Raw Redemption Read online

  “Morning,” Henrik drawled.

  The guard grunted. “Mr. O’Kelly was expecting you to bring a package.”

  Henrik forced himself not to stiffen at hearing Ailish referred to as a package, but he wanted to wrap the man’s tie in his fist, yank down, and slam his head against the car door. The fact that it wasn’t actually Ailish in the trunk might have saved the guy a concussion. “I have what he’s looking for in the trunk.”

  An impressed eyebrow lift. “Go ahead and pop it. We’ll have a look.”

  Henrik removed his sunglasses. “I’m not popping shit out here on the street. After the trouble I went through to find what he wanted, he’ll be letting me in.”

  Earpiece backed up a few feet and spoke quietly into the device. Henrik stared at the backseat through the rearview mirror, wishing he’d taken the time to introduce himself to the motherfucker who’d robbed Ailish’s money, leaving her high and dry. Connor had called Henrik upon landing in Chicago, giving him the particulars on Eamon Lindt and assuring Henrik they’d been discreet, not giving the man a single reason to believe they had ties to law enforcement. Which was key, seeing as Henrik would be opening the trunk and presenting the man to O’Kelly in a matter of minutes.

  Earpiece approached once more, coming close enough to the driver’s side window that Henrik itched to go for his gun. But after a final, scrutinizing once-over, the guard gave whoever was on the other end of his earpiece the all-clear, smirking as he issued it.

  Henrik eased past off the street onto the pristine brick driveway, painfully aware that he was crossing into enemy territory. Three black luxury cars were parked in a row near the entrance, two guards having a conversation by the double-door entrance. Something about the grounds struck Henrik as looking like a movie set, a perfect replica of what a gangster’s home should look like. He stared out through the windshield, imagining it through Ailish’s eyes. Prison. It would look like prison to a young girl, especially one with so much life inside her.

  I miss her. I need her. She hates me.

  Henrik hit his brakes with a little too much force and hoped it jostled the man in the trunk. Why should he be the only one in pain this fine goddamn morning, right? After throwing the car into park, he climbed out and waited by the driver’s side, lifting his arms up automatically when the two guards—their conversation now finished—swaggered over to frisk him. They removed the piece from inside his jacket pocket and slid it across the hood, out of his reach. He’d anticipated being unarmed, at least in the beginning. He didn’t like it—not even a little bit—but it was par for the course with a paranoid criminal like O’Kelly. Having his fists to work with in a pinch gave him some comfort. There wasn’t a man on the grounds could take him in a fight. He had that going for him at the very least.

  When the guard finished checking Henrik for ankle-holstered weapons, he whistled, and the front door swung open. The first thing Henrik noticed about O’Kelly was the sweat on his forehead. He descended the steps looking jumpy. A man who’d had a few lines of cocaine with breakfast. God. God, Henrik had never been more relieved to have Ailish somewhere safe. Never been happier to have destroyed that evidence and given her a chance outside this life. Unfortunately, he had to deal with this tenser version of O’Kelly and explain that while he hadn’t found Ailish, he’d brought him someone else appealing.

  “Where is she?” O’Kelly asked, running a finger along his upper gum line. “Trunk? She give you any problems?”

  Henrik reacted to the manic, rapid-fire questions with a casual demeanor. “Yeah. More than a few. As in, I couldn’t find her.”

  Two men pulled weapons on Henrik, but he didn’t flinch. “Relax. I didn’t come empty-handed.” He held up his left hand and pointed at the interior of his car, with the right. “I’m going to reach in and pop the trunk. Sound good?”

  Caine’s responding laugh was semi-maniacal. “Still talks like a cop, this fucking guy. All right.” He clapped his hands together. “All right. Let’s go. Let’s see what you got.”

  As Henrik ducked down, he watched two of Caine’s men exchange an odd glance before training speculative eyes on their boss. Dissension in the ranks? Good to know. He hooked his finger beneath the plastic lever and pulled. Before he could fully straighten, Caine was already rounding the car. When he looked into the trunk, he gave that disturbing laugh again, the sound ricocheting through the stiff brick courtyard. “He might be a cop, but he’s got a sense of humor.”

