Act 4: The Wind Up

Kieran Teague took a drag of his cigarette and looked at the pathetic piece of shit in front of him. His men had just caught this one outside one of his strip clubs and noticed the tattoo, knowing their boss would reward them well. They were not wrong.

He glared down at the MC member and grabbed his Karambit knife again. The man looks up at him and grins, “Fuck you,” he grumbled and spat at his torturer’s feet.

Kieran sighs in anger. He walks towards his captive and rears his fist back, connecting with the man’s nose repeatedly.

“Tell me where the fuck they took my shipment!” He growled in frustration, landing a final blow to the throat.

“Kieran! For fuck sakes, you’ll kill him before we know anything!” Danielle, Kieran’s sister, grabbed his fist and pulled him back. Kieran spun around and glared at her, “Don’t touch me, Dani.” He warns, pointing a finger at her, and turns towards the MC member, who was now gurgling on his own blood.

“Fuck!” He calls out. Knowing the man was in his death throes, he planted his knife in the man’s throat and slid it across.

He looks around the room at his men staring at him, “Deliver him in pieces to their club long with his bike. Let them know it was me.” He spat out and headed towards the sink to clean up his hands.

Over the last three months, the MCs have compromised all his narcotic shipments. He had a feeling the Cartel was paying them off to do this. His territory got breached and his selling grounds were being tainted by cut product.

They were all starting to suspect that there might be a snitch in the family, but no one wanted to admit it. He sighed in exasperation and dried his hands. If there was a snitch, he would have to suspect everyone close to him, even his siblings.

Kieran Teague was the boss of the Irish mob. His territory was expanding way too close to the Bratva, so he started wondering if they were behind the attack. But that in itself would not make sense. Dimitri Baranov owned more than half of New York. What would The Bishop of New York need with Kieran’s small birthright of Hell’s Kitchen?

The Italians left cocaine smuggling to them while they dealt in heroin. That was the agreement he and Luca Andretti came to in order to keep the peace. As for arms dealing, Kieran was the only one who dealt with the shipments. He didn’t trust anyone to do it, not even his closest siblings.

“Kieran,” Danielle walked up behind him, anger in her voice.

She was a short, slim built woman who had a penchant for violence. Her long blonde hair whipped behind her as she walked up to him.

“You need to calm down with your tactics if you want to get information from a captive. If you keep this up, they will all die before we could get anything out of them.” She finished in her slight Irish drawl, narrowing her eyes at him.

“If I needed your advice, I would ask for it, Dani.” He snapped back at her and could see her raise her eyebrows. She crossed her arms and glared at him.

“You made me your advisor and enforcer, Kieran. You trusted me with those titles, so I think I know what I’m doing.” She looked behind her and pointed to the dead man, “Next time, put me in charge of extracting information or we will never sort this out.” With that, she turned around and left him with his own thoughts.

He knew she was right; his methods were too bloody and rough. Danielle could draw out a torture session for weeks on end. He couldn’t last an hour with a captive enemy, man or woman.

This was why he was known for being more ruthless than even Dimitri.

Running his fingers through his hair in frustration, he heads out of the warehouse and gets into his Bugatti Chiron. He knew this car was incredibly flashy, but the thrill of driving it excited him way too much.

He sped away from the warehouse, seething that yet another lead ended up being a dud. If he didn’t find the snitch soon, he would lose his empire. They were already losing thousands by the day.

Coming to a stop in the underground parking lot of his apartment, he gets out and cleans up after his frustrating afternoon. After which he would head out to his newest BDSM club and blow some steam off. His usual girl had better be waiting for him.

An hour later, while he was busy drying his body off, his phone rang.

“Mass,” Kieran answered the phone. It was Massimo, his brother in charge of the shipment docks.

“Kier, we have a fucking problem.”

A low growl escaped Kieran’s throat and he pinched the bridge of nhis nose. If another shipment went missing, he would start killing his men down at the docks for their incompetence. Sighing, he answered.

“What the fuck now?”

He heard the frustrated sigh from Massimo and raked his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“There’s a bloodbath down at the docks. They have compromised white shipments. It’s all here, but they might have tainted it.“ Massimo said, waiting for his brother’s response.

They were getting bolder, hitting him close to home like this. The mob was his family, and now they started killing his family. But the gravity of what Massimo had just said hit him. His trap had worked.

“I’ll be there in a minute.“ He finally said, killing the call.

The ‘cocaine’ shipment was a ruse to weed out the snitch. Only a handful of his people knew about it. The men at the docks didn’t know they were receiving a shipment this morning, they were his usual security detail. Now, he had something to go on. It would be one in ten people who were fucking with him, and they were all his siblings.

Dressed in black jeans, black boots, a white vest, and black button-down shirt which he kept undone, he left his apartment. Opting for his Maserati SUV, he started his car and left for the docks with his two men in tow.

Was he pissed off? He wasn’t sure.

He was the eldest of 10 siblings. Sean Teague, his father, fucked around a lot in his younger years, so about 3 of them were his blood from his mother’s side. The rest were all step siblings who knew the mantle would never be passed over to them. His father had loved them all equally when he was still alive, but he only taught Kieran the ins and outs of the life of a mob boss. He trusted no one else with the title.

Could it really be someone close to him vying to the title, trying to make him seem incompetent?

Turning to the docks, he saw what Massimo meant. It was a literal bloodbath; he noticed several trademark Cartel tells on the bodies and kills. So not only was one of his siblings selling him out, but they were selling him out to the fucking Mexican Cartel.

Massimo stalked over to him, fire in his eyes. “Judging by the fucking Columbian neckties, it’s safe to assume that this is Suarez’s work.” Massimo spat out as he smoked his cigarette. Kieran noticed his blood-covered hands, and he frowned. Massimo caught this and gestured to the office with his thumb. “Got a live one. Doc is seeing him. Repeatedly stabbed and almost gutted, but managed to fake death until morning. He lost a lot of blood and is out of it, but as soon as he wakes up, you can question him.” Massimo said, and Kieran perked up some. At least there was some good news.

He observed the 8 dead bodies and sighed. “Get their names to me and let their families know. I’ll send compensation in the morning.”

Then he turned around and left the bloody scene behind him. He recognized their faces. He knew all his men’s faces and names. But he needed to know who to make the compensation cheques out to. If the men had kids, Kieran would put them under his protection and pay for their schooling. It was only fair; these men had laid down their lives for him, so he would take care of their loved ones. Same as his father did before him.

This was why the Teague bosses had always been revered; they were ruthless when needed, but took care of the people working for them. Even in death. Their loyalty only made him a stronger boss, and yet there was someone who wished him harm. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense that it was one of his stepbrothers.

Before he knew it, he was outside his club, The Rabbit Hole.

Time to let off some fucking steam.