Ryan Rule: New York Ruthless Book 1

Walking behind Conor and Shane back into that bar where we fucked up so badly yesterday, I still feel guilty. Shane asked us to do a job and we completely let him down, and that was mostly because of me. But even worse than letting him down, Jessie could have been killed. A minute later and things could have been so much worse. And I would never be able to live with myself.

Mikey steps up behind me, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. He knows exactly what I’m thinking.

Shane turns to us as we reach the doors. He speaks to all of us, but for some reason, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s mostly aimed at me. “This place is closed to the public right now. So, anyone who is in here is a target. No shooters unless absolutely necessary. I want this to seem like amateurs were here. Like a bust up between two rival gangs. And no loose ends. Okay?”

“Okay,” I nod, just before Shane opens the doors. The four of us walk inside and bolt the doors behind us. There are at least a dozen men in the place. Most of them sit around two tables that are pushed together in the corner, as though they’re having a meeting. And the others are near the bar.

“Jesus, Shane!” Conor hisses through clenched teeth. “You sure we can’t use our shooters?” he asks, referring to the handguns each of us have tucked into the back of our waistbands.

“Not unless they do. Besides, I thought you three were always up for a fight?”

“But this is one of my favorite shirts,” Conor feigns his protest, but his grin gives him away.

The men in the room start standing up or making their way towards us, and Mikey leans close to Shane’s ear as “You do realize if we beat and, or, stab all of these fuckers to death, it will still look like a professional job though, right?”

Shane shrugs. “Less professional though than if we just shoot them all in the head.”

“Whatever you say,” Mikey laughs as he rocks back on his heels, ready to spring into action. Conor cracks his knuckles and then his neck. He was an undefeated bare-knuckle boxing champion back in Ireland, and he loves any excuse for a good punch-up. It’s why he enjoys working in the club so much.

“Three each? Give or take?” Shane suggests.

“Does the one who kills the most get a prize?” I ask.

“No,” Shane snaps. “Just get to work.”

The four of us split off into the room and within seconds, I no longer have any idea what my brothers are doing because the giant bastard who has been sizing me up since we walked in launches himself at me, barreling into me with such force that he almost knocks me on my ass. I steady myself and push back against him, making him stumble. I am six foot four; I work out hard to keep in shape, and I’m the biggest out of my brothers, but this guy must have at least four inches and eighty pounds on me. And not only that, he can fight too. I hit him with an uppercut just as he throws a right hook that catches me right on my left cheekbone. Both of us stagger backwards but then we’re back at it again. We keep going, landing blow after blow, until he catches me with a knee to my ribs, which completely takes the wind out of me and knocks me flat on my ass.

I lie on the floor, glaring up at him. Since I came to New York at the age of sixteen, the only other person who has ever knocked me on my ass is Conor in a sparring session. My head spins as I look around the room and watch my brothers making easy work of the rest of this misfit’s crew. Shane and Mikey wield a knife each, while Conor is snapping someone’s neck with ease. I have a knife strapped to my calf. I could pull it out now and use it, but this has become personal. I will take this fucker down in a fair fight if it fucking kills me. If he’s only using his fists, then so am I.

Launching myself back up, I throw myself at him like a caged tiger. I don’t know how long we go on fighting but every part of my body starts to hurt. It becomes an all-out brawl. Each of us punching and kicking the other one. Landing blow after blow that seems to do little more than temporarily wind the other. I’m vaguely aware of the room around us growing quieter and soon my three brothers are standing around me, having wiped out at least eleven men between them while I’m still grappling with this huge fucker.

My ribs ache so much it hurts to even breathe. There is blood pouring down my face from a cut above my eye. And now I carry the shame of being the weak link. I was the only one who didn’t pull my weight today. The anger wells up through my chest and I launch myself at him again, finally knocking him to the ground. I dive onto him, straddling his chest while I punch him in the face. Over and over and over. One of his eyes pops out of his socket and blood spatters my face, but I keep going until a pair of arms wrap around my chest.

“Jesus, Liam! He’s dead, kid,” Shane says in my ear. “Come on,” he pulls me backwards until I’m sitting on the floor. Looking, down, I realize I’m covered in blood. My brothers eyes are on me, burning into my skin.

“What the hell are you three looking at?” I snarl.

“Nothing, bro. Come on. Let’s go,” Conor says.

I look up just as Mikey whispers something in Shane’s ear.

“Go wait for us in the car,” Shane says to my brothers. “We’ll be out soon.”

I watch Mikey and Conor walking out of the bar, and I swallow hard. I’ve let them all down again.

Shane crouches down, sitting back on his heels so he can look me in the eye. “He was one tough motherfucker, kid,” he grins at me. “You did good.”

“No, I didn’t,” I shake my head. “Three each it was supposed to be, and I just about handled one.”

Shane looks back at the huge man lying lifeless on the floor. “He’s a fucking giant, Liam. Why do you think we left him for you? He would have used my face as a boot-scraper. Conor might have got the better of him, but I knew you would be the best match for him. Why didn’t you use your knife?”

“I wanted it to be a fair fight,” I shrugged.

Shane smiles, and then he stands up, holding out his hand to me. I take it and allow him to pull me up. “You always insisted on fighting fair. Even when you were a little kid,” he says as he reaches up ruffles my hair, taking me back to all the times he looked out for me or stood up to our father for me. “You did a good job today. I mean that. I know I don’t tell you enough, but I’m proud of you.”

“But, yesterday, I fucked up,” I shake my head.

“We all fuck up sometimes, Liam,” he wraps an arm around my neck. “No matter what you do, no matter how many mistakes you make, you will never disappoint me. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” I blink at him as I wipe the blood dripping into my eye.

“Good. Now, don’t tell your brothers this, but you’re my favorite,” he pulls me closer, until he almost has me in a headlock, and kisses the top of my head.

I laugh because I know that’s not true. He doesn’t have favorites. I wish I could tell him how much I admire and respect him. How he is more like a father than a brother to me. But, I can’t find the words.

“Come on. We need to go to the club and get cleaned up before we go home, because Jessie will have you all wrapped in cotton wool if she sees the state of us all.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a little Jessie TLC,” I smirk at him.

“I bet you wouldn’t,” he grins back before we walk out of the bar, leaving the room full of dead bodies behind us.