  Caine dropped a hand into the trunk and pulled out—

  Ailish.

  Chapter Fifteen

  That haunted house scream from Henrik’s youth tore across the landscape of his mind, eroding mountains, whipping through his self-control like a destructive tornado. A harsh sound escaped him and he just managed to disguise it with a cough into his shaking fist. No. This is part of the movie. It’s not real. She’s not here, being manhandled by her drugged-up father, yanked out of the truck like a piece of luggage. She’s not here in the middle of several loaded weapons, when I don’t even have one. No, baby, please don’t really be here.

  “How did you find her?” Caine asked, but the older man’s voice sounded tinny, as if it flowed out through a spinning vortex of white noise. Henrik’s mouth was too full of wet sand to answer, so he pulled together a lethargic shrug. Something that hopefully said I have my ways. And then came very close to vomiting on his shoes.

  Ailish was wearing a yellow sundress, and it seemed so out of place among the black suits and brick walls. The strain around her mouth told Henrik the grip Caine had on her elbow was way, way too fucking tight, and there was nothing Henrik could do about it. The man beside him snickered, breathing the word “bitch” close to Henrik’s ear, as if they were buddies commiserating about last night’s baseball game. Fuckfuckfuck. He couldn’t do this. Not with Ailish on the line.

  “Welcome back, daughter,” Caine said. “Have a nice vacation?”

  Her hazel eyes fired bullets at O’Kelly. “Yes, I did. When I wasn’t being kidnapped, anyway.”

  “Oh, come on now.” He tilted his head. “What’s a little kidnapping among family?”

  Ailish went white as a sheet. Whatever was going on—whatever Derek had gotten them into to further his cause in bringing down O’Kelly—Ailish wasn’t acting. That much was clear. She was genuinely distraught over being addressed with such open hostility by her father. Did that mean his behavior was unusual? The few times Henrik had allowed himself to imagine their father-daughter relationship, he’d pictured quiet resentment from both sides, but maybe he’d been wrong. And he’d been so worried about his own reaction, he hadn’t asked Ailish about it when he’d had the chance.

  “Why couldn’t you just let me go?” Ailish asked her father, her soft words carrying on the wind to pummel Henrik in the chest. “Why?”

  Ailish jolted under her father’s hold. Too tight. Too tight. He’s hurting her. Henrik felt the other men scrutinizing him and schooled his features with a considerable effort. “I might have let you go, daughter, if I hadn’t gone through the books and found out you’ve been screwing me seven ways to Sunday.”

  When Ailish cried out in pain, Henrik took a step forward—and the guns lifted again. That was the fist time Ailish met his gaze. The disgust he encountered there made him feel like a wounded animal brought down by a hunter. But there was something else. Something that glinted from its position against her throat.

  She was wearing the necklace he’d given her.

  ...

  Something was wrong. Ailish had known it the moment her father opened the trunk. His eyes were glassy in a way she hadn’t seen since her mother still lived in the house. Drugs. He was using again. And for the first time—through the eyes of an adult—she wondered what had prompted him to stop the first time. More importantly, why was he back at it?

  In addition to Caine’s twitchy behavior, he was…livid. Disgusted. With her. She’d expected serious animosity from her father, being that she�
�d taken a heap of money and run away. She’d expected even more intense lockdown than usual. But there was a glint in his eye that had nothing to do with the drugs, and he’d never manhandled Ailish in her entire life. Never. Something was most definitely wrong.

  It had taken Henrik a good few minutes to get his bearings after she’d made her appearance, but he was on his game now. Arms folded across his broad chest, he looked just as irritated as everyone else that she’d crashed the party. It only made her want to kiss his face, his mouth, his neck all the more. Then she wanted to smack him good. Pretty much how she’d always felt looking at him before, except now she knew he’d thrown his career away, all for her. A total stranger. So the simultaneous kissing and smacking felt like necessity now, instead of a mere urge. No telling which would happen the first time she got him alone.

