Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction and any names used are strictly coincidental and do not reflect any person past or present. Enjoy lovely readers! This story is rated MA for violence, adult language, adult themes.


Ní dhíolann dearmad fiacha.

"Quit actin' the feckin' maggot and get the Arthurs ta those Rugger Buggers!" The loud screech of Mrs. O'Riley could pierce the eardrums of the neighbor's dogs. I turned from the man I was serving a pint of Guinness, watching the old hag flail her arm fat about behind the bar counter, her mouth not ceasing to give my co-workers a rest with her uninhibited Irish accent. The bun she wrapped her red curls in was bouncy with her thrashing head as she continued her tirade, her tighter-than-need-be dress accentuating her chunky form. I rolled my eyes in my sockets switching my gaze to the overly plump freckled faced gentleman, seeing his head shake slightly with every word that escaped those thin overbearing lips.

"Now there's a feckin' geebag…" He murmured, exposing his crocked smile to me as I placed the pint on the table, beginning to walk towards the bar.

"Little blonde lass…" I heard from behind, turning to see the man guzzle down the pint as if it was water. "Oi'm goin' ta need another."

"Sir maybe you should pace yourself…" I retorted, seeing his eyes already redden slightly from the quick ingestion of alcohol.

"If oi have ta listen ta that murderous voice all night oi'm goin' ta need ta be absolutely feckin' locked." He shook the empty pint glass at me.

"Mr. O'Riley, that's your wife!"

"And this be an empty jar cailín"…" His dark green eyes loomed over me, demanding a refill. With a breathy sigh I swiped the glass from his hand giving him a stern headshake before walking towards the bar. My shift only started half an hour ago and already Mrs. O'Riley was turning beat red from the screaming, the customers were blurting profanities at the television watching a rugby match smashing their glasses against the wooden tables, and Mr. O'Riley sat in his usual table towards the back of the dimly lit pub secluding himself from the characters that entered the pub, already past his third pint of Guinness.

Just another Wednesday night I guess.

I glanced over my shoulder shifting my light blonde hair slightly to peer at the scene behind the counter. I watched my co-workers make childish faces towards Mrs. O'Riley the moment her back was to them. I couldn't restrain a slight smirk growing against my lips. Those two were children trapped in men's bodies. Being fraternal twins and young redheaded hormonally charged men, it was easy to see how they really didn't take this job seriously, and I don't blame them. They were young and sexually driven 19 year olds. The moment a shirt walked in concealing a pair of bouncy honeydews within a rather sheer fabric is the moment those two lost their minds.

My hand loosened the grip on the fountain nozzle, seeing Mr. O'Riley ready to jump out of his skin from the lack of alcohol in front of him. I glanced around to make sure the customers had at least a glass half full before I sauntered from behind the counter back towards Mr. O'Riley, slamming the glass against the table.

"Pace yourself Mr. O'Riley. You don't want to be completely langers when we close." I planted my ass on the chair at the table to his left, exhaling from exhaustion as I rolled up the sleeves of my thin black sweater.

"Are ya already knackered lass?" He spoke between gulps, wiping his lips of the froth from the beer.

"Brutally shattered is more like it."

"Ha! Look at ya learnin' the oirish gab!" He bellowed towards me, finishing every last drop of his beer banging the glass against the oak table.

Being in Ireland for 11 years now I still haven't completely gotten accustomed to the inordinate amount of slang and Gaelic spoken on a regular basis. It's a slow process but Mr. O'Riley has been more than helpful in translating the common talk.

"Working here helps a lot." I laughed, glancing around the bar to the same faces I see every night my shift starts. This pub has really grown to be a home to me. The paint was peeling off the walls and the décor is anything but modern with simple wooden tables and the leather seemed to be tearing from the bar stools. There was always a rowdy crowd every night that usually escalated in a fist being thrown every hour or so, but I enjoyed working here. Mrs. O'Riley might have me working until 4 in the morning but I got used to it after four years of serving the same drinks to the same cranky drunk men.

"Mo chailín beag…" I heard those words escape his mouth with a low grumble.

"Mr. O'Riley, please. I'm not a little girl. I'm 21 years old!"

"Hush now mo chailín beag." He threw me a wide grin, the smirk that signals he was feeling the effects of the alcohol and enjoying the buzz that ran through his body. My eyes focused on the empty pint glass, knowing full well he wanted another. I gasped in exasperation, reaching over to grab the glass before heading back towards the front.

My little girl.

