Connelly Crime Family Trilogy Read online

  Copyright © 2019 KB Winters and BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 KB Winters and BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  All rights reserved. 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 the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  Connelly Crime Family Trilogy

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Four Nights Forever

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  One More Night

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  As Night Falls

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty - One

  Chapter Twenty - Two

  Chapter Twenty - Three

  Chapter Twenty - Four

  Chapter Twenty - Five

  Chapter Twenty - Six

  Chapter Twenty - Seven

  Chapter Twenty - Eight

  Chapter Twenty - Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty - One

  Chapter Thirty - Two

  Chapter Thirty - Three

  Chapter Thirty - Four

  Chapter Thirty - Five

  Chapter Thirty - Six

  Free Book!

  More From KB Winters

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Copyright © 2019 KB Winters and BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Chapter One

  Layla

  “Hey Layla, you did a great job today. Thanks for stepping in with that idea.”

  Ross was the Marketing Director and had just promoted me to project manager for the biggest ad agency in Rocket, Nevada. At the awesomely young age of twenty-five, thank you very much.

  “I can’t believe how off base I was about that pitch,” he added.

  Ross was a really good boss. He encouraged me to step up more, to speak up instead of letting the senior people on the team, those with the loudest voices get all the glory. But he was an older man in a young, good-looking body.

  “I read about it in the comment section of some news site,” I said, “and I thought it was a troll or a prank until I did a little digging and found out that yeah, fidget spinners are a thing.”

  Apparently kids did crazy things all the time, the only difference was that the older I got, the crazier it all seemed.

  “Fidget spinners,” he grumbled, looking a little bewildered at how close the firm had come to not landing that huge sneaker account. “I thought those were toys for animals.”

  “Well,” I said, a laugh exploding out of me at the disbelief in Ross’s voice. “We don’t have to enjoy playing with them. We just have to dangle a free fidget spinner in front of customers to get them to buy these sneakers.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said, tossing the sample aside on his desk. “What are you up to tonight? Mary bought out a shoe store and she’s eager for your input.”

  I loved his soon-to-be fiancée, that was if he ever got off his ass and put that ring he bought five months ago on her finger, but I had plans tonight. “No can do tonight. I need to check on my dad.” My dad, the perpetual mess of a man, whom I loved dearly.

  A look of sympathy flashed on Ross’s tanned face, pity flickering in his deep brown eyes. “How is your dad, Layla?”

  I shrugged. That was about as accurate as I could be when it came to Dad. “He’s still breathing, and I make sure he eats enough not to pass out, so … good?”

  Ross nodded slowly. He just didn’t get it, and honestly, I didn’t expect him to. Most people probably would have washed their hands of my dad years ago when he first fell apart, but I couldn’t. Something happened to him while I was in California at college. I didn’t know what, but it had changed him. And not for the better.

  “Okay, girl. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call us.”

  “Thanks, Ross. Go home and let Mary model those new shoes for you.” With a wiggle of my eyebrows I left my boss laughing in his office and packed my shit up so I could go home.

  As soon as I was in my car, I pulled up my favorite image of Dad on my phone. Mid-laugh with that network of little lines around his eyes and mouth that I loved. He was laughing so hard, he had squinched his blue eyes closed and the sun glinted off his thick, wavy blond hair. He was young, then. Vibrant. Happy. I
tapped the image and the sound of the phone ringing came in through the Bluetooth speakers. “Hey Dad, you okay?”

  “Yeah, princess, I’m good.” By good, he probably meant drunk, since that was his natural state lately. Some days I wondered why I was so eager to graduate from UCLA and come back to Rocket for this shit. A father who was drunk more often than sober, stressed and in need of a weeklong nap.

  “How are you?” He slurred the question, but it seemed sincere enough.

  “I’m fine, Dad. Just leaving the office. Have you eaten anything today?”

  “What time is it?” The next sound was of him digging around his nightstand, probably for his watch, because he was old school like that. If there was any doubt of his sobriety level, it was demolished by the sound of him knocking everything off the nightstand.

