Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nora
I jolt awake with images of strange men and the sound of heavy footsteps echoing in my mind. My head is fuzzy, my limbs heavy, my pulse pounding. Sunlight streams through the window, illuminating an unfamiliar bedroom with exposed brick walls and industrial-style furnishings all done in black and gray with silver accents.
Panic grips me until I notice a folded piece of paper on the bedside table.
The note makes me smile despite myself. Brendan’s handwriting is precise and clean, not the messy scrawl I’d expected from someone like him.
Don’t panic, angel,
You crashed last night, and I put you to bed. Take your time. I’ll be here when you pull yourself together. If you’re a ‘shower first’ girl, there are fresh towels set out and clothes on the vanity. If you’re a ‘coffee first’ girl, come out and join me when you’re ready.
Brendan.
PS. I’m sorry if I scared you by bringing you here. I may have freaked out a little.
Yeah, a little. I stretch and take stock of my situation. My dress from last night makes the worst nightie ever. Getting out of it is goal number one.
Clothes in the bathroom, he says…
I roll out of bed and pad across the plush carpet and into the adjoining bathroom, finding three bags of women’s clothing in paper shopping bags. Pulling out the selection, I find a cute pair of stonewashed jeans with flare legs, a pair of stretch pants, a cute cotton top, a beige sweater that is long enough to wear as a top or a short dress, a pack of tall socks, and two Marvel bra and underwear sets. Loki and Dr. Strange.
Cute. Odd, but sweet.
“As kidnappings go, this isn’t too bad. I didn’t know I’d have a personal shopper.” I check myself out in the mirror and work my fingers through my tangled hair. There’s no help for it. Between the hairspray of last night and sleeping with bobby pins in it, I need to start from scratch.
The bathroom is massive, with a walk-in shower that could fit five. Plush towels are indeed stacked on the vanity and on the top, a floral toiletries kit.
“Wow, points for thinking of everything, Mr. Quinn.”
I catch my reflection in the mirror—tousled hair, smudged makeup, and still wearing the dress from last night—and it’s not a good look. The woman staring back at me is a completely different person than the one who tackled the red carpet with Kate last night.
But neither of them is the real me.
This ‘morning after the night before’ version of me needs to go. Reaching into the shower, I turn on the spray and then wriggle out of my dress and start tugging my hair free from its confines.
I don’t know who the real Nora Kelly is yet, but I’m determined to find her.
Brendan
I pace the kitchen, checking my phone for the tenth time. No word from Sean or Finn yet about Nora’s stalker from last night. Bryan texted that he’d handle things at the warehouse today and I’m thankful my family’s got my back, letting me focus on damage control with Nora.
They knew I was smitten since that breakfast when I mentioned her. I’m not as strategic with my feelings as Tag or as closed-off and unreadable as Sean.
If I like someone, it shows.
It’s the same if I don’t like them.
Tag says it won’t serve me well to be so transparent, but I can’t help it—I wear my heart on my sleeve.
The shower starts up in Tag’s bedroom and I exhale. She’s up and she’s getting ready for our day. I worry about what that day will hold, but at least she’s not breaking a window to escape.
No. I earned at least that much trust in her. She didn’t seem scared or overly pissed about me bringing her here or locking her down. I’m going to make it up to her.
I set two places at the table and put our coffees there. Hers is a vanilla latte with whipped cream, like she ordered at Cuppa Jo Friday night and mine is an Americano. I’m hoping that brings her back to what an enjoyable time we had.
The water turns off and the tension in my chest tightens. Not long now. I take another look around. The table looks nice. The coffees are good. The spread Cora prepared is perfect— fresh buttermilk biscuits, ham, and eggs, fruit…even those fancy yogurt parfait things the old girl loves making.
It’s good. It’s all good.
Hearing the bathroom door opening has my heart rate kicking up double-time. Fuck. Breathe. I can do this . When have I ever gotten this wound up about a woman? Never. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.
Nora comes into the living room wearing jeans and a baggy beige sweater. I thought it would look like a sack on her, but Piper ignored my objections and told me to shut up and trust her.
My sister-in-law wins the day because Nora looks fucking adorable in it. It’s not baggy, it’s cute and looks cozy. I take her in from her thick socks to her flaxen-blonde hair and it’s clearer to me every time I see her.
I’m a fucking goner.
The way her damp hair falls in waves around her shoulders. She looks beautiful, uncertain, and utterly fuckable. I want this woman—not for a night or a few months. I want this woman until the end of my days.
“Morning, angel.” I gesture to the kitchen island. “Hungry? I thought we could make plates and have breakfast. You fell asleep before we could talk last night, and I really want a chance to explain a few things.”
She takes in the feast and whatever wall she was putting up seems to weaken. When she meets my gaze, there’s more tenderness there than I expected. It’s just breakfast, after all.
