Keegan

  Keegan

  The Murphy Family Mafia

  Savannah Rylan

  Copyright © 2019 by Savannah Rylan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Keegan

  2. Fallon

  3. Keegan

  4. Fallon

  5. Keegan

  6. Fallon

  7. Keegan

  8. Fallon

  9. Keegan

  10. Fallon

  11. Keegan

  12. Fallon

  13. Keegan

  14. Fallon

  15. Keegan

  16. Epilogue

  Sneak Peak at Enzo

  About the Author

  More Books by Savannah Rylan

  1

  Keegan

  I couldn’t remember that night too well. Even when I pressed my eyes closed and tried to really think. All I could see was a flashing red light in front of my eyes. The one that set my blood pumping. I knew I shouldn’t have said nothin’. I shouldn’t have got up off my bar stool or walked towards Little Gallagher. That’s what we all called him.

  Little Gallagher with his ginger hair, no taller than five-five, freckles all over his cheeks and neck, and really bad teeth.

  He’d been sitting there with his posse, chugging back bottles of Heineken because Guinness clearly didn’t suit his stomach. I was with my pal, Sean. We were minding our own business. In fact, I hadn’t even noticed Little Gallagher come in.

  I definitely hadn’t heard the first thing he said, and he was having none of that. He wanted me to hear. He wanted me to hear what he was saying about my sister.

  She’d died when I was a boy, I never really knew her, but she was my sister. Our parents spoke very little of her too, so I could tell that they missed her. Little Gallagher had no business talking about her.

  He was saying things like—she wanted to leave our family, that she’d killed herself because she couldn’t deal with our dad. It’s what we deserved for being a Murphy. That we couldn’t keep a woman.

  Now when I thought about it, I couldn’t remember what exactly he’d said. It was all just a blur to me. All I knew was that the more Little Gallagher spoke, looking over his shoulder at me; the hotter I got under my collar.

  Sean could predict a storm was brewing inside me. He might have even suggested that we get up and go. But I’d had enough.

  I stood up from my chair, pushing it back with force and I had a pint of Guinness in my hand which I carried to the counter. Gallagher was continuing to talk, I think. He might not have even seen me coming.

  I smashed the glass on his head before he had a chance to react. There was a big roar in the bar, and Gallagher tried to stand but I lifted him up in the air. He weighed nothing and I smashed him down, he hit the counter and there was blood everywhere.

  That I remembered, the blood. Sean came up to me, and he tried to drag me away. We could hear the police sirens in the background already. I couldn’t stop hitting Gallagher. I didn’t stop.

  They were responsible for everything. For the shit that all our lives were…for what happened to Fallon. Now that I had him, I was going to beat him to pulp. Make him an example for what they’d done to us…to Fallon.

  Then it was all a blur again. I was being taken away by the cops.

  Nothing about Fallon was a blur though. Even though it was ten years ago that I last saw her.

  She was the girl that got away…technically, that wasn’t right. She didn’t want to go away. She might never have gone away if it wasn’t for those fucking Gallaghers.

  These days, I was thinking of her more.

  Her chestnut curls. Even when she was just ten, her curls grew all the way down to her hips and she always left it open. When we played together, out in the backyard of my father’s house—sometimes the breeze would blow her hair in my face and I’d wait a few moments, just breathing in her scent.

  I was just a kid too. We were growing up together. But even back then I knew that what I felt for Fallon was different. It wasn’t the same as what I felt for everyone else, for my other friends. She was special.

  Her blue eyes were large and expressive. All I had to do was just look at her and I knew what she was thinking. She didn’t have to say a word. I felt like we were the same people, like I knew her inside out. I’d always wondered, even though it was a decade ago; if that was what she thought of me too. That when she left Chicago, she had left a piece of herself behind.

  Her dad did the books for our family. They’d emigrated from Ireland just a few years after Fallon was born, so her family still had a thick Irish accent. She had traces of it too, mingled with the Chicago accent she was picking up.

  Either way, I loved to listen to her speak. Her voice was like music to my ears.

  Because we were the same age, and because her family couldn’t afford childcare, Fallon was at our home a lot. She played with me and we ended up spending a lot of time together. For all intents and purposes, we were growing up together—and that was how we were treated; as family.

  Our father always instilled that value in us. Everyone who works for the family, is family—he always said. And that was especially true for Fallon. He must have seen the way I looked at her, because he reminded me often that she was family. Maybe he knew how I felt about her.

  But that never changed what I felt. No matter what dad told me, I always knew that she was going to be special to me. That I wouldn’t be able to get her off my mind.

  Fallon Donovan was the girl that got away, because since the age of fifteen I hadn’t seen her…but I’d never stopped thinking about her. And every day, I hoped that she was all right.

  Although there was very little I could do now. I’d been in jail for two years. When I’d beaten the crap out of Little Gallagher, apparently I nearly killed him. And the cops were looking for any excuse to put someone from our family in prison; and this was their perfect opportunity to do just that.

