Bitter King, page 1
part #2 of The O'Dea Crime Family Series
Bitter King
O’Dea Crime Family #2
Emily Sharp
Elizabeth Knox
Contents
The O’Dea Family
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Coming Soon
Available Now
Bitter King
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.
© 2021 Emily Sharp & Elizabeth Knox. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
Published by Knox Publishing, LLC
Cover Design: Clarise Tan, CT Cover Creations
Editing: Alecia Rivers Goodman, Knox Publishing
Proofreading: Marybeth Higgins, Knox Publishing
Formatting: E.C. Land, Knox Publishing
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Published in the United States of America
Created with Vellum
The O’Dea Family
Colin – 46
Cian – 28
Siobhan – 26
Sean – 25
McKenna – 25
Ronan – 24
Niall – 23
Nessa – 22
Declan – 18
Prologue
Artem
Holding a short, flimsy straw between my fingers, I scowl down at the bright pink object and tap my foot impatiently. Bite marks squash one end of the thin plastic, and I lick my teeth before sticking the straw between them. Glancing at my watch, its large, ornate face glows luminescent green in the shadows that drape around me. Chewing on the end of the straw, I sniff harshly as the phantom stench of tobacco tantalizes my nostrils.
“He’s late,” My irritable grumble wafts away on the frigid breeze of spring, and I flip up the hood of my jacket sharply. Is it the freezing cold in the middle of fucking April that pisses me off so much? Is it because I quit smoking cigarettes last summer? Maybe this dark cloud hanging over me stays simply because I don’t have an outlet for my frustrations. Man, I really need to get laid. Business has been wicked lately.
Inhaling sharply, the cold stings my throat and deep into my nostrils. I stroke my beard with the same impatience that afflicts my leg. Checking my watch again, I grind the straw between my teeth as the seconds tick by arduously slow. Faintly under the whistling wind, the sound of a secretive, one-sided conversation tickles my ears, and I tear my eyes off my watch. Sauntering down the concrete steps leading up to the street, Simon freezes when he sees me, nearly missing the landing and stumbling forward. He lands on his face with a groan, slapping his palms against the dirty, stained concrete to push himself up. Fuck, what an idiot.
“You’re as smooth as always, Simon. We have a meeting, remember?” Blood dribbles from Simon’s nose as he looks up at me, my question soft on the harsh wind. Standing up unsteadily, he swipes his hands down his jeans and wipes the blood from his mouth and chin. I let him have time despite my rising temper. Watching him be so damn cool and collected even knowing he’d fucked me—or tried to. Oh, if only he knew what is coming so I could gouge that ugly, haughty glint from his eyes.
“I don’t remember no meeting.” Hacking a glob of red-tinged snot against the wall, Simon casts me a cautious look as he pulls out his keys. He shivers from the cold that’s suddenly gripped the entire northeast, and I suck my teeth and roll my eyes exaggeratedly.
“Of course you don’t, Simon,” Freezing at my low, threatening tone, Simon looks over at me as realization flashes in his clouded gaze. I knock on the thick, metal door, and it swings violently inward dragging him with it. The rusty orange barrier creaks shrilly, masking the muffled yelp and shuffling just inside. Glancing up the stairs, I step through the barrier to shut out the cold and lean against it. “So, were you ever gonna tell me you were selling Krokodil instead of meth?”
“N-no! I ain’t do nothin’ like that!” Simon spits, his eyes boggling when he realizes ten seconds too late that he’s being held down. Struggling weakly, panic drains what little blood he has in his head, and I pull my gun out from the small of my back to crouch down. He whimpers, spittle flying from his mouth into his scraggly beard as he attempts to deny what I know to be true.
“See, this shit—I don’t like this shit. You know how many suppliers of Krokodil are in New York City?” I ask, and Simon gulps harshly and shakes his head. He tries so hard to think about my question that he stops struggling against my men, and I gnaw on my plastic straw absently. “Zero, and you decided to make a trail leading right back to me.”
Swishing my gun between us, I scoff as his eyes glaze over in thought before I stand up. Gesturing with a flick of my wrist, I pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand as my guy hauls Simon up and into a rickety chair. He doesn’t own much, but most meth addicts don’t own anything other than their illness.
“Who the fuck smokes meth and says to themselves ‘oh, it’ll be fine, no way I’ll get addicted!’ anyway?” My ludicrous tone only earns me a dumb, drooly groan, and I cock my gun to aim steadily at Simon’s foot. The tiny crawl space rattles with the sound of a gunshot, but Simon barely acknowledges the fact that his foot’s hanging off his leg by a few scraps of skin. He’s too fucked up. God, what was I thinking to ever hire a man like him? Agitation ripples down my cheek and neck, and I rub my jaw, then down my beard with a clammy, tingling palm. “Fucking junkies, man. He must’ve just shot up.”
“Uh, Boss man . . . is his foot supposed to stink that way?” Grimacing as I sniff the air, I cover my mouth and nose with the sleeve of my jacket as my guy leans down slightly over Simon. “Smells like garlic, sorta.”
