Cillian (The Sullivan Scoundrels Book 1), page 1
Cillian
Sullivan Scoundrels
Book One
Ramani Rose
Copyright © 2024 by Ramani Rose
Published by Rebellious Valkyrie Press
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
For permission requests, address publisher by email addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator”, at the email address provided below:
authorramanirose@gmail.com
Publisher’s Note:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Licensing Notes:
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Released and Printed in the United States of America
First Edition e-book August 2024
Formatting Design by Vellum
ASIN: B0CR4HBZCQ
Created with Vellum
Contents
Introduction
Content Warnings
Summary:
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue: Paddy
PADDY Book Two in Sullivan Scoundrels
Join me in my shenanigans!
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Ramani Rose
That you so much for picking up Cillian. This the start to a very promising future for me, as I have several pen names, but this is one where I planned to make heroes not so nice, because the darker I go with a pen name, it doesn’t seem like I can stop!
Ramani is the manifestation of a character I created in a mafia romance I wrote before I fully understood where mafia could go. I was a teenager, and now that I’m not anymore, I realize I need to go big or go home, so that’s where the birth of Ramani Rose came from.
I never pictured writing a book in this era until one day I just happened to watch Peaky Blinders and fell in love with how one of the brothers was forced to marry a stranger for peace. I thought….hmmm…that’d be cool. But how about we make the heroine Black? And everything kind of just fell into place.
This wont be a historical accurate historical romance, as I took a lot of creative liberties to tell a fun story. I wanted Black women with natural hair, times were we weren’t glued to our phones, and tension to be high to get the most reaction out of the story.
I may have achieved that, I may not have, but I had a hell of a time writing for it and hope to be able to tell the stories that follow but I can’t do that without you as a reader!
This series will be a four-book series(maybe more if y’all are interested in the origin story of their deadbeat father and their tough as nails sister), so please consider signing up for my mailing list here to receive updates when each book will release. If mailing lists aren’t your jam, you can always follow me on Amazon and Bookbub! Like my mailing list, they send updates on new releases and any preorders I put up. With either option, you’ll never miss an update!
If you want to connect on social media, I’m everywhere! Through this link, you’ll find a linktree where to find me! TikTok is where I’m the most active but I pop in other places every once in a while!
And last but not least, if you reach the end of this book and loved it, please consider leaving a review to convince others to read it too! Reviews, good and critical, help authors decide to move forward with a series and I really want you to meet these brothers! Of course, you’re not obligated to, but the best is yet to come! You can so by clicking here.
Content Warnings
These are the content warnings. It may not be limited to this list, but these are things that need to be addressed explicitly before reading. Thank you!
PTSD
Religious trauma
Grief over the death of a parent
Fatphobia(offhand comment by the hero that he’ll unlearn throughout his narrative)
Moderate implied drug use(cocaine and weed brownies)
Racism(on page; includes but not limited to racial tension, hero’s initial reluctance to marry a non-Irish woman, heroine’s abuser calling her a slur
Microaggressions(on page)
Xenophobia(on page; includes but not limited to cultures preferring to marry within own culture, heroine judging hero’s accent/way English is spoken)
Misogyny amongst male characters
Use of racial slurs
Kidnapping
Detailed accounts of sexual assault of both the hero and heroine
Detailed accounts of physical parental abuse
Grooming of hero and heroine carried out by order of a parent
Murder on page
Initial abusive/antagonistic behavior by the the hero to the heroine
Explicit sex including but not limited to:
Somnophilia
Primal Play
Anal sex and anal play
Rough sex
Drugging of heroine(with her explicit consent)
Breeding kink
Degradation
Bondage
Impact Play
Orgasm denial
Orgasm punishment
Dirty talk
Summary:
Monster. Criminal. Terrifying.
Many come to mind, but only one word can illustrate the constant terror associated with the man of my nightmares.
Cillian.
My testimony put the Irish gangster behind bars—that was—until my ambitious father negotiated my hand in marriage for a sliver of the Irish organized crime scene.
We shouldn't even be able to marry, but the laws have changed. Meaning a pure blooded Irishman can marry a Black girl like me.
That's not even my biggest problem. He doesn't know I'm the one who sealed his fate all those years ago. So I don't know what I should be afraid of more, the thought of him wanting to end me when he learns the truth, or...
Me discovering that there's more to this impulsive mobster than meets the eye.
