Dublin Beast (Emerald Isle Mafia #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Bryan

T he war room of the Quinn family castle has stood witness to our family’s long and often bloody history—tonight is no different. The air is charged with violent anticipation, the fiery need for vengeance growing hotter than ever before.

My brothers are gathered around the massive carved table, the Quinn family crest barely visible beneath the stolen reports and surveillance photos strewn across the pitted antique surface.

“It looks like we’ve been hit by a fucking crime tornado,” I say as I arrive.

“Aye, it does at that.” Tag, the oldest of us and our leader—both as head of the family and our mafia territory—leans back in his chair. He’s got that cold, ruthless glint in his eyes—the one that often makes people piss themselves.

He’s always had a way of sucking the air out of a room without even trying, and tonight that is magnified.

“Tell me we can finally put the bitch in the ground, Finny.” Sean is the second born and sits to Tag’s right. He rakes his fingers through his long black hair, pulling it back to expose the gnarly scars that mar his face. The guy is just the right balance of brains and brutality to hold the gavel as the president of our family MC army, the Dublin Devils.

Brendan—who’s a wisecracker, even when things get dark—is eager to get his hands around the bitch’s throat. Not that violence against women is approved of within our territory, but for Siobhan Daley, we’ll make an exception. “With all the intel we stole from Jordan Kelly’s files, there has to be something telling us where they have her stashed.”

A smirk plays across my lips at the thought of catching up to her. There’s a special place in hell waiting for the woman who poisoned and killed our father, and I’m just the man to escort her there.

Finn leans forward in his seat and strokes a loving hand across the top of his open laptop. “From what I’ve pieced together, the day after Siobhan signed her immunity agreement, this task force vehicle rolled through the private gate at Dublin Airport.” He clicks through footage of a black sedan with tinted windows pulling into a private hanger.

“Do we know she was in that car?” Tag asks.

“Not definitively, no. But I did access the manifest for the small jet that exited this hangar an hour later. It detailed the pilot, a co-pilot, one flight attendant, and one female passenger.”

Brendan scowls at the image on the screen. “Where did it land?”

“Gatwick.”

“Fuck.” Sean curses under his breath. “And from there?”

Finn sighs. “Nothing yet.”

“So she’s gone.” Saying the words has bile burning up the back of my throat.

There’s no way that bitch slips through our fingers yet again—she sold our secrets to the McGuires, poisoned our father, and then made a deal to testify against us after more than twenty years of her being part of our lives.

No matter what the Europol task force promised her, she does not get a happy ending to her story.

Sean shifts in his seat. “Kieran has contacts in England. We could have him reach out and see if they might help us.”

Tag nods. “Have him reach out. Tell him to be discreet, though. With the number of agencies working together on this task force, they’ve probably got a wide net of people working with them. If they know we’re looking, they’ll just move her somewhere harder to find.”

Sean pulls out his phone and starts toward the hallway.

Tag sits forward, intense focus burning behind his eyes. “All right, we’re going to need boots on the ground. Who wants to go hunt the bitch down?”

“Me. One-hundred fucking percent.” My pulse quickens with adrenaline at the thought of finally getting justice for our father. “You three have women counting on you, and Finn does his best work behind his computer. I’m your man.”

“We’ll both go,” Brendan says.

I wave away the offer. “Nora just lost her father and only moved in here a minute ago. Stay here. Get her settled and your life started on the right foot. The flight is only an hour and a half if I need backup.”

“Kieran will go, too.” Sean’s on his way back in, holding up his phone. “He said he’s got people who will help, but he’ll get more if it’s face-to-face.”

Tag nods approvingly. “All right. Finn will keep digging and I’ll contact the heads of family in England. Once we get permission to?—”

“Fuck permission,” I snap. “This bitch killed our father.”

Tag pegs me with a stony stare. “And once I explain that, I don’t expect anyone will have an issue with us tracking down the bitch who did it. Still, there are courtesies which need to be honored.”

I grunt. “It’s a good thing you’re in charge, brother, because I don’t give two flaming dog shits about courtesy. That bitch must die.”

“And she will.” Tag turns his attention back to Finn. “So, assuming Bryan and Kieran are on their way to Gatwick, what else do we need to know?”

Finn seems to consider that. “Are we ending her on sight or bringing her back here? Travel logistics will complicate things.”

Tag frowns. “As much as I’d love to make a celebration out of dragging her back here and watching her die, it’s too dangerous. With the task force watching our every move and with our women here and the baby on the way, it’s best to keep violence at an arm’s reach.”

“Should Henessey go, too?” Sean asks.

I give him my best reassuring smile. “I’ve taken down worse than Siobhan fucking Daley.”

Sean dips his chin. “I wasn’t implying otherwise, brother. Just posing the question.”

“Henessey isn’t a good idea,” Brendan adds. “If the Quinn triggerman is with Bryan and Kieran, they’ll draw more attention—the authorities will know we’re gunning for someone.”

“Agreed. Anything else?” Tag waits, scanning the four of us to see if we have anything more to add. When we don’t, he pushes away from the table and stands. “All right. Get it done.”

