Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Nora
I step onto the lit porch of our home and look back the way I came. The silence of the night is thick enough to choke on. Meeting up with Brendan at Legend has left me buzzing, but the thing he told me about the stranger looking in the windows of our house sends a shiver up my spine.
Danger is lurking out there, hidden in the shadows.
Panic tightens in my chest, but then I remember Brendan has ‘eyes’ on me. It’s probably his men keeping watch that have my survival instincts playing tricks on me.
I shake off the unease and head inside. It’s late—after three in the morning—but the lights are still on in the dining room. My father is working late. After locking the door, I hang my purse and jacket on the coat rack.
My father is sitting at the dining room table, his attention poured over a wash of paperwork. He’s typing something into his laptop, the glow from the screen casting harsh lines across his face, deepening the furrows that age him beyond his years.
He doesn’t look up as I step into the room.
I take a breath and hold out the envelope Brendan gave me. “Hey. I found this on the porch. It’s got your name on it.”
He lifts his gaze, eyeing me with a mix of annoyance and frustration. “What is it?”
“An envelope. I don’t know.” I force a nonchalant shrug. “Don’t kill the messenger.”
He frowns and rips it open, reaching inside to pull out pictures of Laura Sanford and a man through the window of a house. They’re hugging and looking very domestic. Then there are pictures of her entering the same house several other times, wearing different clothes on different days, the guy opening the door for her and kissing her in welcome before they go inside, and the door is closed.
His face twists into a scowl as he flips through photos—one after another—his anger simmering like a pot about to boil over.
“Is that Laura?” I point to the images. “What is she?—”
“Go to bed, Nora,” he snaps, straightening to throw me a glare.
“What did I do?”
“You mean aside from slinking in at all hours looking like a cage dancer from a men’s club and smelling of alcohol?”
The words hit me hard, but they don’t surprise me one bit. “First, there’s no shame in being a dancer. Second, I’m a server. I wait on tables and get people drinks. Sometimes drunk people spill drinks on me. Thus the smell of alcohol. That’s a long way from being a prostitute, because that’s really what you were insinuating, wasn’t it?”
His scowl darkens as he waves a dismissive hand toward me. “With those clothes, what am I supposed to think?”
“That I look beautiful, and all grown up? I have Mum’s curves and have had since I was twelve. It can’t be any surprise to you that I might want to take the girls out for a spin once in a while.”
His gaze narrows. “You think this is beautiful? You’re drawing attention to yourself—unwanted attention. I’ve sacrificed for years keeping you safe and it’s like you’re hell-bent on throwing it in my face!”
“Me wanting to live and be seen has nothing to do with you! I’m just tired of sitting around reading books and dressing in fifty shades of beige while life passes me by. I want more. Ever since Tanya died?—”
“—I knew I’d regret allowing you to be friends with her.” He glares at me, his expression pinched tight with disapproval. “That purple-haired tart put these ideas into your head. Before you started up with her, you would never have acted like this.”
“Like what? What have I done that’s so unforgiveable? I’m living my life.”
“Dyeing your hair and staying out late every night dressed like a tramp doesn’t make you an adult, Nora.”
My cheeks burn with indignation as I glare back at him. “What about me moving out? Will standing on my own and cutting ties with my father make me an adult?”
The silence hangs heavy between us for a moment—two warriors standing their ground in an unyielding standoff.
“You aren’t moving out. You have no idea the lengths I go to keep you safe.”
“To keep me your prisoner, you mean. Your quiet, obedient little girl who shrinks into the shadows and is never seen.” I’m seething now, anger coursing through every vein in my body as heat radiates from my skin.
He’s furious, too, his eyes ablaze with oppressive authority. “You think you’re gaining freedom, but all you’re doing is inviting trouble into your life.”
“That’s okay.” My words tumble out before I can stop them and echo through our small house. “Maybe trouble is better than being numb. At least if something happened, I’d know I’m alive.”
“Until you wind up dead in front of a pub with a bullet in your skull! Has it ever dawned on you that if you had come home after the play like you were supposed to, your friend would still be alive?”
I suck in a breath. Is that what he thinks? That it’s my fault Tanya’s dead because we went out for a beer after the play?
With one last furious glance at the man who has held every string of my life for far too long, I stomp up the stairs and slam my bedroom door behind me so hard it rattles on its hinges.
Alone, I let myself breathe as I scan my room. Having moved so much, I don’t unpack everything at every house. Somehow I planned to move away from him from the moment we arrived, because more than half my stuff is still packed in boxes and stacked in the corner.