Why does it feel like this is yet another thing no one has ever done to take care of her? My poor angel. If she’ll just give me the chance, she’ll live a life of being cherished.
“You did all this?”
“It was a group effort. Finn took my sister-in-law, Piper, shopping and they swung by Jo’s for the coffees. And my brother Bryan brought over the food. I asked our housekeeper, Cora, to send us over a selection. And, I guess, that’s about it. I would’ve done it myself, but growing up with Cora taking care of us, I can barely manage toast without burning it.”
That earns me a small smile. “You didn’t need to do all this.”
“Uh, agree to disagree. Here I’ve been putting my best foot forward for the past week and at the first sign of turmoil, I went caveman and threw you over my shoulder and locked you down. I’m sorry about that. Truly. I don’t want you to ever be afraid of me.”
The soft chuckle that invokes surprises me. “I’m not afraid of you, Brendan. I’m afraid of your life and what it means that you’re a Quinn.”
I’ll need to pull that apart a little more, but one thing at a time. “Let’s eat.”
We fill our plates in companionable silence and settle in at the table. I wait until she’s had a few bites before diving in. “Did you sleep all right?”
She sets her biscuit down and brushes her fingers on her napkin. “I didn’t realize I was as exhausted as I was, but then it all drained out of me last night and there was no fighting it.”
“Grief and fear can do that. It’s been one hell of a week.”
She studies me for a long moment, then picks up her fork again. “It has.”
Right. Here we go. “The first thing I want to clear up is that I had nothing to do with the shooting at the Confession Box. Our family takes every precaution to keep violence off our streets. I wasn’t even supposed to be there, but Sean asked me to check in with one of our guys who was meeting an informant.”
“Sean’s the biker brother, right?”
There’s no judgement in that. It’s simply a question. “Aye. He’s two years older than Bryan and me. He’s a little rougher around the edges than the other four of us, so staying out of the spotlight and running the MC works well for him.”
“Was he there last night?”
I swallow a sip of my coffee and set my mug down. “He worked the security cameras in the back. With his face scarred up like it is, he stays behind the scenes during public events. People often get the wrong idea and get judgy. It bothers him—has since we were kids.”
“Kids? You mean he didn’t get scarred doing family business stuff?”
“Yes, and no. If Da hadn’t been Cormack Quinn, it wouldn’t have happened, but it was nothing Sean did or deserved.”
“Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
Getting into the private workings of my family isn’t something I do, but the whole point of this conversation is to show her that my family isn’t a pack of monsters. We’re just five brothers who were born into a legacy that was set by our father and his father before.
I set my fork down and lace my fingers together. “There are a lot of local myths about it—some of them bizarre and slightly hilarious—but the truth of it is simply sad. One of Da’s competitors snatched Sean off the street one day after school. My brother was being used as leverage, but Sean foiled their plan. He pulled a metal vent cover open far enough to squeeze through but got sliced up pretty bad in the escape.”
Sean would hate the sympathy in her gaze if he were here, but it means a lot to me. It means that she’s listening, and she can still see us as people.
“I’m so sorry. That’s horrible.”
“Aye, it was, but something good came of it, too. That’s when Da really took hold of the reins. He invited the heads of all the families together, devised a truce, outlined territories, and clarified that women and children were off limits. You see, Da understood there was no stopping organized crime, but if the men behind it could be bound to a code, Ireland would be a safer place.”
“And that’s the Quinn Laws?”
“Aye, Da created the laws and our family works damn hard to live up to that code of ethics. The people of North Dublin understand that and trust us to do our best to keep them safe. Many of the locals remember how things were when the powerful families had no order. Those were dangerous times.”
She looks torn. “But what about not breaking the laws at all? Wouldn’t that be better? Why not let the authorities handle things?”
Oh, my sweet girl. “That’s a lovely notion, angel, but it’ll never happen. There are too many people around the world making too much money off the suffering of others, police and authorities included. Drugs, guns, trafficking, assassinations, political unrest, corporate takeovers, there’s no stopping it. Power creates a vacuum. If we stood down and stepped out of the game, there would be a half-dozen groups fighting for control within weeks. And I guarantee they won’t be living by a code. No. We focus on our part of the world and work to keep people safe.”
Does she understand? I’m studying her body language and searching her gaze, but I just can’t tell. When she drops her chin and goes back to her breakfast, I’m even less sure.
I try again. “There’s a big difference between laws and justice and sometimes the right thing to do is break the rules and fuck people up. It’s not perfect but neither is the legal system society follows. We’re all just doing our best.”
She meets my gaze and I can’t tell if me telling her this is helping or not.
“Tell me about growing up with four brothers.”
Hope blooms in my chest, and my shoulders relax as I launch into stories about our childhood shenanigans. Maybe if I can keep her talking and show her that we’re just people with dangerous jobs, she’ll realize we’re not so different after all.
Because no matter what she said, we’re not a mistake.