Hooked: A Christmas Romance: The Doyles, Boston Irish Mafia Romance Read online

  Hooked

  The Doyles, A Dark Boston Irish Mafia Romance

  Sophie Austin

  Contents

  Where to Find Sophie Austin

  Author’s Note

  1. Sia

  2. Vinny

  3. Sia

  4. Vinny

  5. Sia

  6. Sia

  7. Vinny

  8. Vinny

  9. Sia

  10. Vinny

  11. Sia

  12. Vinny

  13. Sia

  14. Vinny

  15. Sia

  16. Vinny

  17. Sia

  18. Vinny

  19. Sia

  20. Vinny

  Epilogue – Sia

  Epilogue Two – Vinny

  Preview: Ringer, Book Seven of The Doyles

  Hooked

  Book 6 in The Doyles Series

  Copyright @ 2019 Sophie Austin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Any brands, trademarks, or other proprietary terms are the property of their owners.

  Production team:

  Cover Design: Kasmit Covers

  Proofreading by: Pickycat Editing

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  Created with Vellum

  Where to Find Sophie Austin

  Sign up for my newsletter at Sophieaustinromance.com and get on the list for the free prequel novella to the Doyles series!

  I’m a Boston Irish brawler. A boxer. A soldier. An ex-con.

  Kathleen is sweet, beautiful, perfect. And she’s my dead best friend’s little sister. Too good for me.

  But I'll show her how much I care, what I can give her.

  Because in the end, she's going to be mine.

  Sign up now at sophieaustinromance.com to get the latest news on the Doyles and be first to get a copy of the free prequel novella to the Doyles, Sinner.

  Author’s Note

  Thank you so much for reading this book and exploring the world of the Doyles! The Doyles can be read as standalone stories or enjoyed as a series. Each book has no cliffhangers, no cheating, and steamy, heartwarming HEAs you won't forget.

  A note on the timeline: Each book follows the story of one individual Doyle brother - Ronan, Kieran, Seamus, Connor, and Owen. The holiday stories follow Vinny Esposito and Jack Mulvaney, friends and associates of the Doyle brothers. The stories happen one after another over the course of about a year. The epilogues happen further in the future - after the end of the last book in the series - and don't affect the timelines or characters of these individual stories.

  Now, buckle up and get ready for toughest, big-hearted Irish guys Boston's ever seen and the ladies that steal their hearts along the way!

  1

  Sia

  “What do you mean the ferry isn’t running?”

  I drove three hours, in traffic, from Boston to Hyannis to catch this exact ferry to Martha’s Vineyard.

  I have a Christmas party to plan.

  The best Christmas party the Vineyard’s ever seen.

  But that’s not going to happen if I can’t get there.

  “I’m sorry, Miss,” the young man behind the counter says. I’m trying not to stare at the giant blemish on his forehead, but that thing can probably see into the future. “The nor’easter cut closer to the coast than predicted. It’s not safe for us to go out.”

  I tap my foot impatiently, looking out the window.

  “It’s not even raining!” The sky is gray and thick with clouds, but that’s New England from November to March.

  I’m fine with depressing weather if I can make things festive inside.

  “It’s not the rain.” His voice cracks. “It’s the wind.”

  “Is anyone going out? Maybe a private charter?” Dozens of boats dock in this marina. The state-run ferries are the cheapest, but I don’t need cheap. I just need to get there as soon as possible.

  The young man shrugs. “No, Miss. Not that I know of. I’m really sorry.”

  My stomach drops, but I don’t give up that easily.

  “It’s okay. Thanks for your help.” Time to make some calls. I head toward the door, and just as I pull out my phone a weathered-looking man stops me.

  “Miss,” he says, waving at me. Dark sunspots cover skin dried to leather from too much exposure to saltwater. “I couldn’t help but overhear. You need a ride to the Vineyard?”

  “Yes!” I exclaim, grabbing his hand in delight. “Are you heading that way?”

  “Sure am. I can take you. Going to tuck into Oak Bluffs for the night.”

  “It must be fate. Do you leave soon?”

  He smiles at my excitement. “Soon as possible. Best be on our way before the moon wakes up and really stirs those waves.”

  He wears a big, brown water-stained coat and sturdy boots. If I were hiring him for a nautical-themed event, I’d insist on a captain’s hat, but otherwise, he looks perfect.

  “Great. Just let me get my bags and tell me where to meet you.”

  He scoffs and comes with me, helping to pull the three giant roller bags from the trunk of my black Jetta. It’s a matching set, and I’ve used these bags to carry my party planning essentials for five years now. They’re a little beat-up but built to last.

  Just because I have money doesn’t mean I want to be wasteful.

  “You staying a long time, Miss?”

  “Call me Sia.” I follow behind him with two of the rolling bags. “Just for a week.”

  “Oscar,” he replies. “Lots of stuff for one week.”

  “Oh, this is mostly for work.” I laugh. “I know it looks bad.” One entire bag holds my portfolios. Can’t hurt to drum up business while I’m here.