“It’s red phosphorous, used to make Krokodil. Watch a fucking documentary once in a while,” Lifting my gun even with Simon’s head, I wait until my man moves out of the way to pull the trigger. Hissing as the gun bites my hand, I hold my thumb to my mouth and glance over Simon’s body. “There’s a couple online. Take a day if you gotta.”
“Says the guy who got bit,” Wagging my stinging hand as I glare hotly at him, I curse lowly as he holds up his hands in surrender. “You’re gonna make me clean this up, aren’t you?”
“Have fun,” Stepping out into the frigid air, I stomp my feet as the cold slithers into my boots. Sucking my bloodied hand on my way up the stairs, I pull out a bunch of short cut straws from my pocket. I loosen the rubber band around them to pick out a green straw, sticking it into my mouth. “Probably need a hazmat team for that shit. Krokodil . . . Jesus Christ.”
I turn my eyes to the sky, laden with thick, white clouds, and scowl at the notion of snow in early April. The streets of New York City bustle around me with unsuspecting citizens, and I pause at an intersection to scan the crossroads thoughtfully. Chewing on my straw, I tug my beard as I wait for the light to change.
Making my way through inner Manhattan, I ruffle my hair while searching for something to do. For one of the greatest cities in the world, this place is pretty damn boring to live in. I’ve had much more fun on the streets of Amsterdam, or hell, my time in Belize.
I pull my cell from my pocket to hop around a Google Map of the city, scrolling through ‘nearby activities I might like.’ But it’s all the same shit I always see. Clubs, bars, things that require friends to actually have a good time. I’ve never been that type of man, the one who keeps a lot of company. Friends are a joke in this life. I have acquaintances, or at least, drunk people who could be friendly toward me for a few hours. I bluster a massive sigh on my way down the sidewalk, the sounds of the nightlife far more exciting than the life itself. I should head to Code Red. I could usually find an easy, pretty piece there.
Purpose lengthens my strides as I slip my phone back into my jacket pocket. Business is over for the day. “What’s so wrong with having a drink and dancing with a hot, little number?” I mumble to myself.
I continue walking forward and an image of my mom flashes behind my eyes when I blink. Her phantom swirls in the frozen breath knocked out of me before disappearing suddenly. So quickly, I barely saw it—or did I imagine it? Shaking my head, I inhale a stabbing, cold breath and rub my face roughly.
My mom would beat me senseless if she heard me say that. My mouth dries at my own mumble, and longing lodges in my throat. She used to yell, er, that’s not the right word. She used to scream until the whole village came to see what I’d done wrong. There were never a lack of reasons. The Soviets confiscated our grain, and we needed more, but I didn’t want to trudge my scrawny ass six kilometers to the next town. The sheep had escaped, and it was always my fault even though I wasn’t home. Darina didn’t do her chores either.
Being harsh on your kids could work out, I guess. I round a corner and gulp down the cotton clogging my throat. My thoughts consume me as I walk on autopilot, and I wince as a bright red, neon sign glares down at me. Covering my eyes with my hand, I spit out my chewed straw onto the pavement to grind it under my heel.
A line of people wraps around the building as colorful strobe lights flicker against the high windows. Wandering down the alleyway, I pull my straws out of my pocket to pluck out a purple one and tuck it between my lips. The back door to the club is guarded, and beady, narrowed eyes watch me as I reach the steps up to the loading bay. Prime real estate, this place; not even the employees could park anywhere. I eyeball the big, bold ‘No Parking’ sign hanging off the bay dock.
“Artem.” He says gruffly, grabbing the door handle to shuffle to the side and let me through. The grates rattle underfoot as I duck into the building, and the stench of sweat, alcohol, and piss instantly stings my nostrils. Music pumps up the concrete walls, and my tail bone tingles as I jostle down the short stairwell to the main floor. Shouldering through a metal door, I wince at the bright lights and palpable waves of music that slam into me.
“Let’s go lay-days-s-s!” The DJ’s voice irritates my ears as the club pauses briefly, collectively, and the song changes before powerful surges of excited cries rock the walls and floor. Skirting the dance floor toward the bar, I scan the bodies grinding together in a dense throng. Lights stream and swirl to make one person indistinguishable from another. I lean against the bar to flag down the bartender with a wave.
“A vodka, straight.” I shout above the pounding music, handing the bartender a twenty-dollar bill, and he nods mutely before reaching under the bar. Before I can reach out, a slender, feminine hand snatches my vodka from right in front of me, and I blink hard in astonishment. Glancing over at the woman I hadn’t noticed sidle up to me, I grind my straw between my molars in irritation. She watches me with twinkling eyes, daring me, as she lifts my drink to her lips.
The pulsing beat suddenly gives way to the blood drumming in my ears, and I suck in a sharp breath as I grab her wrist. Her skin jumps against my palm, full lips parting in amusement as I force the clear glass from her hand. My gaze doesn’t waver from hers, or hers from mine, and desire curls deep in my gut at her confidence.