I have always felt a paternal connection with Mr. O'Riley after all these years of him and Mrs. O'Riley being overly gracious to me and father.

My early childhood was spent on the stoop of a brick home in Brooklyn. It wasn't anything fancy but it was the home I knew, the home that reminded me of mother. When she passed away I was only 10 years old and father was more than heart broken. He decided the best course of action would be to move to a whole new continent to get away from the memories, at least that was his excuse. When father first brought us to Ireland, he had no one to fall back on. Befriending the O'Riley's was beyond lucky. They took care of me when he was at work and I have always been grateful for everything they have done for father and I. They have no children of their own so most of their free time was spent with me back then. It was comforting when I was younger to know I had a family to fall back on when father was at work.

I wandered around the front tables, refilling all the now empty pitchers as the men kept their beady eyes directed to the television propped on the wall.

Men and their rugby.

"That feckin' cunt! Every blasted year he gets creamed out of it! What's the use in havin' a sod like that?!" A dark haired man well past his limit of alcohol yelled towards the television, as I saw him down another pint of beer. Jesus these men can drink.

I listened to the men spew profanities at the screen, their pint glasses instantaneously lost all the liquid I filled. Refilling the glasses again I walked back to grab another pint for Mr. O'Riley before heading back towards him.

"Here you are sir."

"Slainte."

I smirked seeing him beam at the liquid in front of his eyes. "Cheers Mr. O'Riley." And down the throat the liquid went, vanishing just as quickly as I had poured it.

"How's that bogger dad of yars?"

My growing smile seemed to rub off on Mr. O'Riley, seeing his lips stretch along his cheeks. "My dad is fine. He sold two cattle last week and added that money to the savings."

"What's that make now cailín?" His voice dropped an octave; the seriousness behind his tone was a tad alarming.

"A few thousand Euros. It's not much now but I'll get there soon." I could see that Mr. O'Riley saw the fakeness of my smile. In four years I thought I would have saved at least over 10 grand but sudden expenses presented themselves and father needed the money. I wasn't about to deny my own father money.

"Only a few thousand?"

"Mm-hmm. Some things came up and my dad had to use some of the money."

"Araceli…" The moment I heard my name I knew his playful demeanor had vanished. Now I was preparing myself for whatever stern discussion he was planning to have with me. "…ye know me offer still stands. Don't hesitate ta accept it."

"I know Mr. O'Riley, and I am so thankful for the offer, but I can't just leave my dad. I want to go back to America but…" I paused, remembering the cold stoop against my skin, seeing the neighbor kids playing in the streets with their ball. I just wanted to go and see the America I left, the America that has kept a piece of me. "…but he still needs me. One day I'll have the money and the courage to go."

"But when be that one day comin' Araceli? Ye speak of it for ages."

"It'll happen." I averted my eyes from Mr. O'Riley. I was fooling myself, and he knew it. It seemed whenever I was starting to get close to a good sum mysterious circumstances arose that forced father to take some of the money. I never questioned it because he's my dad. If I can't trust him then who can I trust?

I lifted my lips in a hesitant smile as I glanced at his empty pint.

"Now, I'm guessing another pint of plain?"

"Make it a Johnny-jump-up." Mr. O'Riley handed me the empty glass, patting me on the back as I scoffed at his request.

"Coming right up."

The rest of the night I saw the blood vessels swell on Mrs. O'Riley's forehead as the twins kept their presence awfully close to the brunette with d-cups nestled in her tank top situating herself at the bar counter, watched as Mr. O'Riley settled an argument that could have escalated to fists flying, and then I kept the company of the older Irish men, listening to them prattle on about the next rugby match. It was a successful enough night, with a handful of tips I left the pub around 5 in the morning after staying to clean up.

The bus ride from Greystones to Wicklow was always a time for me to catch a quick nap seeing as usually I was one of the only occupants of the bus, save for the driver. The sun began to peak through the horizon of the water as my lids felt heavier than normal and I succumbed to the blissful escape of sleep. My body was hardwired to rest for only 30 minutes as the bus neared my stop. I still had a 20 minute walk from the bus stop up the winding dirt road to father's barn, but the air was so crisp and refreshing that I did not mind the fact that my eyes were undeniably tingling from the short nap on the bus.

The condensation had just settled on the fields that enclosed the road, I could smell the refreshing aroma of the dew-kissed grass blades. I wanted to just lie on the grass and sleep for hours, letting the air gently play with my blonde hair as the droplets on the field saturated my sweater and jeans, chilling my skin slightly.

