The Bride of Mackenzie Black: Not Just Royals Book 3 Read online

  The Bride of Mackenzie Black

  Not Just Royals, Volume 3

  Dahlia Rose

  Published by Dahlia Rose Unscripted, 2019.

  Table of Contents

  The Bride of Mackenzie Black | By Dahlia Rose | Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Also By Dahlia Rose

  About the Author

  The Bride of Mackenzie Black

  By Dahlia Rose

  Chapter One

  “Mac! Mac, are you listening to me?” the voice came over the line, causing him to focus.

  “Yes, I am,” Mac answered even though he was focused on the computer screen in front of him.

  “You’re bloody well not,” Haile said hotly. “Can you get it or not, I want to give Mari a piece of home for Christmas?”

  “Uh-huh,” Mac said and continued typing. “Home, gotcha.”

  “Damn it . . .” Haile was starting to get even more irritated.

  “It’s done, and the package will be at your house well before Christmas Eve,” Mac said suddenly.

  Haile sighed. “Thanks, mate.”

  “You should never doubt my powers,” Mac said with pride in his voice. “Mari should be married to me, not to you.”

  “Ha ha, very funny,” Haile said. “Are you coming home for Christmas this year?”

  Just the thought tied Mac’s stomach in knots. “Maybe . . . doubtful . . . no.”

  Haile sighed. “I’m sure your mum would like to see you.”

  “She didn’t care when I left, so that doesn’t sound like her,” Mac answered.

  “A lot has changed—”

  Mac interrupted him. “A lot hasn’t.”

  “Jasper and Zeva would actually like for you to meet their baby,” Haile shot back.

  “I get videos frequently,” Mac answered. “Haile, no one wants me in Northumberland.”

  “Damn it, we do,” Haile said fiercely. “And anyone who says otherwise don’t fucking matter.”

  “Easy for you to say, Lord Haile—and Jasper is a Duke,” Mac said. “To everyone I was just your lower-class friend who used his fists instead of his block head.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Haile said fiercely. “A damn title or lack of one didn’t make you any less than us. We love you, man; you’re our brother.”

  “I know that,” Mac sighed. “Let me think on it, okay?”

  “That’s usually a no,” Haile grumbled. “You’ll do what you want.”

  “My general disposition,” Mac smiled. “Kiss the lovely Lady Marisol for me, and tell her the gift is from me.”

  “I will do neither,” Haile replied teasingly. “Stop trying to steal my wife! Get your own.”

  “But taking yours would be so much more fun,” Mac chuckled.

  “Ha ha—ha and goodbye.”

  Mac grinned as he hit the disconnect button on his cell, but soon his thoughts grew somber. Going home to Northumberland? Hell, he hadn’t been there in ten years, and he didn’t see a reason to go back. Leaving under a cloud of suspicion and with bruised knuckles. His mother didn’t try to stop him, because she wanted him far away from his younger brother. It didn’t matter about his truth, only how the residents of Northumberland saw her. Helen Black liked to put on airs where none should be, and because his friends had titles she would parade around the markets and shops with her nose in the air.

  So of course, him being in trouble didn’t sit right with her plans at all—and then the incident that almost landed him in jail had sent his mother off the deep end. It was easier to relocate to the United States, where he had built his business from scratch. Mac had made a good life for himself in D.C., and the respect his mother craved was now his, away from his home. He was called on to protect everyone from politicians to priests, and his security systems were custom-made. He had installations across the globe. Why should he go back to a place that saw him as some boy in the streets when he was respected for who he was in D.C.? He told his friend maybe, but Mac knew it was more than likely not going to happen. Northumberland held nothing for him, not anymore.

  With the fall back in time, the sky darkened quickly, so by the time Mac stepped out of his office to head out into the cold city all sunlight had been extinguished. It had snowed in early November and probably would again before December rolled around. It was D.C. The wind had a bite to it now that winter had truly settled in.