  One thing was for certain, though. She would have an explanation. A satisfying one that didn’t skirt a single truth, the way their dealings had been up until now. The cards were on the table, they were undercover together with the same goal, and she wanted to know Henrik’s mind. Every complicated corner.

  First, though, they had Caine to deal with. Evidence to collect and an exit to plot. She might not even have a chance to be alone with Henrik until they were free of the house, which would require Ailish to be on her toes. To look for cues from Henrik and be ready to go at any time.

  “Let’s head to my office, shall we?” her father said, already turning Ailish with a firm hand on her shoulder. “I’d rather have this reunion without an audience.”

  Having a hard time maintaining her balance with both hands bound, Ailish stumbled on the brick steps. “Can someone untie my hands first?”

  Over her shoulder, Ailish watched Caine produce a pocketknife from his pants, flip it over in his hand, and slide it beneath the cable tie keeping her wrists locked together. Father and daughter met eyes as he twisted the knife, snapping the plastic tie—but cutting into her skin at the same time. Ailish sucked in a breath and kept walking, her heart chugging like a freight train inside her chest. Without even looking at Henrik, she could feel his rage gathering, a storm waiting to break. Oh God, what was happening? She’d assured Derek that her father would be irritated, would place her under constant watch, but would never physically harm her.

  Obviously, she’d been wrong. There was only one reason she could fathom that would put her father in this extreme a rage. And if that were the case, they were in far bigger trouble than she’d anticipated.

  Ailish’s hands were free, but still asleep, so they dangled uselessly at her sides, making her feel helpless as she led the way toward her father’s office. His men, including Henrik, had followed them into the familiar, dimly lit foyer. Ailish vibrated with the need to turn around, lock eyes with Henrik, but she couldn’t. Couldn’t glean comfort from him or warn him that something was off. She would have to face Caine alone for now. Although the man matching her stride down the hallway was noticeably different from the Caine in her memory.

  Just before they reached the office door, her father stopped short. “Mr. Vance, come on in and join us?”

  Ailish was thankful no one could see her face, because there was no way to hide the relief. She almost sank down into the carpet with it. Just having him close would be enough to keep her calm, keep her focused. Caine reached over her shoulder and pushed open the office door, giving Ailish a nudge between the shoulder blades to make her move. Her father was determined to express how little regard he had for her comfort, and she knew without a doubt what was coming.

  Thank God she hadn’t fought Derek on the listening device around her neck, hidden in the necklace Henrik had given her. If everything went south in the next five minutes, at least they had a backup plan. Chicago PD was on high alert should their lives be in danger, but she couldn’t proceed with that crutch in mind. They needed good, solid evidence to convict her father, and obtaining it was Ailish’s only option. To stop Caine from hurting anyone else, from plaguing the streets of Chicago. But it wouldn’t hurt to let everyone listening know that Caine wasn’t acting his typical self, to keep Derek and the team vigilant.

  Ailish sat in a leather armchair facing Caine’s desk. “Can I have a tissue…or a Band-Aid? My wrist is bleeding.”

  Caine fell into his high-backed chair. “Let it bleed.”

  She could feel Henrik walk into the room at her back and shifted, as if uncomfortable to have him there. “What do you need him here for?”

  Her father still held the pocketknife he’d used to free her wrists. Now, he tapped it against the desk’s edge, creating little indentations in the wood. There were hundreds of the same markings, as though it wasn’t the first time he’d abused the piece of furniture. Instead of answering her question, Caine addressed Henrik, the amusement clear in his expression. “When I told you to get my daughter home by fair means or foul, you took it to heart. You’ve got balls bringing her home inside a trunk.”

  “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Henrik sounded like a different, darker version of himself, and the goose bumps that rose along Ailish’s skin in response were authentic. “I got sick of hearing her beg me to let her go somewhere around Grand Rapids.”

  A snort left her father. “Runs away just like her mother…begs just like her mother…” Caine’s focus landed on her, harsh and condemning. “Has no regard for hard-earned money just like her fucking mother.”