I shook the appealing thought out of my head as I knew I had to get to father to help out in the morning. That and I thought the 80 Euros in tip I received would be enough for father to go get groceries this morning while I got started on feeding the livestock.

The trek up the hill felt more tedious this morning but as soon as my overworked feet fumbled to the top, there stood my home. The wood façade was a sight for sore eyes, literally. Father had built this home with his own two hands, Mr. O'Riley occasionally helping when he still had the motivation to swing a hammer. The two-story home was marvelous to gaze upon against the fields that enveloped it. The home was quite spacious for the two of us but father always fancied space.

I paced up the stairs of the front porch, swinging the door open with an unexpected vigor that caused it to rattle against the wall it collided with.

"Whoops. Sorry dad!" I shouted, knowing full well he was probably in the kitchen having the usual black coffee with a two day old scone and a peach that he picked from the tree outside. I stomped with delight in to the home through the living room, my shoes still constricting my feet but I wanted to see father this morning, show him the extra money I had collected.

"Dad you will never guess the tips I got. I swear all I have to do is trash on the opposing team and instantly the old geezers are praising me and cheering with joy…" I wound past the wooden stair case walking down the hallway to the kitchen. I might go ahead and walk out the back door to pick myself a peach or two to munch on before I begin the chores.

"It is so easy to keep those Irish men happy! I seriously think the next game…" I walked towards the view of the kitchen seeing the wooden kitchen table from the arch way. "…I could easily get-" My body froze in place, seeing two enormous men in grey suits hovering near father who was situated in a chair, their presence was both terrifying and peculiar. I saw them twist to look at me, their expressions just as intimidating as their stature.

"Dad…" I uttered in a hushed tone, glancing at father's sunken features, seeing his dark green eyes widen with defeat seeing me in the kitchen. Father was slumped in the kitchen chair, his overalls a tad dirty from what I assumed was him working early this morning out on the fields. His brown hair a mess and there was an undeniable bruise forming on his cheek.

"Dad…what's going on?" My eyes shifted to the man on father's right, his square slightly reddish hued face stoic as his hand ran across his stubble as if it was a full-fledged beard, eyeing me with his darkened gaze. To say this man was muscular would be like saying Mr. O'Riley was "chubby". He seemed at least in his late thirties or early forties, hair combed back to a sleek style sporting a grey suit that fit his body snug, displaying the power he wielded underneath the jacket. He dwarfed me and father completely, my guess was he was at least 6 foot tall. His one hand remained hidden in his pants pocket, his exposed hand still fiddling with the minute amount of facial stubble that covered his chin and under his nostrils keeping those daunting orbs locked on me. I saw his irises move slightly, examining me head to toe and back up to linger on my hair.

I was wearing a long sleeve black sweater and plain blue tight jeans but his stare made me feel as if I was completely naked. My body cringed with the constant glare from the beast of a man.

"D-dad?"

"This is yar daughter Nat?" His voice was deep, grumbling slightly with smoothness to his Irish accent. I immediately knew from his voice he was definitely not a country man.

Father simply nodded, his eyes were no longer cast on me, and I felt the distress surge through my body. Father…

"Well fuck me. A blonde? How do ya have a blonde one?" The man gestured towards me as his gaze finally broke free from me, his head now cast on father.

"M-my wife was blonde…" There was no eye contact between us, and I pleaded in my head for father to look my way. Please father…

"Ah, the misses…" He muttered. My eyes slowly met the stranger's, and my entire core flinched. How can a simple gaze make me crumble with complete terror?

"For yar sake ya better hope an mac tíre accepts this."

An mac tíre…the wolf?

A forceful palm gripped my lack of bicep from behind, pulling my arm back as I stumbled against the rock hard body of a giant encased in a suit. Why was everyone so much taller and undeniably more muscular than me?

"H-hey…let go!" I attempted to pull my arm from the mystery man's influence but my actions did nothing but tear at my own shoulder. I was locked, permanently in his grip. "Hey!" My feet began to move against the wooden floor but my body went nowhere.

"I said let go!" I slid on my sneakers, my position never changing. I turned my body to see a face engulfed with scars, a nose that has seen its fair share of fists and brown eyes that did not even glance at me, staring at the men near the table.

"Dry that cailín up will ya!" I heard that burly man's voice resonate from the other side of the kitchen as I felt the violence behind the squeeze of the palm from scar face, the man's fingers digging in to my nonexistent bicep.

