Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Brendan
M orning comes too soon and I’m dragging my heels as I stroll toward the dining room, drawn by the mouthwatering aroma of Cora’s cooking. My stomach growls in anticipation. Whoever coined the saying that the way to win over a man was through his stomach knew what the fuck they were talking about.
“Morning, family.” I give the room a quick smile and head over to the sideboard buffet where the tureens are set out, like always.
Grabbing a plate, I heap my selections: freshly baked scones, eggs done three ways, sausages sizzling with that perfect crunch, brown beans, and grilled tomatoes glistening with olive oil and Cora’s special blend of spices.
It’s enough to make a guy forget he’s training for a big fight this weekend.
Luckily, my status as a cage fighter is firmly locked in as an amateur hobbiest, which means I don’t give up the things I love. Besides, my enforcer duties with the family business keep me in fighting form.
“Grab me two more scones.” Bryan’s bark of command is even more testy than usual.
I toss him over a couple of scones, and it doesn’t take me long to figure out what bug is up his ass. He’s sitting next to Piper, who’s practically bouncing in her chair with excitement.
“What have you got there, P?”
She grins at the stack of glossy posters sitting in the center of the table opposite Finn. “Feast your eyes on these babies! The design team outdid themselves.”
I settle into my usual spot opposite my twin and raise an eyebrow at the promotional materials. The poster shows Bryan and me in a fighting stance, our fists raised. “Och, that lighting makes us look properly menacing.”
“Right? The Dublin Beast and the Brute, ready to bust heads.”
Sean snorts and looks at his young bride. “Ready to bust heads? Really?”
She grins. “What? Ladies all across Dublin will wet their panties when they see these.”
I take a bite of sausage. “I should’ve been on the left, though. That’s clearly my better angle.”
Piper laughs and tosses her napkin at my head. “It wouldn’t make a bit of difference. The two of you are identical, you muppet.”
Yes, and no.
Bryan and I are identical twins, but when we stand side by side, there are subtle differences for those who know us well enough to tell us apart. Bryan has about twenty pounds on me and is bigger through the chest. I’ve got a scar on my neck, just behind my ear. And, of course, I know how to smile. Bryan’s heart has been dark and icy for so long, he’d rather grunt and scowl at the world.
Laine sets her tea down and rubs a hand over the round of her swollen belly. “Don’t tease her, boys. Piper’s done an amazing job with the PR campaign. The pre-sales are through the roof. This Sunday has the potential to be an all-time money-maker for the youth initiatives.”
“And that’s all that matters,” Tag adds.
I extend my fist across the table for Piper to give me a knuckle bump. “Well done, P. Truly. You’re an asset to the cause. You’ve done a great job.”
The way her eyes soften whenever she’s paid a compliment makes me feel both sappy and murderous. That she was made to feel useless and invisible her entire life as a McGuire is fucking unforgiveable.
She nips at her bottom lip and draws a deep breath. “So, can I press my luck and rope you two into giving me a couple of weekend afternoons of your time?”
Bryan’s gaze narrows, but Piper is looking at me and doesn’t notice. “A couple of afternoons for what?”
“Well, I was speaking with Mr. O’Toole, the man who runs the outreach center, and we thought you guys might come in and give the kids a bit of a self-defense lesson. You know, show them how to make a proper fist and throw a punch—the girls especially.”
Aye, the streets of Dublin can be a dangerous place. And while I’d prefer if women didn’t find themselves threatened or afraid, that is the world we live in.
Images of my blonde angel flash into my mind. She was so ill-prepared for violence last night. I’d bet the lovely Nora Kelly has never made a fist in her life. “If we can help girls stay safer on the streets, then we’re all for it, aren’t we, bro?”
Bryan arches a brow, but after reading my sincerity, he dips his chin. “Aye, that’s a better cause than most. Tell us when and where.”
Tag shifts at the head of the table, his presence commanding even in these casual moments. When things are settled with Piper, he closes his paper and sits back in his seat. “Now, tell us what happened at the Confession Box last night. Who the fuck sent a spray of bullets into a crowd of civilians?”
I set down my fork, meeting his steady gaze. “I have no fucking clue. I was walking toward Kieran at the same time Petey arrived, and then all hell broke loose. A woman went down in front of me, and I tackled her friend out of the line of fire. By the time the rain of bullets ended, the area was clear.”
