emotion that had left him helpless for a while.
After Ru had contacted the magazine’s publisher, his world had lurched onto another path. One he’d been dragged along by Vicki, and it was a path he now almost regretted taking. But what was done, was done. Once he’d sorted out a passport—pretending to be his cousin, the person he’d denied he was for the last twelve years, and armed with a ticket booked for him by Vicki, he’d dumped the Land Rover in the long stay car park at Dublin airport. When he reached Liverpool, he’d been met by her, and he’d told the English police everything. At least that had been the right thing to do, but it hadn’t made the Garda very happy. They should have been told first.
Ru still had no driving licence, so until he did, he was reliant on public transport or cabs. Until he had a job, he had to be careful about how much he spent. Most of the money he had, wasn’t even his. He’d searched the farm before he left and found just over seven thousand euros hidden in various places. The Sunday Times had paid him three thousand pounds for his story and though he didn’t like carrying all his money around with him, he had brought a chunk of it with him. The rest was hidden at his parents’.
Planning for the future seemed impossible until he was sure his past was behind him. Even so, he was scared that his dream of being an equine vet would remain a dream. When he was being sensible, he knew it wasn’t going to happen. He’d not been to school since he was eight. His aunt had taught him basic maths and English, and books had been ordered for him to teach himself. Boredom had been an effective motivator. He’d learned about animals from his uncle, particularly horses, but on paper he was uneducated. He had no qualifications, insufficient money to support himself for long and no home. He didn’t want to live with his parents. Ink was due compensation for wrongful imprisonment and had offered to help him, but Ru wanted to stand on his own two feet, shaky as they were.
It’s not wrong to ask for help.
His head was in such a mess, he could barely think straight.
Ask for help.
Ru smiled. He hadn’t even wanted to ask the bus driver where he needed to get off. He wasn’t good at talking to people. Casual chatter was beyond him, though he was trying. He waited until the last stop which turned out to be Wicklow Gaol, now a tourist attraction. Google Maps guided him to the Garda station.
It was just gone three in the afternoon when Ru entered the building. He went to the front desk and waited for the officer to look up.
“I’m Ruari Byrne. I’m here to see Sergeant Brendan Walsh.”
A few moments later, he found himself shaking hands with a tall, pencil-thin guy with wavy ginger hair. He led Ru to an interview room.
“Take a seat. The water’s for you.” Walsh nodded to a bottle on the table.
“Thank you.” Ru put his backpack on the floor and sat on the hard plastic chair.
“I’ve read the report you made to the police in Liverpool. And the article in the English newspaper. I’m sorry you had such a bad time of it.”
Ru nodded. Not as bad as anything Ink had gone through.
“I’m going to have to ask you to go over it all again. I’ll record what we’re saying. Okay?”
“Yes.”
Ru began on the day he’d waited for his brother outside the school gates. Walsh stopped him a few times to ask questions but mostly, he let Ru tell the story. Although Ru didn’t like going over everything that had happened, each time he did, it grew easier, as though he was becoming detached from past events, or was detaching himself. He hoped that was a good thing.
“You could have spoken to the Garda when you reached Dublin,” Walsh said. “You should have. Really, you should have spoken to the paramedics that came for your uncle.”
There was the criticism Ru had expected.
“I’m not sure I was thinking straight.” Which wasn’t entirely true. He’d been in shock when his aunt and uncle had been taken away, and once he’d reached Dublin and read that magazine, he’d had a single thought in his head, a determination to get to his brother. “If I’d not seen the magazine and that headline, Lost Boys, I probably would have come to you.” Which was true. “Though I was afraid I wouldn’t be believed. All I could think about was getting away from my aunt and uncle, going to England and finding my brother.”
“How did you even know you needed a passport?”
Ru tried not to bristle. “I might be uneducated, but I’m not stupid. They’d brought me into the country on my cousin’s, but it had long expired. I knew I needed a passport to leave so I used my cousin’s birth certificate to get one. That was a crime, I know, me doing that.”
“I don’t think we need to worry about that. The English police sent the birth certificate and passport back to us. Did your aunt and uncle ever talk about Eagan, the son who died?”