Cillian is book one of the Sullivan Scoundrels, an alternative history/historical romance. If historical accuracy is important to you, this read you might want to skip. But if you like over-the-top, morally grey, dangerous heroes who will do anything for the women they love, you might just like what you see.
Prologue
Queenie
Heartless. Rageful. Fearsome and cold. Nothing but evil coursed through those cruel blue eyes. A man my mind wouldn’t let me forget.
Never will I forget that man begging for his life, as he called out to his mother and prayed to his god.
But the other man…the one with evil in his eyes. It was like nothing was behind that soul—certainly not a person—as he emptied his gun into his victim.
Bang. Bang...Bang.
It all happened so fast—the blood of the priest’s splattered across his face, an exploded head left behind in place of it. But the evil man…he shot one more bullet into his chest. What could he have possibly gained from one more bullet?
If the first shots hadn’t killed him, surely the shot to the head had. But that didn’t matter to someone void of emotion, devoid of empathy and most of all, devoid of God.
I’d told that story over and over. To the Boston Police department. To a private jury. Even to a judge. My testimony had been closed for my protection, so I thought I’d get to move on with my life.
Until my papa made a deal with the devil.
Greed made you do horrible things, but I never thought I’d be asked to take back my words. I couldn’t object to it, because Papa said I didn’t have a choice. And I was being promised to someone.
I just pray that I’ll never have to look in the eyes of such savagery again…
One
Cillian
“Lift up your tongue,” the medical examiner demanded, looking around the pockets of my mouth. The last examination had to do with the fight I’d been in yesterday. But given my time locked up, they’d seemed less concerned that I got my arse kicked and more concerned to whether I had started the fight.
They weren’t lying when they said inmates would do everything in their power to sabotage your release. Three or four wouldn’t have been a challenge for me, but getting jumped by that many at once, I endured it because my family told me not to do anything dumb enough to force another charge on me.
My family were my everything and I thought it’d be a long time before I saw them again, but with God as my witness, it would be the last beating I ever took. Pa gave me enough practice for a lifetime with that.
“Inmate 29B0119, all clear.” The medical examiner dismissed, passing me back to the CO meant to lead me to receiving and discharge. It was to my understanding, over a year ago my family had left clothes for me to change into, but since I’d asked them to stop coming, they weren’t aware of how tall I’d gotten.
Since none of it fit, I was encouraged to wear a white t-shirt, plain trousers and boots a half size too small. Cashing out my commissary, the last thing before I was released was to retrieve the belongings that had been taken from me upon my arrest.
Verifying my identification didn’t take long, as I was handed a small box and bag of clothes. The box didn’t hold much, so it was easy to see what I’d been looking for was nowhere in sight. “There's supposed to be a pocket watch in here,” I challenged the attendee at the desk.
“That's all that was signed off on during your intake.”
“You've gotta be fucking kidding me,” I mumbled under my breath until I couldn't hold in my frustration anymore. “That was my father's watch— Jesus Fucking Christ, the man gave it to me before—you know what? Fuck it.” I snatched the rest of my shit and took it as a loss. Keepsakes didn't matter. What mattered was getting the hell out of here.
Running back to receiving and discharge, I joined two inmates to verify our identification, signing paperwork necessary for our release.
“Name?”
“Sullivan, Cillian.”
Each of us were instructed to the final checkpoint. I wasn’t one for detail, but it resembled a small gate house with travel information on each side. Since my family name ended in S, I was the last one called before I could exit, placing me into a driveway where I hoped to meet my brothers and sister.
The CO guiding me to the parking lot must have been on a power trip because the second my brothers came into view, he deemed it necessary to give me an unwarranted pat down.
Gathering myself together, there was no missing my eldest brother Tadhg. Growing up, everyone called him ‘Big Red’ on the count that he was six-foot-five by the time he was twelve. Despite us being both the gingers of the family, his signature coif favored more a traditional red, where depending on the part of year it was and how the sun hit it, mine was cross between that and strawberry blond.
“Tadhg,” I said, in the respectful tone I’d come to use addressing the head of the family.
“Cillian.” He fixed his coat closed, giving a nod of approval. With Tadhg, that was the most you were going to get from him. He’d always been stoic and real particular, and over time we just learned that he didn’t mean anything by it.