"Ah!" I gasped continuing my attempt to free myself but the man seemed unfazed and disinterested in my actions, as if anything I attempted would be in vein. "I said let go of me!"

I was too distracted by my heaves as I continued to pull myself from the man with no avail. I heard a clatter of footsteps walking my way but disregarded them as my goal was to take back my arm.

"Lay off!" My free arm swung to his chest to attempt to pry myself from his influence, but it did nothing to lessen the pain he was exerting on my arm. "Get your filthy-" I heard the clanking of shoes against the wooden floor cease abruptly as I turned to see the 6 foot tall man position himself an arm's length from me. Before I could even react from the corner of my eyes I saw his right arm swinging my way, the back of his hand blew against my cheek, scar face released his embrace and I found myself on the ground dazed and a searing sting exploded against my cheek.

"Dry up or another clatter's comin' yar way!"

My long hair concealed my face as I put pressure on my cheek. The throbbing was unbearable as I could not stop my breathing from escalating. I was too stunned to look up or even move. What the hell is going on?

"On yar feet." I heard the man speak; my eyes peeked through my hair to see the shoes mere inches from my face.

"On yar fuckin' feet culchie!" I felt the sudden sting of a hand grip completely around my elbow pulling me up from the floor. I was powerless in his grasp, and the tears involuntarily began to peak through.

"Ya better pray he accepts this Nat." His eyes trailed my face as I noticed the scar running under his left eyebrow towards the side of his face. Who were these men? "An mac tíre dislikes rowdy thin's."

Accepts this? Was he talking about me? My blood was boiling at the realization that I did not want to acknowledge. My arm that dangled at my side began to vibrate with rage as my fingers curled against my palm.

"I am not a thing you Irish fuck!" I swung my fist at him, hitting him on the jaw. I knew I didn't make much of a dent in terms of the pain scale but it was enough for him to turn his face to the side and release his grip on me. Not a moment sooner did that face twisted back towards me and I saw those eyes engulfed with complete evil.

"Cheeky cunt-" His hands gripped my arms as he threw me violently to the wall, my chest crashing on to the plaster. He slammed his torso on my back as I felt one leg pin me between my own limbs and I gasped from the intrusion between my legs. I was stuck, completely immobile with my cheek against the wall as his pelvis beat in to me with authority and his arm put insufferable pressure to my upper back, keeping me from having any means of escape.

"Ya listen here American cunt. Oi'm not above fuckin' yar brains out in front of yar fuckin' prick of a father. Ya best learn respect or ya will be eatin' cock for every meal for the rest of yar fuckin' miserable existence." His mouth was against my ear, exhaling his warm breath along my neck as I shut my eyes expelling tears uncontrollably. "Behave." He uttered in my ear as the pressure from his body escaped me and I was once again caught in the grip of the monster of a man as he pulled me to look on to father who was sitting in his chair, pale as a ghost.

"D-dad…" I whispered pleadingly like a desperate child wanting the comfort of a parent.

"Shut it." He spewed my way.

"Please, please dear be a good girl." Father's eyes emanated desperation towards me as my body pulsated from his words.

"I apologize for my girl's behavior Oisin. She will behave, won't you dear?" I will behave? My father must be out of his mind to speak like that as if I was in the wrong here. Who the hell was this Oisin beast?

"Dad!?" I uttered feeling Oisin's hand practically pierce my skin. "What the fuck is going on?!" I demanded, suddenly tugged back as my shoulder was pulsating with pain from the angle the monster kept my arm in.

"You will be leaving with these men dear. Just be a good girl and listen to them okay?" Father had the audacity to pull his lips in to a slight smile, as if everything from the moment I walked through the door did not happen.

"What?!" I shouted, seeing the complete abandonment of father's features influence the slump of his back as he did not even attempt to look me in the eyes. Oisin's fingers dug deeper in to me with every word I spoke. I could feel him piercing through my skin.

"D-daddy?" I sounded so pathetic but it couldn't be helped. Here I was trapped in the clutches of a beast of a man who slapped me across the face like a worthless piece of trash and my father tells me that I have to go with them without as much as an explanation. I was petrified for my life, my face and arms throbbing from the recent unwanted attacks, and my father sat there like a coward, not even having the balls to look me in the eyes.

"We're off." I noticed Oisin gesture to the men to leave as they sauntered through the back door first, leaving me with father and the beast who still had me in his clutches.