“To them I was Eagan. I had to call them màthair and athair. Aunt Nessa thought I really was her son. When I argued or tried to run away, she said I was bad, that I was ungrateful and… She believed I was Eagan, but my uncle pretended. He’d started the lie and she bought into it and I thought he was as crazy as her until… I learnt that it was easier to play the game than fight. So I kept my thoughts to myself. I didn’t talk much to them. I did my work, and made the horses my friends along with Bela, my crow, and I…existed. I had a world of my own that I escaped into. I drew picture books and… They got burnt one day when my uncle was mad with me. Then he had the accident on his quad bike, I…” He gave a heavy sigh.
“I was an immature nineteen-year-old. I’m only just twenty, hardly any more mature. They wanted me to be a child forever, though one who did a lot of work on the farm, but they couldn’t stop me growing up. There was a restlessness inside me that had me pushing at boundaries. I wanted to see the world and they weren’t going to let me do that.
“My uncle never fully trusted me. I begged to go with him when he went to horse fairs and he wouldn’t let me. I wasn’t even allowed to go to the supermarket. We argued more and more. If it hadn’t been for the horses, I’d have gone sooner. But I had no money, nowhere to go, no family as far as I knew. No experience of life. No real knowledge of the world.
“My uncle’s accident was the turning point. If that hadn’t happened, if he hadn’t finally told me the truth… Once my eyes were open, I acted.” Maybe he’d done the wrong thing but what was the point of fretting about that now? “How are my aunt and uncle?” Not that he cared, not after what they’d done, but…
“Nessa Byrne is in a secure psychiatric facility. She’s deteriorated since your uncle’s accident. She thinks you’re a young boy of eight. She asks for you, worries about you, says you banged your head and she talks about you being missing and demands someone find you. At other times, she thinks you’re with her, but that you’re both at the farm and she’s cooking dinner.”
Ru shuddered.
“Were they physically abusive?”
“A few slaps and smacks. My uncle clouted me when I didn’t do something fast enough. They controlled everything about my life, particularly at first. I had to behave in the way they said or I was locked in my room. The window was nailed shut. I was given no food. No access to Bela, or the horses. I tried to run away with Bela, sometimes on foot, a couple of times on a horse, but they always found me, brought me back and I was punished.
“It’s hard now to believe I did enough to try and get away, but when they threatened Bela, I was scared to risk it. If I ever heard my uncle fire his gun when I was locked in my room or tied up in the barn, I used to cry. Bela was my saviour and my downfall.”
“Where is she now?”
“In England with my parents.”
“How’s your relationship with them?”
“Is that relevant?”
Walsh shrugged. “I just wondered.”
“It’s not good. I don’t know if I want to make it better. They hurt my brother. He can’t forgive them. Why should I? I know the grudge between my father and my uncle is at the heart of all this. Enough that my father was happy to let his brother walk out of his life, little knowing my uncle had taken me with him. I think it’s part of the way Traveller men operate. They fight a lot and whatever happened with my father and uncle went a step further than that.”
“Did your aunt and uncle never have visitors? Someone you could appeal to for help?”
“The farm is isolated. No one passed by accident. If anyone did come, I was whisked away. If they knew someone was coming, to deliver fuel or look at the horses, I was gagged and tied up in the cellar or in the barn. My uncle said he’d kill Bela if I made a sound. So I didn’t make a sound. Even if she wasn’t around, I couldn’t take the risk of him shooting her when she came back. The only person I ever saw was Malone, who owns the farm nearest to them, though it’s not that near. I was eventually allowed to meet him as their son, Eagan. But never on my own. The threat to Bela was always there. And really, what did I have to complain about? As far as I knew, my family was dead, and they were my family now.”
“Your Uncle Felan is still in hospital in Dublin. There’s been some complications, though he’s improving again now. He’s telling a very different story to yours.”
Ru tensed. “Go way outta that. What’s he saying?”
“That your parents abused you, that you begged him to take you to Ireland, that you caused your uncle’s accident by interfering with the quad bike because he burned some indecent images you’d drawn, that you wanted money from him and he refused.”
Ru gaped at him. It had never occurred to him that his uncle would lie. After the biggest lie Ru had been told, he should have expected this.