  He glances at my leopard print Jimmy Choos. I didn’t have time to change after my last client meeting, and when you work with the rich and powerful you have to project a certain image.

  Plus I’m only five feet tall, and I use the extra height to be taken seriously.

  “You sell makeup or something?” he asks.

  The bags make an ungodly thumping noise as we drag them down the metal ramp to his boat. It’s a small powerboat with two outboard engines.

  “No, I’m an event planner,” I shout over the noise. The ocean seems calm, and I’m relieved when we board. The water laps peacefully at the boat’s hull as Oscar ties the bags in the hold.

  “All the fancy parties will be up at Chilmark.” Oscar takes a moment to admire his ropework. “You have someone who can take you there?”

  I follow him to the boat’s center console and watch as he fiddles with the controls. He glances at me and my shoes again and frowns. The bottom of his boat is soaked. Saltwater and probably fish guts too.

  Sia Fitzgerald is always prepared, though, and my shoes are weatherproofed.

  “I’m surprising my uncle. He lives in Oak Bluffs. Owns one of the old Victorian mansions and converted it to an inn. I’m going to throw a party and get him lots of great publicity.”

  If he’ll let me throw a party, that is. He hasn’t been much for any holidays since his son, my cousin Drew, died of an overdose nearly ten years ago.

  And l
ast time I’d visited, he hadn’t exactly been welcoming.

  But my cousin Kieran says he’s in a better state of mind, and I want to bring us all together for the holiday. Big, fancy party on the twenty-third with guests from all over the island, and just the family for Christmas.

  Perfect.

  Oscar grunts as he works and the boat engines roar to life. We’re free of the moorings in minutes, heading southwest to the island.

  What if Kieran’s wrong and he’s not happy to see me? What if he still hates me? I shiver. Don’t go there, Sia.

  “You cold?” Oscar asks.

  He doesn’t miss much.

  “No.” I tug my big, blanket-sized scarf more firmly around my shoulders. “It’s just been a while since I’ve visited.”

  He grunts again. I’m sure Oscar has seen some things.

  For forty-five minutes, I chat with Oscar while we zip through the water. We’re close to the island. Fear and excitement surge through me as the reality of seeing my uncle again sinks in.

  But then Oscar straightens up suddenly.

  The winds change.

  We’ve hit the edge of the storm.

  In seconds, wind-driven rain cascades down in torrents. The boat pitches as the waves intensify. We’re fighting to stay upright. I shiver uselessly, staring wide-eyed at Oscar.

  I’m soaked through, my pea coat retaining every drop of water—rain and sea together. My scarf chokes me, itchy wet wool glued to my throat, but I can’t let go of the console to fix it.

  Oscar grabs for the radio as one of the engines sputters out.

  “Mayday, Mayday. This is the Ivy Bay. We’re taking on water. Motor is out. Requesting assistance. Do you copy?”

  The radio crackles, but then silence.

  “There’s Coast Guard at Menemsha,” Oscar shouts.

  The roar of the wind terrifies me. I’ve seen my share of nor’easters, but I’ve never been on the open water for one.

  “Life jackets under the seat,” Oscar says through gritted teeth, his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.

  I’m too afraid to let go. We pitch and heave, wave after wave tossing us like a game of hot potato. I’ve never been so nauseous.

  A wave maybe twenty feet high surges in front of us.

  “Hold on! We’re not going to crest this one!”

  I brace against the console, my hands numb from fear as much as the wind-whipped water.

  It crashes over us.

  2

  Vinny

  Taco swims peacefully in his bowl, having just devoured his dinner. He prefers pellets to flakes. Once I had tried to switch it up, and he’d spit the flakes out disdainfully.

  Taco should’ve been born a crab instead of a betta fish. Maybe in his next life.

  Rain pours down, battering my roof. I love the sound. I’ve always loved storms. It’s one of the reasons I joined the Coast Guard. My shipmates thought I had a death wish when we’d be out training in bad weather, but as unpredictable as storms seem, there’s a logic to them. Atmospheric chemistry and physics create limitations.

  People on the other hand? Incredibly unpredictable.

  It’s why I love the cold weather seasons on Martha’s Vineyard. All of the tourists leave, and it’s just me and Taco.

  I’m about to settle in for a hot Friday night with my book when I hear pounding on the front door. I live in a small two-story clapboard house, the first floor converted into a fish and chips takeout shop I operate during the warm seasons. I don’t usually have visitors other than my best friend Kieran or Kieran’s uncle, Danny. And even they don’t come by much.

  I prefer to do the visiting on the rare occasions I need social interaction. That way I can control how long said interaction lasts.

  I’m down the stairs in seconds, opening the front door.

  Danny Fitzgerald stands in the rain, soaked to the bone already. He doesn’t wait for me to speak and pushes past me.

  “Vinny,” he says, shaking off some of the rain. “There’s a boat in trouble about a quarter mile offshore.”

  I scowl. “Who the hell went out in this storm? That’s idiotic.”

  “It’s Oscar,” Danny says, and waves off my anger. “We’re closer than Menemsha.”