  Or maybe he’d fallen asleep in his recliner and I was hearing beer cans and bottles falling off the little pine end table that hadn’t moved from the spot since I was eight years old. “Oh, no I haven’t eaten yet, princess. I’ll find something.”

  “Yeah? What are you going to eat? When was the last time you even went to the grocery store?”

  “Last week, maybe. Don’t worry about it, your old man will be fine.”

  Yeah, if I let him he’d ‘fine’ his way right into an early grave. “Well I am worried about it, Dad. I need to stop at the store anyway so I’ll bring you some things. Why don’t you take a shower and clean up before I get there and we can have dinner together?”

  Dad cleared his throat, coughed and cleared his throat once again. I called it the wakeup call of the chain smoking drunk. “Sure, princess, that sounds good. See you soon.” I hated how things had deteriorated between us ever since I’d become the adult in the relationship.

  I wanted to tell him about boys I dated, which lately had been exactly zero, and talk about stupid work problems and gossip about some chick who was prettier than me. But we couldn’t. Every conversation was me nagging him to eat, to shower, to take care of himself. To pay his bills. And then it was Dad reminding me that he was an adult, capable of taking care of himself. It was antagonistic at best and the scoff he let out before hanging up hurt like hell.

  But this was my new reality. This was the dream I went to college to fulfill. It seemed like I might have been better off staying in Rocket and making it work with community college and in-state tuition. Every other goddamn hour it felt like I was regretting taking that scholarship and leaving Nevada, but I had to. I needed to, dammit.

  The problems with Dad had started while I was in California and the guilt ate at me every time I looked into his deep blue eyes and saw a shadow of the man who’d raised me. It ate at me then and it ate at me now. Practically killed me to see him like that.

  I grabbed a cart and made my way through the supermarket to do shopping for two. I guessed that was less pathetic than shopping for one, but with Dad to take care of, I didn’t have the energy or patience to take care of another man.

  Though I wouldn’t mind having someone to take care of my own needs. For a little while, anyway.

  Chapter Two

  Eamon

  “I told her I’d give her a grand for every second she kept me in her mouth.” My little brother Shae was a goddamn riot.

  “How long did you hold her down there?” Shea was a damn freak and had almost a fetish-like love for getting head.

  Shae frowned but his satisfaction over whatever he was about to say was too great and he flashed a wide, shit eating grin. “I didn’t have to do shit but lie back and enjoy it while Sonya tried to kill herself for a few dollars.”

  “A few?”

  He shrugged, still grinning from ear to ear. “I may have fucked her mouth a little and didn’t last as long as I wanted.”

  “How long?”

  “Thirty grand, that’s how long.” The sick fuck was actually embarrassed by that.

  “Expensive blow job.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, E-money. The blow job was for her, to lube her up for the party later. By the time I gave her orgasm number two she was begging me to take her ass.” He licked his lips and adjusted his pants at the memory.

  “You have issues, baby brother.”

  He shrugged and took a swig of the icy vodka he kept on tap whenever we came to our father’s place for business. “Just enough to make me irresistible to the wrong kind of women.”

  That much was true. Whatever scars the Connelly men had in our past, we all dealt with them in our own way.

  At twenty-four, Shae was just six years younger than me, but people could tell we were brothers. We both had our mother’s fair skin and the same frame, lean, ripped and always ready for battle. And we both had dimples, though his was on his cheek and mine was on my chin. Back in elementary school, the kids teased us about them, but we’d always had the last laugh because the Connelly dimples were chick magnets.

  Shae fucked his demons away. I did too sometimes, but my preferred method of purging was fighting. Pounding. Obliterating. Which was why I’d been the designated enforcer for years.

  “Where’s Rourke?” I asked Shae after he finished gloating about his latest score.

  “In the study with the old man.” Rourke was the most serious of all three of us, probably had something to do with losing his dad at a young age and growing up in this life with his mom, my Aunt Fiona. “They’re talking about the books.”