I grip my fingers into balled fists. “Time to feed the beast.”

* * *

Harper

Liverpool is exactly how Macie and Chantal described it to me—charming, vibrant, and filled with just enough grime around the edges to make their European adventure feel a little gritty.

That was the last time they checked in.

The last time anyone ever heard from them.

Journalism 101 - Not every story has a happy ending.

I draw a deep breath and push down the survivor’s guilt that has been lodged at the base of my throat for the last four months.

If I hadn’t backed out of the trip to be a TA over the summer, maybe we’d know what happened to them.

Maybe they would be home with their families.

Or maybe I’d be missing, too.

I gather the silver ‘F’ pendant hanging around my neck and run my thumb over the tiny engraved ‘Forever’ running down its spine. The three of us got these BFF necklaces when we graduated from high school.

Macie picked the ‘B’ because she liked to tell people she was the ‘Queen B’.

Chantal had the ‘F’ engraved with friends.

And I chose this one. ‘F’ is for forever.

I sip at my gin and tonic, ice clinking against the inside of the glass as I watch the crowd swell outside the pub. Just another day pretending to be a tourist in Liverpool, right?

The cavernous pubs, the street performers along the docks, the buzzing energy of the city at night. It’s easy to see why people with ill-intent come here.

It’s the perfect hunting ground.

My fingers drum lightly against the polished wood of the bar, my nerves buzzing with adrenaline.

I think I’ve finally got one.

Two weeks. Two weeks of hitting all the major tourist spots, keeping my presence noticeable—but not suspicious. And today, finally, someone bit.

Jamie. Cute, in a careless, messy-haired way, with the kind of easygoing charm that makes girls drop their guard. He approached me at Tate Liverpool and struck up a conversation about modern art.

Then he “bumped into me” again outside the Cavern Club, all smiles and smooth lines.

When he walked in here a few minutes ago while I ate my pot pie, I knew my instincts were spot on.

Jamie’s up to no good.

He turns from the bar with a pint in his hand and I gesture for him to join me.

He flashes me a panty-dampening smile and turns the chair opposite me to straddle the seat. “It’s like the city keeps throwing us together today.”

I take a sip of my drink, tilting my head. “So you think it’s fate?”

“I think it’s an opportunity.” His grin is easy, practiced. “You mentioned you are traveling solo, right?”

I hesitate long enough to seem cautious. “Yeah.”

“Then you probably haven’t seen the real Liverpool yet.” He leans in again, voice low and conspiratorial. “Most tourists just get the pretty side—the museums, the docks, the Beatles stuff. But the real city? You gotta know where to look.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And you’re offering to show me what lies behind the curtain?”

He lifts his pint in a little toast. “If you’re up for it.”

I glance away, like I’m considering. In reality, my heart is already beating faster. This is it. The hook.

“What kind of tour are we talking about?” I ask.

Jamie grins. “The kind you don’t find in guidebooks.”

I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. “Sounds sketchy.”

“Nah, love. Not sketchy.” He lifts his palms as if trying to appear innocent. “Exclusive.”

I roll my eyes, but I let my smile linger. “When?”

“How about tomorrow night?” He takes a sip of his drink, watching me over the rim. “I’ll text you a spot to meet and we’ll see where the night takes us.”

I pretend to consider his offer for a moment and then nod. Pretending to be just another too-trusting, reckless traveler looking for adventure, I hand him my phone. “Okay, add your number.”

The grin he flashes me is nothing but cocky satisfaction. He thinks he’s won.

When he hands my phone back, he holds it a moment longer, brushing his finger over my thumb. The touch sets off every internal alarm bell in me. It’s all I can do to school my features not to give my repulsion away.

Still, I’ve come too far to blow it now.

“Do you want to stay and join me for supper?”

Jamie flashes one last grin before upending his beer and setting down his empty glass. “Nah, love. I gotta jet. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

He’s up and out of the pub in the next heartbeat.

A private tour.

A shiver snakes down my spine, and I shake my hand to get rid of the sensation of his touch. If I weren’t hunting answers and looking for guys like him, I’d almost admire how good he is at this.

What he doesn’t know, is that I’m hunting him just as much as he’s hunting me.

My server comes to gather his empty glass. She’s a no-nonsense woman in her fifties with sharp eyes and a Liverpool accent thick enough to cut marble.

She gathers the empty pint glass, then turns those eyes on me. “Saw you talkin’ to that lad. Jamie Rowan. He botherin’ you, lass?”

I shake my head. “He offered to show me around.”

“Did he now?” Her lips press into a thin line. “Look, love, I’ve been working in this pub longer than you’ve been drinking, and I’ve seen a lot of things. My unsolicited advice is that ye stay away from that one.”

I tilt my head. “Why? Is he some kind of local heartbreaker?”

She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “The lad’s got friends in low places and I’d hate to see you caught up in somethin’ you can’t come back from.”

Bingo .

I nod, as if I’m tucking the information away. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be careful.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press, either. When she walks off, I upend my drink. The slow burn of confirmation warms my insides.

Jamie is exactly what I thought he was. And tomorrow, I’ll walk straight into his trap.