  He went home for a quick shower and then went on a date that ended up going nowhere. It wasn’t like he wanted to take her home and fuck her, but Leslie had no wit, no fun, no personality whatsoever. She was the type who wanted to be a staunch politician’s wife on the camera with a smile that never gave her eyes any warmth. Mac made a mental note to never accept another set-up from any of his associates, by the time the date was over. He considered docking Alex’s holiday bonus; why did he think Mac and Leslie were a fit? He actually breathed a sigh of relief when he was in bed and blessedly alone.

  Mackenzie Black! Brawler in the streets of Northumberland, come on down. You’re next up to play “Is he worthy to leave?”

  The dream had him in a man-made ring of old crates and bags of feed down on the docks. He stood in the center of the ring and was already covered in bruises with his knuckles torn, but still he raised his fists ready to fight. He was going to be free of this place one way or the other.

  “Once you’re in, you can’t ever leave, Mac, you know that,” Quinn sneered and swung at Mac with a pipe.

  He was the one who had brought Mac into the gang at seventeen and who'd vowed to take care of him like he was his son. Mac punched at the thick frame in front of him. He was almost like a brother to Mac, but that changed quickly. Quinn was older and built like a bulldog with a thick middle and a neck that seemed to throw up his bald head. Mac fought for his life, taking every hit of the metal pipe to his ribs, but still he took Quinn down.

  Standing over his body, Mac raged thought no more breath was left in his body. “Who’s next? I’ll fight all of you. I’ll take all you fuckers on!”

  The dialect he'd tried to hide came out, the smooth, posh, English accent replaced with the harsh gutter talk of a boy who had lived on the wrong side of town. His mother stepped up, and she held out her hands covered with blood as she looked at him with dark, vicious eyes.

  “Look what you did, his blood is on your hands!” she screamed at him. “Donnie . . . is . . . my . . . baby!”

  “Ma, I left,” Mac implored. “I left so he wouldn’t try to follow me.”

  “You should’ve just played with the young Duke and we’d be just fine,” she sneered. “He’d take care of us.”

  “I don’t need to live off the charity of others, I made my bloody own,” Mac raged. “It’s good enough for me to send to you each month, innit Ma?”

  “They’ve got him, they got my baby boy,” she fell to her knees and he saw his brother in the corner behind her, broken and bloody.

  “I left, Ma, so he could be safe, I . . . LEFT!” Mac raged. “You were supposed to take care of him, not me. It was your job!”

  She screamed at him, raged, told him he was never good enough to be her son and that she wished she had another true son. Then, in the dream, Quinn got up and all the demons of Mac's past appeared and surrounded him, trying to beat him down. Yet Mac fought; through the sweat and blood in his eyes, he punched and swung even though no more breath was in his
body.

  It was then that Mac woke up, gasping for air, fighting the darkness of his bedroom, while in the background, he heard a constant buzzing. He fought the last vestiges of the nightmare and focused on the noise, finally understanding that the sound was his phone. He looked at the readout and saw Jasper’s number, and he just knew something was wrong.

  “Jasper,” he said his name and nothing more.

  “Mac, it’s your mother, she had a stroke,” Jasper said without sugarcoating it. “It’s pretty bad.”

  “Where’s Donnie?” Mac asked.

  Jasper hesitated. “I don’t know. Haile has been trying to find him in the usual places, but so far nothing.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there . . . and Jasper, thanks,” Mac hung up and lay back with his forearm across his eyes.

  “Shit!”

  The word burst out of him, and he felt like someone was squeezing his heart. It seemed regardless of what Mac wanted he was going to Northumberland after all.