Emptying my vodka about halfway, I offer the rest to her and shake the glass. Pleasant surprise tilts her lips, and I lean my arm on the bar to watch her bring that sexy mouth to the glass. My cheek twitches when her tongue sneaks out to swirl around the lip, but she’s quick to jolt and cover her mouth hastily. Her choking giggles shoot straight to my cock, and I lean over to pull back her hair and whisper in her ear.
“Since you stole my drink, the least you can do is dance with me.” Bright brown eyes shimmer merrily when they meet mine, and she gingerly dabs her eyelashes, very careful of her makeup.
“That’s what I get for trying to be sexy.” Making her face long, she sniffles harshly before grabbing my hand to drag me away from the bar. I laugh at how fucking weird an opener she had tried, but she gets an A-plus for trying. Following her to the edge of the dance floor, excitement tightens my legs, and goosebumps blanket my body as I scan her from top to bottom. Her tight, black dress and matching high heels make her legs never ending, and I grip her fleshy hips to drag her ass to me.
“You are sexy. I’ve never let a woman get away with that before, though. If anyone would’ve tried, I’d tell them to fuck off,” Long arms sling around my neck as I grope her bouncy, barely restrained tits outside her dress. Whispering in her ear, I groan softly when her ass flexes against the bulge in my jeans before we swish side to side leisurely. “What’s your name? I’m Artem.”
“McKenna,” Tilting her head to shout her name in my ear, she grabs great fistfuls of my jacket as her lips brush my cheek tauntingly. “I’d ask if you wanted to buy me a drink, but you already did! Do you moisturize your beard? It’s so soft!”
“What kinda question is that?” Grinding together, I chuckle almost uncomfortably at her question. McKenna . . . sure is a strange one. Caressing down her sides, I reach between her legs to push up the thin fabric of her dress. I smirk and have a devious thought drift through my mind. “You wanna find out?”
“Oof, how do I pass that up?” McKenna grabs my cock through my pants to squeeze and rub, and I pant viciously as desire replaces the blood in my veins. Her confidence alone is gonna make me bust, and I duck into her neck to slop kisses and nibbles. Squeezing her to me, I scratch her inner thigh with short nails as she grinds her ass unapologetically against my crotch. “Oh, fuck—”
“Would it help if I said I had a bad day at work?” Flopping her head back to groan loud and sultry in my ear, McKenna nods unstably. Her fingers slip on the fastenings of my pants, and I grab her hand as carnal need sends shivers down my spine. Heading for the bathrooms, pleasant surprise curdles my blood at how short the line is. Dragging McKenna into the nearly empty men’s bathroom, I kick the door shut while an almost panicked heat floods my abdomen.
Giggling sexily and a little hysterically, McKenna pinches the ends of my beard in her hot fingers to draw me in. She’s even sexier in regular light, and I lick my lips heavily as I grab her hips to hoist her onto the sink. Hunger twists my stomach, and my mouth dries from the fire that engulfs me. Capturing her lips eagerly, a growl lodges in my throat as I fumble blindly with my jeans and back pocket. Long, muscular legs cling to my hips, and McKenna grinds shamelessly against me as she locks her arms around my neck.
“Artem, fuck—” Panting my name so wonderfully, McKenna reaches between us to hike up her dress and finger herself. My pants drop to my knees, and I fish for a condom from my pocket. I shove my tongue into her mouth to swallow her harsh, hot breaths. Her dainty knuckles tease my cock as I struggle to rip open the condom. I grab her hand to roll the rubber down my shaft. “Oh-h-h God!”
Her moan grips my heart in a vice as my hard-on becomes painful, and I gasp as McKenna whips her head back to whimper softly. Hiding behind a thin scrap of fabric, her pussy glistens and quivers when I peel back her wet panties. Sucking in a sharp breath, my mouth waters, and I spit against my fingers to slather her pussy lips. She jolts, squeezing my cock and tightening her knees against my sides as I work two fingers into her tight hole.
“Fuckin’ tight, baby. Ah, shit.” Swiping my gloved cock between her dripping folds, McKenna draws hoarse groans and grumbles from deep in my chest. Gripping her hips in both my hands, I hold my breath as the tip of my cock disappears into her sweet, tight pussy. Shuddering as her nails dig deep into my shoulders, she flings her head to the side to pant viciously.
Her juices coat the condom easing its entry, and I spread McKenna’s pussy lips with my thumbs to pull out. Her clit quivers while I gulp down the saliva that pools under my tongue. My cock throbs as I ease into her hot, tight hole, and a shallow gasp escapes me when my sac nestles between her ass cheeks.
“It’s so big. Fuck me! Fuck me like you hate me, Artem,” Whispering eager encouragement as I flex my hands around her bare hips, McKenna clenches her pussy around my cock. I choke on a sharp inhale, my eyes rolling in bliss before I pull back my hips to set a hard pace. Gripping the edge of the sink, her moans are harsh compared to the slap of skin on skin. My cock aches, my heart’s beating furiously as I jerk back and forth. Tight, hot flesh clamps down on my shaft, and I reach to swipe her clit furiously as she shivers more violently. “Fuck. Yes, yes, yes!”