  I was their scapegoat, the one they could put in prison and teach a lesson to the rest of the Keegan family. Honestly, even when I look back to that night when they locked me up, I remember feeling nothing. I didn’t give a shit where I went. If they wanted to put me in prison, that’s where I’d stay.

  Ever since Fallon was gone from my life, I didn’t care what happened to me. It was like I didn’t feel any pain, just like I didn’t feel joy either. She was gone and she’d taken my feelings with her. Now, all that was left to do was duty. I was a Murphy. Our family had ruled Chicago for generations, and that was what I was destined to carry forward.

  Besides that, I cared very little about what else happened to me.

  I kept to myself in prison. I made sure nobody messed with me, and nobody did, but apart from that—I didn’t get into any shit. I wasn’t interested. It was only the Gallaghers who set me off. As long as they stayed away from me…

  “Murphy!” someone’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I’d been dreaming about Fallon again, imagining what she looked like now. Imagining her living her life…making coffee in a kitchen, reading a book in her garden. I hoped she was safe and I hoped she was happy.

  I looked over through the iron bars and saw a guard standing there. Mitchell. He usually didn’t give me any trouble.

  “It’s your lawyer, O’Leary. He’s here to see you,” Mitchell said.

  I stood up and walked towards the door.

  “O’Leary? What does he want? My parole hearing isn’t till next week,” I said, holding my hands out throug
h the grate so he could cuff me.

  “Beats me. Ask him yourself,” Mitchell said.

  I had no idea what O’Leary could be doing here. We’d discussed the details of the parole hearing already, there was nothing left to discuss—unless something had gone wrong.

  If everything went well at the parole hearing, I was going to be out of this place in a week. But with O’Leary here to see me now, I couldn’t help but wonder if something had screwed my freedom over.

  Funnily enough, that didn’t bother me either. If O’Leary told me right now that I wasn’t going anywhere. That I was going to spend another two years in prison and stay out my full term—I wouldn’t care about that either.

  Mitchell guided me out of the cell and I walked with him. My head was filled with thoughts of Fallon again. I wasn’t thinking about my freedom, I was thinking about what my life might have looked like if she’d stayed. We could have had a family by now.

  If she loved me too.

  2

  Fallon

  I hated the uniform they made us wear at the diner. Red and white candy-striped skirt that was short enough for the full length of my legs to be on display. The shirt was the same red color and very tight, making the material stretch over my breasts. We had to tie a frilly white apron around our waist and wear high red heels. All of which was extremely uncomfortable to work in.

  But it was a job, and I needed one—now that I was back in Chicago and trying to get a fresh start.

  I’d been waitressing for several years now. It was how I’d put myself through high school and the first year of college. If I could, I would have liked to get my History degree…but I knew I had no future in it. What kind of jobs did History majors get?

  I was alone in the world. Sure, my aunt and her family tried to look after me as best they could; but I owed it to them to figure out my life and move out of their home as soon as possible. They’d looked after me long enough, they’d been enough charitable.

  So, I had no choice but to drop out of college and look for real jobs. Jobs that would help me get an apartment and pay the bills. It was only a month ago; that I realized I wanted to return to Chicago.

  It had been ten years. I’d given it enough time for things to settle down…and nobody had the right to keep me from my home. Chicago was home. It was where I’d grown up.

  Besides, if I stayed away from…the world I’d known when I was a kid—I couldn’t get in trouble, could I?

  So, I got a job at the diner. I found myself a small apartment nearby, and I kept my head down and tried to settle in. It felt good to be back…I finally felt like I was home again. Chicago had greeted me back with open arms.

  I carried the tray of waffles and milkshake to table nine. It was occupied by Hank, a seventy-year old regular who I’d gotten to chatting with these days. He looked up from his newspaper with a smile when I placed his usual order down on the table.

  “Thank you, sweetheart. Your face is like a breath of fresh air in this city of ours,” Hank said as he plopped open a napkin on his lap. I stood in front of him with my hand on my hip, smiling back at him.

  “What do you mean, Hank? What has this city done to you?” I asked and he tipped his head towards the newspaper.

  “All these mobs running the city, look at this! The cops are never going to fix it. This city will never be safe. But your face…is a reminder there is still something beautiful in this world.”

  I tried to keep smiling at Hank. He was being sweet, and his compliments and flirting were always harmless. But I couldn’t keep smiling…not after what he’d just mentioned.

  I walked away from Hank, trying to be polite. Because he had no idea that he was talking about my family, about my past…and I didn’t want to break down in front of him.

  I walked through the kitchen, rushing to the back so I could catch a breath of air. Every time I heard about the mob, even the slightest mention was capable of setting me off. Which was why it had taken me ten years to finally gather the courage to come back to Chicago. I still wasn’t sure if I could handle myself.