  * * * *

  He looked out into the world that he wished he could forget but loved more than anything: home. Mac could recall every scent in the drive through the streets of Northumberland from the train station. The rooster hadn’t even crowed yet, and the sun was only a sliver of light on the horizon. The window of the Land Rover was cracked, and he could smell the scent of hot cross buns fresh at the bakery, the first hints as they got coffee ready for the early customers who would be in by six-thirty. When you worked on the docks, clocking in could be five am or before. Soon the men and women would be coming out in thick sweaters over the suspenders that held up leather high waders to process fish that had come in on the boats only an hour or so earlier. He was meant to be one of those men, his lot in life his father had said. His mother wanted him to pretend he was like his friends Jasper and Haile. The latter was now driving him home.

  Christmas was definitely in the air. The car passed the square where the tree sat in the bowl of the fountain. It boasted the unique ornaments crafted by the local shops and artisans, with fresh garland and poinsettias used like bows and streamers. The lights were made by local glass-blowers and electricians. The wooden star, Mac knew, was carved by Jasper; it was used to cover a light while the star-shaped holes let the light out. It was simple but elegantly beautiful. The streetlamps held the various holiday light fixtures: a candle, the nativity scene, holly, and mistletoe. The shops all had their windows decorated for Christmas. Although it was nothing like New York or D.C., it was more beautiful than he remembered: quaint, cozy. It felt so good to be home, and at the same time, he felt like he was choking and wanted to escape.

  “Where’s Ma got a bed at?” Mac grimaced and cleared his throat. “I mean which hospital is she a patient of?”

  “I know what you meant, been most of the places you grew up, Mac,” Haile said gruffly. “She’s at Queen Charlotte’s, Jasper pulled some strings and got her off the ward into a private room.”

  “I’ll pay for it when I get there,” Mac said. “Any word on Donnie?”

  “Bouchey’s got him,” Haile said without hesitation. “We’ll have to go get him.”

  “He’ll want money.” Mac’s voice was flat. “If Bouchey’s holding him, Donnie’s got a debt.”

  “You going to pay him off?” Haile asked.

  Mac shook his head. “You know he wants money and favors and if he gets it, it won’t stop there. I won’t be held over a barrel by that man again. No, I go in and get him.”

  “You mean we,” Haile corrected. “You’ve been gone for a long time, Mac. He’s changed his operation up big-time, and he’s got some muscle who doesn’t mind putting a man in the grave.”

  “He can try,” Mac said gruffly. “The apartment over the bar empty so I can sleep after we see Ma?”

  Haile cleared his throat. “Um no, Marisol has rented it out to a girl from Barbados who relocated here from London. She’s a nurse at the hospital and works at Zeva’s center helping the women there as well.”

  “It’s okay, I can get a hotel,” Mac answered. “I’ll have to find someplace to put Donnie up until I can figure out what to do with him to keep him out of trouble.”

  “Donnie is an adult. If you get him out of this and he gets back into trouble, then it’s on him,” Haile’s voice was stiff, and Mac could tell he was pissed. “He walks around being a braggart, strutting like some rooster with nothing he’s earned. He spends the money you send your Ma and her pension, bringing all types into that flat. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but Zeva said your Ma has come in for food vouchers more than once.”

  “That little . . . ” Mac clenched his fist and took a deep breath. Donnie’s main concern shouldn’t be Bouchey at that point because Mac was surely thinking about killing his brother for his utter bullshit. “I send more than enough that Ma doesn’t need assistance. Dad's pension wasn’t a poor man’s wage either.”

  “Gambling in Bouchey’s places can get a man in debt in the blink of an eye, those games are rigged,” Haile explained. “Your mother wouldn’t call and tell you a thing because she still looks at Donnie and sees her baby.”

  “Plus, she knows I’d come and box him upside the head,” Mac said. “Let’s get this over with, where’s Bouchey holding court lately?”

  “That old duplex on Calvary is main office now, the basement is a gambling den, first floor, and he runs the books and lives upstairs.” Haile made a sharp turn, and they headed down a dark street. “Let’s try to get me home without a bruised face, shall we? Marisol will have my ass and yours if I show up looking like I was in a fight.”

