Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nora
T he learning curve to working at a nightclub is steep: the late hours are hard on the body, the noise rings in my ears, and after working here almost two weeks, I’ve realized it doesn’t matter what night of the week it is, this place is always packed.
My tray wobbles as I weave through the wall-to-wall crowd. I’ve got one arm up, protecting my order, like Alexis taught us, but when the place is at capacity with half-drunk and half-stoned bodies flailing around in the dark, there’s no escaping all of them.
The music from the live band vibrates in my bones while strobe lights flash, making navigation even trickier. Three cosmos, two mojitos, and a pina colada need to make it to table twelve before they warm up.
“Coming through!” I shimmy between a party pack of bachelorette besties, and have my sights set on the table when a guy backs into me.
The tray tips and I scramble to get it level.
Pink liquid splashes down my front, seeping into my cleavage, and down my front to drench the waistband of my skirt.
“Hey, watch it, bitch!” The guy spins around, drink in hand. His eyes zero in on my glistening chest. “Want me to lick that up for you?”
“Not even a little.”
“Get away from my boyfriend, whore,” a brunette snaps, pushing in on me.
“If you get out of my way, I’d be happy to.”
“All right, people, back to your business.” Jay dives into the mix. “Nothing to see here.”
I take that as my cue and hurry to deliver the surviving drinks to table twelve. My skin is sticky, my ire is up, and my cheeks are burning.
In the servers’ station, I dab at my top with a wet napkin. The good news is our uniform is dark enough that the cosmopolitan’s pale pink won’t stain. The bad news is that I have another four hours of working in a damp, sticky shirt.
Ain’t adulting grand?
Kate appears beside me, loading her own tray. “You okay? That guy was a total dick.”
I force a smile. “I’m fine. Just one of those nights.”
But it’s more than that. During our first week, I thought it was nerves. All this week, I figured I’m tired from finishing my last shifts at the library and need to get used to the late hours.
The truth is…something feels off.
The money’s fantastic—I made more in tips last weekend than I would in two months working the library—but standing here in this barely there uniform, getting leered at and propositioned by high, handsy customers, I can’t help but wonder if I made a mistake.
My sketchbook sits untouched in my room. The last time I picked up a pencil was before Tanya died…before Brendan…before everything got so complicated.
I convinced myself this job was a step toward independence. A way to break free from my father’s controlling grip. Wasn’t the point of all this to get me closer to who I really am? The girl who loves art and quiet afternoons and…
“Nora, your replacement drinks are up!”
I straighten my shoulders and grab a fresh tray. “Got it. Thanks.”
Brendan
I’m parked on the street opposite the bus stop where Nora waits after her shift. Most nights, Kate drives her home. I’m fine with that. But on the nights my angel and her friend don’t have shifts that align, Nora takes the bus.
I hate her navigating the streets alone at night. Why hasn’t her father helped her buy a fucking car? He, of all people, knows the things that happen in the shadows of night.
So, on the nights that Nora’s taking the bus, I have Jay send me a text. I ensure she gets on her bus. I follow the bus. And then, I ensure she gets in her front door.
It’s not exactly staying away, but it’s the best I can do.
There she is. I grip the steering wheel a little tighter as she exits the front of the club. She has her jacket tied tight and her purse slung over her shoulder to rest on her opposite hip. That’s good.
She looks upset tonight. “What’s the matter, angel?”
It kills me not to be able to ask her, not to be able to hug her and rub her back as she tells me about her shitty night.
The bus pulls up and blocks my view but a moment later, she climbs the stairs, taps her bus pass, and walks toward the back. She picks a seat about halfway back and settles in.
I turn my keys and start my car. When the bus speeds up and merges with traffic, I pull out of my parking spot to follow.
It’s a little stalker-adjacent—I acknowledge that—but I prefer to think of it as me being her unknown escort home. And I don’t care what it looks like. It’s the only time I get to spend with her.
And as we weave through Dublin, I talk to her and imagine her answering my questions. I know, I’m losing it. But I don’t know how else to be close to her.
Too soon, the bus stops where I let her off my motorcycle that first night, and I pull over to the curb. Nora gets out and heads down her street without a backward glance. I don’t like that. She’s usually more spatially aware of her surroundings.