“He says you stole ten thousand euros. He told his lawyer where it was hidden at the farm, but there was no sign of it.”
Ru shivered. He opened his mouth and nothing came out, not even air.
“He claims it was you who wanted to be called Eagan because you knew it made your aunt happy. He acknowledges she’s mentally ill, but claims you made her worse.”
“That’s just…” Ru swallowed hard, his pulse racing.
“Why didn’t you try harder to get away? Not when you were a young boy, but as an older teenager?”
“Worry for the horses. Anxiety about a world I no longer knew. There was no landline. My uncle had a phone but he always kept it with him. Locked. Who was I supposed to call? They’d told me my parents and my brother were dead. I had nowhere to go. You can’t possibly be thinking he’s the one telling the truth. My father misidentified the body as being me when it was Eagan. My uncle needed my father to say the body was mine for his plan to work. He’d changed Eagan into my clothes. Destroyed his son’s face.” Ru gasped. “Is he claiming I did that? An eight-year-old? Why bother with any of that if I’d asked to go with him? It’s too much of a coincidence that Eagan had just died and they never reported it.”
Ru found himself breathing too quickly.
The Garda pushed the bottle of water towards him. “We don’t believe him. We believe you. But things would be easier if he’d just admit what he’d done. I suspect he wants you to let this go.”
“No!” Ru snapped and almost spilled the water he’d just opened. “I can hold a grudge too. Twelve years of my life spent thinking my parents and my brother were dead. Ten years of my brother’s life spent in prison because the English police didn’t do their job properly and because my parents were stupid enough to believe the body that was found was mine and that my brother had killed me. My brother has only just come out of the hole he was in. My uncle has wrecked so many lives. I’m angry with my parents for the mistakes they made. I can’t forgive them for the way they treated my brother. My brother has had to start his life all over again and now I have to do the same. Why should my uncle just get to live his life as if he’d done nothing?” He took a deep breath. He’d rattled that out at high speed and high volume. “Sorry for raising my voice.”
“That’s okay. We’ll be speaking to your uncle now you’ve given us a statement.”
“I’ll testify against him in court, if it comes to that, but I won’t be staying in Ireland for long. I don’t have to stay, do I?”
“I needed to see you and get a statement but no, you don’t need to stay.”
“I have to take care of the horses. I paid Malone to look after them.” He gave a humourless laugh. “Using my uncle’s money. Does he want the rest back? I suppose he does. Fine. It wasn’t the amount he told you, either.”
Ru picked up his backpack. “I’ll give you the money.”
“Just leave it for the time being.”
“No. I don’t want to.” He counted out the Euros and put them on the table. Thank goodness he’d brought enough. “I’m not a thief.”
“No. I can see you’re not. I’ll give you a receipt for this. I should tell you that the farm is up for sale. There’s already been an offer. The horses are being sold tomorrow.”
Ru stared at him in shock. “But… They…” He wanted to cry. “I told them I’d come back for them. I told them… Where are they being sold?”
“Whittaker’s in Wicklow.”
“Thank you.” Ru pushed to his feet.
“Do you have somewhere to stay?”
“I’ll find a guest house. Will Whittaker’s let me see the horses?”
“I’m sure they will.”
Outside the station, Ru released a shaky breath. Why wasn’t anything simple?
What did you think you were going to do with the horses?
He hadn’t thought. Of course they were going to be sold. Ru swallowed the lump in his throat and walked back towards the town. He’d seen a sign for a tourist office on the way to the Garda so he made his way there. It was almost five so he wondered if they’d still be open, but they were. A middle-aged woman sat behind a desk and Ru walked over to her.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for a cheap place to stay for the night. If it’s near Whittaker’s auction house then that would be grand.”
“Whittaker’s is outside of the town. Places around it tend to be busy when there’s an auction on.”
“Anywhere then.” He’d just have to set off early tomorrow.
She made a couple of phone calls and found him a place for fifty euros. It felt like a lot of money, but he didn’t feel he had much choice. It was kind of her to help him. Armed with directions, he set off on foot, though when he passed a supermarket, he went in to buy a pack of sandwiches, a piece of fruit and a bottle of water because he didn’t want to waste money eating out. He should have brought the bottle from the Garda station. Going into a supermarket still made his head spin. All the things for sale he’d never seen before. And so many people. He didn’t cope well with crowds.