  “Then fight dainty, Lord Haile,” Mac grinned. “I’ll go clean up at the hotel when we’re done—and there’s no one to care what my mug looks like.”

  “Oh, there is no hotel after this,” Haile shot him a grin. “Zeva and Marisol would skin me alive; the cottage house at the manor has been prepared for you.”

  Mac sighed. “My ma always wanted me to live out there, guess she got what she wanted after all.”

  Haile grunted. “Listen, we all had a fucked-up life growing up. You know ours, and we know yours. I’ll tell you what I learned. We cannot live with the demons they set upon us. Your father had you set for the docks and boxing until you beat your brain to mush. Your mum wanted you to be royalty by default, though we were by far the worst representations of our titles. You are here to make sure she is comfortable and to beat some sense into your brother. Mackenzie Black is who you are.”

  “Damn, have you opened up a therapy room in the bar?” Mac teased, trying to take the mood lighter. “Being married has changed yous.”

  “I’m taking you to the moors and leaving you there,” Haile threatened.

  The rest of the drive was made in comfortable silence, but Mac was mentally gearing up for a fight. Bouchey wouldn’t let Donnie go without a fight, and that meant a part of him he’d buried had to be resurrected to get his brother out alive. He hoped he could break their spirit so they wouldn’t come after his brother again. The dream was a premonition, and the bruiser was back in Northumberland. At least for now.

  Chapter Two

  The sloping roof of the duplex sat at the very end of the cul-de-sac of Calvary Road. Which meant there would be no quick exit and they would have to fight their way out and quickly get into the truck. It had to be quick because people would be getting up soon and any trouble would have witnesses. Not that people on Calvary talked to the police anyway, it was one of the streets in Northumberland that was known to have a bad element. Yet good people and families lived there. They didn’t have much in the way of income and found a home in places they could afford. No one could fault them for working hard and expecting safety—even on Calvary Road. It was another reason he wanted this sorted out quickly. If he was any good at it, they would have Donnie and be gone before the first person stepped out for work.

  Haile made sure to park by the abandoned house on the opposite side of the street. The streetlight had been shattered, which offe
red them extra protection from being seen. Mac looked up at the sky and saw the first hint of orange was spreading more. The sun would be rising soon. With that in mind, he gave Haile a look and a nod, and Haile reached under the seat to pull out an ancient Billy club. He tested the grip out in his hand. Haile must have felt Mac's gaze; when he looked over, Mac gave him a raised, questioning eyebrow.

  “What? Sometimes the old ways work best, it’s the only thing some of these guys understand,” Haile said. “You need one?”

  Mac shook his head. “I always found my fists worked best.”

  They crossed the street quickly, and instead of using the rusty gate they hopped the fence that was covered in ivy vines. He could still make out the red berries of holly mixed between the wooden slats of the fence in the early morning light. They had the short, long windows of the basement level covered in red tint so the police couldn’t look inside. The music pulsed from downstairs, and he could make out the shadows of people still moving around in the room.

  “The boys at the door went inside for a little action before they need to clear everyone out,” Haile said in a low tone. “We need to get in that door, 'cos Bouchey won’t be upstairs until the sun is up and the money is counted.”

  “Well then, we better knock and see who opens the door,” Mac said grimly and bounded up the top steps to the second level entry.

  Haile was right behind him as he knocked. “You have no finesse.”

  Mac smiled. “It was never my style.”

  The door was opened just a crack, and that was enough for Mac to use his large shoulders to muscle his way in. He cut off any sound the man would've made by clenching his fingers around the man’s neck. Haile took the club to the other bodyguard's head and took him to the floor. Three more men came out, and they were dispatched just as quickly. At least two felt Mac’s brutal punches, and when he threw them to the floor, they upset the table with stacks of cash. Mac saw a room with the door off its hinges and in the middle of the room his brother was tied to a chair.