Tadhg grabbed my face inspecting the residual bruises left from the fight from yesterday. “They fucking with you in there?”
“It’s nothing,” I said, dismissing his concern. I was always the runt of the family, and since I wasn’t anymore, I didn’t need anyone babying me.
“C’mere you fucking eejit!” Paddy—my older brother by three years—clasped me in a neck lock before swallowing me in an embrace. “The little shit got tall!” he said, pointing me out to my other brothers as if they didn’t have eyes.
“No wonder he's wearing hand me downs.” Paddy never missed an opportunity to humble me.
“You look good kid,” Bellamy said, my older brother right below Tadhg. He was subtle, but was never too good to show his younger brother love, as he hugged me and assessed my look.
“Looks like you need new clothes,” he said, tossing through my copper strands. “And a haircut, Jesus.
It only took a second to notice who was absent amongst the group. “Where’s Órfhlaith?” Half thinking the sound of her name would summon her.
“Órfhlaith’s a fucking mother now,” Paddy grimaced, pulling his hat to his chest.
“No fucking way. I'm a fucking uncle?” The weight of my absence was sinking in. “How come no one came to tell me?”
“You told us to stop coming, Cilly. We just assumed you didn't want to know,” Bellamy defended, well within his right to do so.
My sentence had originally been ten years. Seeing them the first two months had been nice at first, but just gave me a sense of hope I didn’t think I was worthy of holding onto anymore. Prison was hard. And I went through a state of depression at the thought of my entire youth being spent behind bars. I hadn’t wanted them to see my optimism chip away with each passing year. After the first six months, I asked them to stop coming all together.
I couldn’t have predicted I would only spend three out of those ten years I was meant to serve. “Where are they?” I nearly stammered, nervous at the thought of having a possible niece or nephew. “I want to see them.”
“You’re out, you'll have plenty of time for that,” Tadhg interrupted. “What would do you good your first day out?”
My stomach grumbled. Having not wanting to ruin my appetite before my discharge, I was greatly regretting not having some bread or milk to calm my hunger pangs. “Maybe a pint. A decent meal for a change,” as I rubbed my stomach. Heaven only knew I hadn’t had one in three years.
“That’s it?” Paddy challenged. “You got a night to do whatever you want, you dumb fuck. Tell us there’s something more than that,” he said, aggressively pulling me in.
“Shit, if it’s up for discussion, I could use some pussy. Three years with no women. I feel like I’m about to lose my fucking mind.” Only thing keeping my sexual discipline at bay was being surrounded by an institution full of cocks. My libido was so high, I could be locked in a room with six hookers and still have more energy to go around when I’m done with them.
“You’ll have plenty of time for that, Cilly boy. We ain't seen you in ages. Why don’t you pick shit we can all do?” Bellamy shot down on the spot, which was rich coming from him.
That was the hardest thing about being the youngest; any opinion my siblings didn’t agree with, was always met with pushback.
“I guess I don’t fit the old shit you sent me. Barely fit what I’ve got on now,” tugging at my t-shirt.
“We’ll get you fitted real nice, I reckon you’re due. These rags don’t do you justice,” Bellamy added, with a flick of the collar to my shirt. It wasn’t fancy, but I knew if I’d done something to piss a CO off, I would’ve been in worse.
Tadhg opened the backseat of his Mercedes-Benz, gesturing for me to get in. It’d been a long three years, but before I went in that backseat, I had to know one thing. “Before I get in, anybody got any snow?”
“Does anybody have any snow?” Paddy condescendingly taunted, wearing a sinister grin stretched along his face. “Is water fucking wet?” As he pulled out an eight ball of cocaine and slammed it into my chest.
“You don’t fucking have to tell me twice!”
***
“This ain't like the old shit we used to move,” I said, inspecting the cocaine with my new heightened awareness.
“We had to outsource to new suppliers. This coke comes from at a cheaper price than the last connect but they take most of the risk, so we take thirty-five instead of the original fifty,” Tadhg explained. Most our revenue came from distributing whiskey all over Boston—as well as racketeering, so thirty-five was still a decent cut. But the Callahans had always been our major connections. It made me wonder what was worth taking a fifteen percent pay cut.
“Here we are, fellas. Store’s closing down—nothing less for our baby brother,” Bellamy boasted, once we reached the tailor. It was one of the legit businesses the family used to clean the money, so it wasn’t that big of a gesture.