"Ya will be informed by the end of the day if yar offer suffices." The man said with sternness as he pulled me to the back door. I turned to glance at father who had his face in his hands. I wanted to say something, wanted to scream in disgust and hatred towards what he was doing to me, what he was allowing these people to do but I couldn't. I saw him in complete shambles and my chest tightened. Father…

I had to go to his side. I needed answers but I also needed him to tell me everything will be okay, even though I knew it wouldn't. I didn't know who these men were but the one thing that I was certain of was they were dangerous and I was not about to play chicken with them. For all I knew they could have weapons, but that did not seem to stop my stubborn and hasty mind.

We took one step out of the kitchen and out on to the back porch before descending down the back stair case as I noticed two black cars with tinted windows parked a few feet from the house. I had to think of something, anything to at least attempt to get away from these brutes.

Then I remembered the third stair in the back staircase had a loose board that flung up the left side whenever I would accidentally step on the right end of the board. If I timed it correctly with the right angle I could do some serious damage to the man's privates. With a deep breath and one step to go I leaped on to the right edge of the board, sending the other side straight up as he stretched out his left leg to step down towards the board.

I hit my target dead on.

His garish groan vibrated in my ears as he released his hand from me trying to clutch at his pelvis, in turn losing his footing and tumbling down the last remaining stair to the dirt ground. He rolled on to his knees as I watched him heave from the pain, his hand still clasped between his legs as his other propped his body at a kneeling position. That was my chance to stammer back to father. I leapt inside the house slamming the door as I threw my arms around father before I saw his features contort with pure terror.

"Dad please! Don't do this! Why are you doing this?! What's going on?! Dad answer me!" I sobbed against his shoulder but his arms did not comfort me. I felt powerless and alone and he did nothing to reassure me that this was a mistake that this was not actually happening. I did not hear a single peep escape his mouth and the tears ran rampant down my cheeks. "Please daddy…"

Without warning my hair was tugged back with such vigor that I swear some strands were plucked from my skull. I gasped closing my eyes as my ass hit the tiled floor and I was being pulled towards the door by my hair. I whimpered from the pain as my arms flailed behind me to find the hand that took dominion over my hair, digging my nails in to the skin before I heard a low groan.

"Fuckin' cunt!" That same deep cruel voice uttered those words as I felt Oisin's hand twist my hair and pull harder. Instead of continuing to pull me towards the exit, I was pull to my feet. My head was jerked back as my body leaned in to his torso so his lips were right against my ear, my hand trying to pry his fingers from between my strands.

"Did oi fuckin' stutter when oi said oi would fuck yar tight little American ass? Ya need ta learn respect scanger or ya won't survive a day in me world. Take a good look at yar fuckhole old man. This is the last ya will ever see of him. Ya belong to us now, an dtuigeann tú? If oi say on yar knees ya ask where. If oi say suck me off ya open that trap and proceed with a smile. Ya will behave. And if ya don't oi will personally horse it into ya until ya scream bloody murder." His hand managed to grab more of my hair as he pulled my head back further, allowing it to be propped on his shoulder as he snaked his fingers around my throat, beginning to squeeze harder with every breath I took. My hands gripped at his arm but I knew there was no success in my attempts to pry his hand from my neck. My eye lids squeezed shut from the pain as I released a hushed yelp from the sting in my skull and the constriction of my throat.

"Ya should be privileged for this, helpin' yar old man settle his debts. It's amusin' this fuckhole thinks because he hasn't heard from us that we forgot. We never forget. And oi won't forget that little stunt ya tried ta pull out there. Trust me; next time ya will pray oi would just kill ya." He twisted me around so I was forced to open my eyes and stare directly in to those malevolent green irises, his hand still keeping my hair captive. I saw his free arm move and the last thing I remembered was a sweltering pain as everything went dark.

A debt is still unpaid, even if forgotten.


A/N: Holy crapzilla angels! So let me just tell you all angels how sorry I am about starting a new gosh darn story instead of updating my existing ones. I am seriously just an ass right now.

I want to start by apologizing to any fellow Irish readers! My Gaelic is quite broken so if there is something that is off or completely wrong please let me know! Even after almost 2 years of learning on my own I'm still nowhere near fluent, and my writing is atrocious. So please if you can spare some critiques or advice on my Gaelic I would really appreciate it!

I worked really hard to make it as authentic as I could possibly muster out but if any of you dear sweet beautiful souls see something off I would love to hear from you! There will be Gaelic and slang throughout the story, but I promise I will most assuredly translate most of the time in the story somewhere.

So thank you for reading angels and I look forward to hearing your thoughts, critiques, or plain old what the effs! Much love to you all!