Something is really bothering her.
I wait until she’s well down the street, and then I pull around the corner. Once she’s up her walkway and inside, I drive past her house, turn around, and park. Getting out, I jog to the black Tacoma hidden by the shadow of an enormous tree and knock on the window.
Tig shouts and then pats his chest as he pushes the button to roll his window down. “Jesus fuck, Mr. Quinn. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Then monitor your rearview so people can’t sneak up on you.” That comes out harsher than I intend, but I don’t have it in me to care. “Is the father home?”
“Yep. He got in around ten.”
“And everything’s quiet? Nothing new to report?”
“For the most part.”
I don’t like the sound of that. “Explain.”
“There’s this silver Nissan. It’s got a rental sticker in the back window and has driven past here three nights in a row. Normally I wouldn’t give it much thought, but tonight the guy parked in the empty driveway next door, got out, looked in the windows of the Kelly house, and then drove away.”
“Are you kidding me? And you didn’t think to fucking tell me?”
Tig meets my anger with his own. “I’m fucking telling you now. My orders are to observe and email my report at the end of my shift. It happened an hour ago.”
I’m gripping the box of the truck so tightly pain shoots through my knuckles. Someone’s watching them? Her? Him? Is it Jordan or Nora they’re interested in?
“Fine. Whatever,” I growl. “If anyone sketchy gets within ten feet of her?—”
“I know the drill.” The fuck you in his tone remains unspoken, but I hear it just the same.
Whatever. He fucking works for us.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see Sean’s text lighting up my screen.
Meet Bryan @ Shamrock. Brute and Beast business.
Thank fuck. I need an outlet before I explode.
When I arrive at the Shamrock Pub, Bryan is already there, leaning against his bike. He takes one look at me and arches a brow. “You look like ass.”
“Fuck off. What’s the job?”
“We’ve got a Devil with a big mouth. Word is Mickey O’Malley has been running his mouth about Quinn operations.”
“The stupid fuck.”
“Aye, when will these dumbasses realize everything gets back to us?”
I don’t fucking know, but honestly, if they did, we’d be out of a job. Taking the lead, I throw open the door and search the smoky dive for our guy. “Got him.”
I march over and grab the collar of Mickey’s leather jacket. Dragging him backward, he tips out of his chair and scrambles to get his boots on the ground as I pull him toward the door. “What the?—”
Outside, I shove him against the brick of the building and wind my arm back. My fist connects with his jaw like steel to concrete. He staggers, but I don’t let him fall, landing another solid hit to his ribs. “Wearing a Dublin Devils cut means you’re an extension of the Quinn family. Our code of ethics. Our integrity. You’re also supposed to show us some fucking loyalty.”
The flash of terror in his dazed gaze means he knows how badly he’s fucked up.
“You’ve got a big mouth, Mickey. Word is you’ve been talking about family business.”
“I wouldn’t. I swear?—”
Red clouds my vision as I slam him against the wall. “Don’t fucking lie to us, Mickey. You know we get to the truth. You want to be on the right side of that.”
He pushes at me to keep me at a distance and holds up a finger. “Okay! Okay! I get the message. I’m sorry. I didn’t say nothing important. Just spouting off is all.”
I go at him again, landing a powerful right hook. His nose shatters and blood sprays through the night air, all my fury and frustration pouring out through my fists.
“Brendan!” Bryan’s voice seems far away. “That’s enough!”
But it’s not enough. Nothing’s enough. I can’t protect Nora. Can’t be with her. Can’t stop thinking about her.
My knuckles split open, but I keep swinging.
“Stop! You’re gonna kill him!”
I’m tackled from behind, the hit coming hard and low. I hit the pavement and scramble, lost in the anger boiling out of me. My elbow comes up and there’s a loud grunt, followed by a kidney-bruising punch to my side.
I drop to my knees and fight to catch my breath. Bryan’s arms wrap around me. “Stop, brother. You need to stop.”
I struggle against my twin’s grip, chest heaving.
Mickey has slid down the wall, his face a bloody mess.
“Jesus Christ,” Bryan mutters, still restraining me. “What the fuck was that?”
I shove him off me and stagger away, leaving Mickey groaning on the ground and my twin to deal with the cleanup.