  The books. How the Connelly family made our money. Gambling and betting were our main trade but as a criminal organization we dabbled in everything from drugs to guns and made millions a year dealing in ass. We sold ass. All ages, colors, and kinks. All told, we ran the city of Rocket, Nevada, nestled in the Truckee Valley, which kept the family coffers overflowing and it was our job as the next generation to keep it that way. “Anything wrong?” I asked, looking over my brother’s shoulder.

  “Just basic accounting,” Shae answered, which was code for The List. The names of debts that had been left hanging too long without payment. Which meant it was time for me to make a few visits and maybe, hopefully, break a few bones. I grinned at the thought.

  Before I could say anything else, Rourke joined us in the game room, slipping the pool stick from my hands. “Uncle Patrick wants to see you, Eamon.”

  It probably made me the same sick fuck I accused Shae of being for feeling a thrill as I took the steps that led me to my father’s study. It was just what you’d expect of a very rich man who was too fucking concerned with appearances. Dark, mahogany wood made up nearly the whole damn room from the large intimidating desk, the wet bar in the corner, the tables scattered around the room and even the floor to ceiling bookshelves on the wall to the left. What wasn’t dark wood was black or brown leather. “You wanted to see me?”

  He nodded, his sharp green eyes hadn’t dulled a bit despite his age, though at fifty-five, Patrick Connelly was one of the younger mob bosses in the area. His brown hair was more silver these days which only made his eyes even more intense. “I did. Come in, son. I have a special task for you.”

  There went those tingles again, like the first spark of a fire dancing on my skin at the thought of working out some of my demons. “Whatever you need, Father.”

  Patrick nodded, pleased with the answer even though we both knew there was no other acceptable answer. “Peter Michaels. His payments have stopped and the local muscle hasn’t done a good job of impressing upon him the importance of paying me my fucking money. I need you to show him how unwise that is.”

  Shit. Peter Michaels was a sad sack of a man who gave me no pleasure to threaten or beat. I’d do it because it was my job, because it was part of the family business, but goddammit I wouldn’t enjoy it. He was weak. Pathetic. “No problem, Dad. I’m on it. Anything else?”

  I knew the deal, but I let my father explain it every damn time because it was something he apparently needed to do.

  “Michaels isn’t some rich fuck who just doesn’t want to pay his debt, so remind him just
enough that he’ll remember the lesson while he works his nine to five.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  Without another word, I left the study and made my way through the green and white spiral tile that marked the path to the front door. I hopped in my blue Benz and made my way to the slightly rundown area of Rocket where Peter Michaels lived. Thankfully, alone.

  The gray cement buildings were all the same, with the same green painted metal railing fixed to the cement and steel staircases. The side of each building held a numbered stencil and I found a spot right in front of number three. Taking the stairs three at a time, I found unit 310 and knocked, stepping just out of view of the peephole in case Michaels had any thoughts of running or playing possum.

  “Hey … Mr. Connelly,” his smile died on his lips. “W-what are you doing here?”

  “We both know exactly what I’m doing here,” I told him as I pushed inside and removed my jacket. “Come into any money recently?” I was happy I’d decided to go with a shirt with buttons so I wouldn’t have to remove cufflinks to roll up my sleeves.

  “Uh, no. I haven’t. And I don’t have any money for you today.”

  Of course he didn’t because that would make my job, my life too fucking simple and if there was one thing my life never was? Easy.

  “But I’ll get it, I promise.”

  That old story. I wasn’t falling for it. “Sorry. Out of time. You know what has to be done.” I cracked my knuckles, not to scare him, just because it was something I did.

  Michaels nodded, resigned to his fate the way gambling addicts always were. “I know but … I just … can you give me more time? I just need more time.”

  “That is the one thing you don’t have, Peter.” I grabbed him by the collar and sent my fist smashing down on his face. Once. Twice. Three hits right to the nose. The mouth. The jaw. “Now, do you have an answer for me?”

  “No! No,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “I don’t have any money for you, but I will. Soon. I promise.”

  I punched him again because the promises of a gambling addict meant less than shit to me. “Wrong answer, Michaels. Wanna try again?”

  Blood streamed from his nose, his brow and the corner of his mouth and still I didn’t feel any sense of relief. That frustration forced me to land another series of blows right to his pudgy gut.