  Even as a child, before I was even ten…I had a sense of the kind of world my father was involved in. He spoke very little about it to me, and I knew he tried to keep me sheltered from it. My mam died when I was five, soon after we’d arrived in America. So, it was dad who was bringing me up and he tried to make my childhood as comfortable as possible.

  However, as much as he tried to hide it from me, I knew he worked for the Murphys. And I knew who the Murphys were.

  They were like family to me…because I was growing up with the kids. Dad couldn’t afford child care, and with mam gone, he left me at the Murphy home a lot of the days. Mrs. Murphy looked after me, she fed me and made me do my homework. I spent a lot of time with Keegan and his brother.

  As much as I loved my time there, and as much as I loved them…I still knew what they were involved in. Nobody had to particularly spell it out for me. They were the Irish Mafia, and even though I didn’t know exactly what it was that they did—I knew it was dangerous.

  My dad was an accountant for the family, and I knew he wasn’t directly involved in any of the violence. Dad was raising me, he was raising me alone and I appreciated the effort he put into it. I knew it had to be difficult for him without mam.

  Growing up with the Murphys felt normal to me. Keegan was always there, and even though I spent a lot of time away from dad; I always felt safe when I was in their home. When I was in the presence of Keegan.

  I knew I should have considered him a brother. We were growing up together, we played together and teased each other. But Keegan was never that, even as a child I knew he was handsome, that he was charming and strong and he would look after me. I dreamed about growing up to marry him. I dreamed about a family with him, but I never knew what he wanted.

  Now, I’d run out to the back of the kitchen and I was trying to catch my breath. Everything inside my head seemed to be a jumble. Not only was I seeing flashes of Keegan’s face, but there were scenes from that fateful night being replayed in my head too.

  The night my father died.

  The night I watched my father dying.

  I shouldn’t have been in his office that night, but dad had called the Murphy residence to say that he wanted to take me out for burger and fries. I was excited to have dinner with him and I rushed to his office. It always made me a little anxious to be away from Keegan, even if for one evening; but I was also looking forward to spending some time with my father. It wasn’t often that we ate together.

  Dad’s office…the one where he worked on the Murphy family’s accounts from, was above the Psychic reading shop. That was the legitimate business front that the Murphys ran in the neighborhood. But they weren’t fooling anyone, not even me. Even I, as a fifteen year old, knew that this was just a facade.

  I remembered bounding up the stairs to dad’s office and throwing my arms around his neck.

  “I’ll just finish up here, lovely, and then we can go. Okay?” dad said, while he poured over the stacks of papers piled up on his desk. I liked watching him work. With his brows crossed in concentration, the sound of the click-click of his calculator. He was a loving and caring father, and I knew he tried to do the best he could for me.

  It was fifteen minutes later when we heard the sound of the bikes parking outside the shop on the street. It was late in the evening, the Psychic shop was closed, we weren’t expecting any customers. Dad stood up and went to the window to look outside.

  He turned to me and I could see that the color had drained from his face all of a sudden.

  “Fallon, go to the cupboard and sit inside quietly,” he said. I grinned at him. I was fifteen. I wasn’t a little kid anymore. Did he think I was going to play some silly game with him?

  “Dad, please…” I rolled my eyes at him.

  We heard the sound of the shop door being thrashed. Someone was breaking in downstairs.

  “Fallon! Now! Go, stay there and don’t c
ome out till I tell you to!” He was hissing at me, and I’d never seen him sweating like this before. He grabbed me by my arms and pushed me into the cupboard by the side of his desk.

  “Dad…what is going on?” I muttered, but he’d shut the door on my face. I was on my knees, crouched at the bottom of the cupboard, barely being able to see out through the wooden grate.

  This was not a game. Something serious was going on and dad was scared.

  I wanted to scream, I wanted an explanation…but all I could do was remain in the cupboard and try to hold my breath.

  I heard the footsteps approaching, then saw the door to my father’s office being pushed open. Dad was standing behind his desk, with his hands in the air. I didn’t understand it. What had he done wrong? Why was he so afraid.

  Three men walked in. Skinheads, with tattoos and leather jackets.

  “I don’t know anything. I’m not involved. Take what you want!” dad was shouting at them. His hands were still up in the air in surrender.

  The men were looking around. One of them even stared directly at the cupboard. Keeping it shut and not making a sound that night was the hardest thing I had to do. Through the wooden slits, I could see the sweat trickling down my father’s temples.

  “Where is it? Where is it?” one of the men growled.

  My father was shaking in fear.

  “I’m just the accountant. I’m not involved in the Murphy family. I know nothing. Take whatever you need. Take it!”

  Dad’s voice was shaking too as he spoke to them. He didn’t once look in my direction, in fear of giving my position away.

  Then the screaming began. The men were shouting at dad and he was shouting back, telling them repeatedly that he knew nothing. The gunshot came out of nowhere. I only saw a flash and clasped my hands over my mouth. I watched as dad fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes tumbling to the ground.