  Ailish was paralyzed in her seat. Blood from her injured wrist had trickled down into the palm of her right hand and—without thinking—she wiped it on the skirt of her dress, creating an ugly red streak. “What does my mother have to do with anything?”

  Again, Caine ignored her, giving his attention to Henrik. “I’ve had a lot of time to think since my daughter took off. A lot of time to look back. Review.” He poked himself in the temple with his index finger. “I’ve got a few irons in the fire. Running odds and collecting bets isn’t my only operation. Maybe that’s why I didn’t see it.”

  “See what?” Henrik said, sounding almost bored.

  Caine leaned forward, slowly—then he lifted the pocketknife and stabbed it full-force into the desk’s surface. “Didn’t see my own flesh and blood had been ripping me off.”

  Ailish had seen it coming before they’d walked into the office, but still. She’d been so careful. Covered every single base. “What do you mean?” she mumbled, uselessly, still half praying she was wrong.

  “Drop the bullshit, daughter. I found the second set of books.” Having rendered Ailish speechless, he left the knife sticking out of his desk and leaned back. “Took me about a week.” He tapped his nose. “But I could smell something rotten. You thought you were clever, didn’t you? Keeping them taped inside the vent in your closet. In my own goddamn house.”

  She couldn’t move, was afraid to breathe. With the fire roaring in his eyes, Caine was angry enough to kill her. Money. She’d messed with his money. The one thing he could never forgive. “It was only a few…shuffles,” Ailish whispered, wishing Henrik were free to settle his hands on her shoulders. Anything. Just some form of contact so she wouldn’t feel so cold. “You didn’t even miss it.”

  “Oh yes. You certainly are your mother’s daughter.” Her father tugged open the center drawer of his desk, removing a yellow legal pad and slapping it down beside the embedded knife. “Four hundred thousand, six hundred and twenty-nine dollars. That’s how much money you cost me. Bookie Cookie,” he sneered. “At least, that’s what I have so far. I’ve only gone through one fucking book.”

  Ailish started to shake. She’d never actually added up every cent she’d managed to hide from Caine by moving around funds, creating fake names with false entries. Breaking apart giant debts that could spell a man’s death sentence and whittling them down, spreading them out until they were nothing. Debts too small for Caine to take notice. Ailish could remember the morning she’d begun fudging the books like it had taken place only last week. Having woken to the sound of shout
ing, she’d gone downstairs and found a man kneeling, begging for his life in the backyard. She’d remained hidden at the base of the stairwell, but she’d watched her father take a man’s life that day. Watching the light go out of someone’s eyes. All because he’d bet too much money on football games.

  Days had passed before she’d been able to open her ledgers. They were no longer just numbers written down on the pages, but life-and-death wagers. Ailish had been the one to pass on notice of the dead man’s debt to her father, having naively assumed—what? That he would put the man on some kind of payment plan? She’d been so stupid. So blind. And she’d immediately started to atone, creating a different set of books with more names, ways to spread out the amounts owed. She’d asked her father for a more active role and began working directly with the bookies via a separate phone line. Caine had trusted her, and she’d lied, day after day, in the interest of saving lives.

  Now her own life had come into the equation.

  “What you were doing…I couldn’t let it be on my head,” Ailish said, thankful for the note of steel in her voice. Thankful for the shadow Henrik’s big body cast over her father’s desk as a reminder of his presence. “It wasn’t fair for you to put me in that position without my knowing the consequences.”

  Caine appeared surprised she’d spoken up. Which was fair, considering the only stand she’d ever taken had been behind the scenes, in secret. Never to his face. After a pause, her father’s surprise turned into disgust once again. “That there? That’s another thing your mother never understood. You earn your keep in this house. No one gets a free ride. You had a gift with numbers, so I put it to good use. In return, you got all the shit I never had. Private school, food, a house.” He ran his tongue along the inside of his gums. “Good news is, you’re going to make it up starting now.”

  Dread balled up in her stomach. “How?”