Tag frowns and turns to Sean. “You and Gallagher checked out the scene?”
Sean tilts his head from side to side. “As well as we could, with cops swarming the area. Brenny was right. The shots could’ve come from the roof of a building across the road, from a window in the apartment building, or from a passing car. Without witnesses pointing it out or the cops giving us a trajectory to go on, there was no way for us to tell.”
“But it was Gravely and the McGuires, right?” Finn asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know, Finny.”
“Who else could it be?”
Tag leans forward, picking up the cheese knife from the charcuterie board in front of his place setting. Pressing the point into the pad of his finger, he sighs. “Unfortunately, Finny, there are many enemies out there and not all of them come from south of the Liffey. Gravely and the McGuires are top of the list, but since the trouble with the Campbells and the Russians, tensions are high.”
“I thought the Russian trouble was sorted. We hooked them up with the Chicago market.”
Tag nods. “Aye, the Bratva are pleased enough, but some of the Irish heads of family don’t like us doing business with them.”
Piper grips her napkin and pulls it into her lap. “But that was my father’s doing, not yours. You fixed what could’ve become a Russian/Irish rift. They should be mad at the McGuires.”
Sean sets a hand over Piper’s. “But the Quinns rose above and ended up stronger for it. The heads of the other families don’t appreciate that. Most of them were banking on Tag failing as a leader when Da died. They didn’t expect the five of us would hold our seat, let alone strengthen it.”
Laine reaches to squeeze Tag’s hand. “Which makes last night’s shooting even more distressing. North Dublin is supposed to be off-limits.”
Piper sighs. “I can call Rory and see if he knows anything.”
Sean shakes his head. “No, kitten. It’s too soon. If Rory gets pressured to answer your calls every time we think your family is involved with something, it puts him in danger. You’re a Quinn now, not an informant. We’ll figure out who came at us without putting your brother in the crosshairs.”
Although it would be faster and easier for her just to ask.
But I can’t say that because it’s above my pay grade.
“How many were killed last night?” Laine asks.
Tag taps a finger on the paper folded on the table. “The coverage of the incident is vague, at best.”
I wipe my mouth with my napkin and hand my empty plate back to Cora with my thanks. “Just one dead that I’m aware of. Her name was Tanya. She and the blonde I tackled out of the way were friends and were headed for a pint after a night at the Abbey Theatre.”
“How heartbreaking,” Laine says.
“Aye, Nora was torn up about it.”
“The blonde you mentioned last night?” Tag guesses. “Is she going to be a problem? The last thing we need is panic among the locals. Our vow to keep the streets safe is our greatest asset within the community.”
It is at that. Da saw the wisdom in cultivating the trust of the locals and it’s served us well for decades.
“She won’t be a problem. The lass was rightfully rattled at first, but once she got over the shock, she handled the chaos of the night like a champion. She’s got an iron core beneath the veil of sweet innocence.”
Finn chuckles, flashing me a grin of pure mischief. “This has got to be a first, even for you, brother.”
“A first for what?”
“You’re on the make. You tackle a woman in a spray of gunfire, and you’ve got the hots for her.”
I roll my eyes. “Fuck off. You’re an eejit.”
“And you’re full of shite. You’ve got that look in your eye that says I’m not an eejit.”
“What look?”
He grins, looking much too smug with himself. “The one you get when your cock is twitching for an extra-curricular workout. Something happened last night. You want her.”
“What if I do?”
Finn holds up his palms. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’m in awe, is all. Tackling a woman to the ground is a unique way to introduce yourself.”
All eyes are on me and for once, I don’t like it. Standing up, I grab a cherry pastry to go. “I’m not on the make. The girl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her phone was smashed in the confusion, so I dropped her home. End. Of.”
Finny looks like he might open his mouth and pop off some more, but Tag cuts him off. “Kieran’s been at the hospital all night. You and Bryan go relieve him. The kid wasn’t as bad off as it looked at the scene. Doc Kelvin will discharge him later today and you’ll move him to the safe house on Howth Road. He can convalesce there. We need to know what he was bringing to Kieran that was worth our enemies shooting into a crowd.”
I down my pastry in two massive bites and head for the door. Something doesn’t sit right. Random drive-by shootings don’t happen in our territory, and Petey has never brought us anything big enough to warrant this kind of attention.
Was this the McGuires? Is Billy Gravely flexing his muscles?
Or is there something we’re missing?