Perfect. That will make leaving here even easier.
Brendan
Bryan is standing in front of one of the window boxes, drawing on his cigarette, when I arrive at Jimmy’s. The paint on the pub’s wooden exterior was sanded and repainted after the McGuire hit back in the spring, leaving the place looking like a million bucks.
At least something good came out of that chaos.
Well, the pub facelift—as well as Laine and Baby Q.
I can’t stop the smile that breaks free every time I think of Tag’s pending progeny. I’m going to be an uncle and I’m fucking stoked about it. Music and the steady rumble of voices drift out of the dark green building, and I lift two fingers in a wave to my twin.
“How’d it go?” He exhales and the cloud of smoke fills the air between us with the exotic blend of Turkish tobacco he uses in his hand-rolled cancer sticks.
“Couldn’t have gone better.”
He arches a brow. “So, you delivered the envelope and got laid?”
“I believe the term wild jungle monkey sex was used.”
Bryan shakes his head. “And is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“In context, aye, it was.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” My twin sucks in a long pull, the orange glow of the heater burning brightly before he grinds the cigarette out under his boot. Knowing Ginny will kick his ass if he leaves it there, he picks it up and sets it into the ‘Butt Out’ station.
Bryan and I step through the double doors together and are immediately hit by a wall of familiarity. The air in the Jimmy Francis Pub is heavy with Celtic rhythms and the scents of pub fare and beer.
“Well, if it isn’t trouble times two.” Jimmy’s gravelly voice carries across the bar. The old enforcer’s weathered face breaks into a grin.
“Who you calling trouble, ole man?” Bryan shoots back with a smile. “I’ll have you know, Brenny and I are perfect angels.”
Ginny snorts from behind the bar where she’s pulling a pint for Aiden. “Angels of death, maybe.”
“Now that’s just hurtful.” I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. “You wound me.”
She slides the Guinness to Aiden and laughs. “I’m sure.”
Bryan knuckle bumps Aiden. “Is the boss around?”
“In his office.”
Ginny nods toward the back hallway. “Want me to bring back a pint for you, boys?”
I hold up my hand. “Let’s see how our chat with Tag goes first.”
“Aye, well, let me know.”
Bryan and I climb the six steps to the staff hallway, our boots echoing on the worn floorboards. I rap my knuckles against Tag’s door, waiting for the electronic buzz before pushing it open.
Tag glances up from his laptop, an expectant glint in his eyes. “What’s the word, Brenny? Is your girl on board?”
I drop into a chair across from his desk. “She’ll make sure her father gets the envelope.”
“Good.” Tag runs a rough hand over his stubbled jaw. “At least something is going our way tonight.”
Bryan sinks into the chair beside me and crosses his arms over his chest. “What’s not going our way?”
“Seamus Peterson called me about an hour ago.”
It’s never great when a constable from the station of Garda Síochána calls us—even if he is one of our guys.
“Why? What did he want?”
Tag turns his laptop around, showing a series of missing person reports: all young women, all of them missing from Dublin within the past month.
“All from McGuire territory?” I venture a guess.
He shakes his head. “That’s why Seamus called. All five women disappeared from north of the river. He wanted to inquire if we’d suddenly added trafficking to our CV.”
“Was he serious?” Bryan snaps.
“He was rightly confused.” Tag closes the laptop and leans forward. “We’ve either got a predator in our streets or the McGuires are drawing unwanted attention to us by doing their dirty work in our backyard.”
My stomach turns. “You think they’re behind it?”
Tag stands and walks over to look out the glass wall at the dance floor of the pub beyond. “They’ve gotten bolder since Gravely took over, and didn’t Kieran’s street rat say something about them raising the stakes on their biggest money-making industries?”
Fucking hell. “Aye, Petey said something like that.”
“Those sick fucks.” Bryan pushes to his feet, rage clear in every line of his body. “How do you want to play this?”
“Carefully,” Tag warns. “Work with Finn and do some digging. Find out if it is Gravely and Niall, and if so, find out how and where they’re targeting girls. If they’ve got men in our territory undermining our tenets, we need to stop them before the fucking task force confuses us for the same scum as them.”
“We’ll handle it,” I assure him, on my feet and ready to roll. “And if we catch these fuckers in the act?”
Tag flashes me a cold grin. “Teach them the wrath of fucking with the Quinns.”