  “There’s the small guard response boat in the marina.” I’m still dumbfounded that Oscar would go out in this weather, but Danny’s right. The why doesn’t matter right now.

  “Kristi and Sven are on it, but they could use your help.”

  I’m on my way, running toward the marina in under a minute. By the time I get to the docks, Kristi’s suited up and behind the steering wheel. She’s only about twenty-five but handles boats like she’s been on the water as long as the most seasoned vet.

  She’s tough as nails.

  Sven, on the other hand, is as laid-back as he is competent. Which is to say, very. I meet him at the equipment shed, and we grab orange reflective jumpsuits and inflatable SAR vests. Helmets, gloves, masks on as quickly as possible.

  We roar into the pelting rain in under five minutes. A familiar rush of adrenaline centers me.

  “There she is!” Kristi yells.

  The Ivy Bay is dead in the water, but miraculously still upright.

  Her back end is sinking. The bilge pumps couldn’t keep up with the intake of water.

  Kristi steers us parallel to the Ivy Bay. The darkness is all-encompassing, and I’m grateful for the lights on the rescue boat and my helmet. Sven clips a line to our boat’s frame, and I take the other end and jump onto the sinking vessel.

  Thank god for muscle memory.

  It’s hard to keep my balance—this storm has no patience for fools. I manage to clip to a pole on their canopy. It’s our literal lifeline.

  I don’t see Oscar at first. Just a wide-eyed, bedraggled girl.

  She’s got one hand clenching the console, and when I follow the line of her gaze, I see that her other hand has a tight hold on Oscar’s collar. He’s unconscious, but she holds him above the encroaching water.

  She can’t hear me above the noise of the storm and rescue boat motor, so I don’t bother engaging. Instead, I try picking Oscar up, but she won’t let him go. I pry her hand open and don’t have time to be gentle. Her grip is like iron.

  After I take him, I touch her arm. I can’t carry them both, but I want her to know I’ll be back. Shifting Oscar onto my shoulder, I grab the line, using it as a guide as I rush back to Sven as quickly as the waves allow.

  I hand Oscar off and hold up my finger to let him know there’s another passenger.

  The girl has one hand on the console still, and a large tote bag has replaced Oscar in the other. I peel her hand from the console, and I try to get her to drop the bag. Her eyes are wide from shock. She’s saying something I can’t hear and just pulls the bag closer. Not worth the fight right now. I grab her and the damn bag and carry her back to the rescue boat. I don’t know how Kristi managed to keep us so steady through the heaving waves, but she’s a pro. I hand the girl to Sven and unclip the line.

  And just like that, we’re off. The Ivy Bay may sink, or she may not, but we leave her to her fate.

  An ambulance meets us at the dock. They were only expecting one person and prioritize Oscar. The rest of us shed our gear. Sven goes with Oscar, and Kristi works on securing the boat and gear, leaving me with the girl and her giant bag.

  She has no shoes on.

  Jesus Christ. We can’t stay out here, not even to wait for another ambulance, which could take upward of twenty minutes. Better to get her to Danny’s house for triage.

  Thank god he lives nearby.

  Taking advantage of her shock, I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder again in a fireman’s carry, running her up to the soon-to-be Claddagh Inn. We’re drenched. She’s not a big person, but with that giant goddamn bag and her waterlogged clothes, it’s a challenge fighting the wind and rain to make the short, but uphill, trip. On a good day I could run it in three minutes, easily. Tonight it w
ill be closer to seven. I’m at Danny’s door, about to pound on the solid wood, when it swings open.

  “Thank Christ,” he says. “Is Oscar?” He pauses and looks at the girl in my arms. “Vinny. Oh my god. Vinny.”

  Danny’s face freezes into a mask of fear. He’s blocking the door.

  “Let us by, Danny,” I say. My voice is calm. I never panic. Learned to control that response early on.

  He steps aside, and I take the girl to the bathroom. Her eyes are open and following me—a good sign. She’s still got a fierce grip on that damn bag until her eyes wander up and find Danny. She makes a small noise then and drops it.

  Her hands are a mess.

  I unwind her scarf. She’s more scarf than person. I toss it and her coat aside, then pause. She’s not a teenager like I’d thought. She’s an adult woman, on the small side. Big, terrified eyes make her look a lot younger.

  “Blankets?” I ask Danny. He’s frozen again. I sigh, scrub my face with my hand, then snap my fingers in front of his nose. “Danny, we need to warm her up. Blankets.”

  I don’t yell, but I get as close to it as I’m capable of. It snaps him out of it. Her lips are blue, and she’s not shivering.

  Not good.

  Moderate hypothermia. Danny returns from the closet with a fluffy gray blanket. I snatch it from him and direct him to heat up some tea or soup. I finish stripping her down to her bra and panties.

  Definitely a full-grown woman. And definitely not something I should be noticing right now.

  Wrapping her as gently as possible in the blanket, I carry her into the living room and tuck her on the couch. Once she’s settled, I go to check on Danny.