The B&B was okay. It was a roof over his head, had its own bathroom, and there was a TV. Ru took off his shoes, plugged in his phone and lay down. He was tired, not physically but emotionally. Sometimes he felt as if he didn’t want to open his eyes ever again, as if he was content to let the world crush him. But he owed it to Ink to keep fighting, to keep going.
He jumped when his phone rang and his heart sank when he looked at the display. His father. Ru didn’t want to speak to him, but it might be about Bela.
“Yes,” Ru said carefully.
“Hi, Ruari. How are things?”
“Grand. Is Bela all right?”
“She comes and goes. She’s taking the food. Have you spoken to the police?”
“Yes. It’s not so straightforward as I thought. Uncle Felan is saying I begged him to take me away because you were abusing me, and that I caused his accident on the quad bike.”
“What? The sleeven…” His father sounded furious.
“The police don’t believe him.”
“Where is he?”
“Still in hospital.”
“Maybe I need to go and see him.”
Why haven’t you?
“Are you coming home today?”
Home? No, he didn’t have a home. “Not yet. I’ll call you when I know.”
“Take care, son.”
Ru ended the call. Once he had Bela back, his father’s calls would be blocked. Maybe one day he’d feel differently.
Though now Ru had a problem because his money had shrunk. He’d already used a chunk of the fee the paper had paid him to buy essentials—the phone, clothes, shoes, toiletries, his ticket to Dublin. He worked out in his head how much was left. Maybe enough to buy one horse, but not two. And he had nowhere to put them, no means to look after them.
He bit his lip. Cookie meant the world to him. She was the bravest, pluckiest, steadiest horse he’d ever known. She understood him. Joni was her best friend. Joni had the brains and the energy. The two were stable mates, devoted to each other, and they needed to stay together. How the feck am I going to manage that?
L.A. Witt and her husband have been exiled from Spain and sent to live in Maine because rhymes are fun. She now divides her time between writing, assuring people she is aware that Maine is cold, wondering where to put her next tattoo, and trying to reason with a surly Maine coon. Rumor has it her arch nemesis, Lauren Gallagher, is also somewhere in the wilds of New England, which is why L.A. is also spending a portion of her time training a team of spec ops lobsters. Authors Ann Gallagher and Lori A. Witt have been asked to assist in lobster training, but they "have books to write" and "need to focus on our careers" and "don't you think this rivalry has gotten a little out of hand?" They're probably just helping Lauren raise her army of squirrels trained to ride moose into battle.
Ava Beringer is a major-league nerd who started off writing fanfiction and fell in love with mpreg and omegaverse. She loves to heat up a slick omega and a knotty alpha. By day she’s a good thirty-something midwestern girl, but she has a dark side. Okay, not really. She’s as bubbly as champagne but she can be pretty darn cheeky when you get her going.
She’s a digital nomad who’s traveled to thirty-five countries and counting. If she’s lucky, a cat will adopt her along the way.
Pick up your FREE SHORT STORIES, hear about her new releases and misadventures here, and tell her about yours! ❤
Ariella Zoelle adores steamy, funny, swoony romances where couples are allowed to just be happy. She writes low angst stories full of heat, humor, and heart. But sometimes she's in the mood for something with a bit more angst and drama. If you are too, check out her A.F. Zoelle books.
Lacey lives in New Mexico with her four critters. She’s a Jill-of-all-trades by day, but loves writing in her spare time. She dabbles in a variety of pairings, but jumped feet-first into the deep end of omegaverse the first time she read it. She loves the play on social expectations and the different ways to express romance.
Barbara Elsborg lives in Kent in the south of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Volcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide.
After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop.
Her books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, and she hopes they are as much fun to read as they are to write.
LA Witt
CHIRP / AUDIOBOOKS / TANTOR
EMAIL : gallagherwitt@gmail.com
Ava Beringer
Ariella Zoelle
The Venetian and the Rum Runner by LA Witt
The Accidental Shamrock by Ava Berringer
Fancy Love by Ariella Zoelle
Waiting for Ru by Barbara Elsborg
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