Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Bryan
T he coffee shop is quiet, the scent of roasted beans and warm scones cutting through the chaos in my mind in small measure. If I were home, I’d be sitting with my brothers and their wives around the family dining table, and we’d be discussing the goals for today and my progress thus far.
But there hasn’t been any progress.
I need to find Siobhan, and I need it to be soon. Patience has never been my strong suit, and when I’m wound up like this, I’m dangerous.
My brothers know it—Brendan especially.
He’s seen me tear through a warehouse of rival assholes when my Irish ire has gotten the better of me. The thing about Brenny is—he never judges.
As my twin, he’s more than my brother—he’s part of me. He understands what drives me better than anyone and knows how to keep me level when things get bad.
But he’s not here.
Maybe I can find a gym to hit or an underground fight to let off some steam—some distraction to drain this restless energy before I detonate and do something stupid.
Again.
I take a slow sip of coffee, letting the heat from the foam cup seep into my fingers as I watch the bustling world move past. The liquid burns down my throat, bitter and strong, just how I like it.
I hate this city already. Too many people packed into too little space. Too much noise, too much filth, too many unknowns. Dublin has its drawbacks, but at least there I know the score and what shadows to watch.
Here, every face is a stranger—a potential threat.
But I didn’t come here for the scenery. I came for answers—answers that are slow in coming.
“You ready to head back to the hotel?” Logan takes the coffee tray from me and flips back the lid of one of the cups to release the steam.
“Aye, we should.” My grip tightens around the cup. “I’m done banging my head against the fucking wall. Today we find the bitch and end her.”
Logan chuckles. “You realize the people who tucked her away aren’t your garden variety wise guys, right? By what you’ve told me about this anti-crime task force that has her, they have pull and they want the woman to live to testify. This might take weeks.”
I grunt. “I’m not staying out here in the cold for fucking weeks. Kieran will find her. The man has connections that would make intelligence agencies jealous. He’ll find her and then I’ll make my da proud.”
He sobers and dips his chin. “And that’s the end goal.”
Damn right it is.
I turn to follow him when movement across the street catches my eye.
A woman steps into my line of sight, cutting through the crowd with an easy, unhurried stride. Tall, lean, and fit, she moves like someone who knows exactly how much space she takes up. There’s a confident grace to her gait that captures my attention and raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
A brown leather jacket hugs her frame, her jeans snug enough to hint at strong legs, the kind that could hold their own in a fight—or wrapped around a man’s hips.
Her hair—a pale raspberry pink color—is swept into a ponytail, strands slipping free and blowing haphazardly around her tanned face as she walks.
Fuck . Even from this distance, I catch the sharp cut of her jaw, the high cheekbones, the full lips pressed together in silent thought. My body reacts before my brain catches up, my cock stiffening behind the zipper of my dark black jeans.
But even more than her natural beauty, it’s the way she carries herself that has my instincts firing.
Confident, but alert.
Her gaze sweeps the street before her, assessing, her shoulders relaxed but ready. It’s like she expects something to go wrong.
Intrigued, I watch as she walks toward the curb and a black Cadillac with blacked-out windows crawls forward. It idles at the mouth of a narrow alley in her path. The car screams money and trouble—a combination I know all too well.
The back door of the vehicle opens and a playboy type gets out. The guy is slick, movie star handsome, with a crooked smile that probably reels in chicks with a single glance.
He waves to the woman with easy charm, and she doesn’t hesitate. She returns the wave and there’s suddenly a little more sway in her ponytail.
I fucking hate him immediately.
Visceral disdain settles in my gut like a jagged stone and I have to hold myself in check. Not my circus, not my fucking monkeys.
When ponytail stops to chat with the playboy, a second man steps out of the car. He adjusts the cuffs of his designer coat, an expensive watch glinting in the morning light. I stiffen the moment I see his smarmy smile, adrenaline firing in my veins.
Eddie fucking Mason.
He’s a no-class criminal with deep ties to the English underground. Ruthless, connected, and slimy enough to slither out of trouble despite having enough dirt on his hands to fill a graveyard. Tag had dealings with him years back, and said he was an arrogant, self-important prick.
If he’s here, it’s not for a casual chat.
My pulse kicks up, instincts firing. My muscles tense, the way they invariably do before I step into the cage.
“Slow your roll, mate.” Logan’s voice is low, casual, but there’s an edge to it. His hand clamps down on my shoulder, fingers digging in. “Stay out of local business and focus on why you’re here. That there—that’s not our business.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. I stretch my neck from side to side, hoping the pop of vertebrae will ease some tension. It doesn’t.
Logan pegs me with a look and gestures down the sidewalk, back toward the motel. “Time to take your leave, Quinn.”
I can hear Tag’s censure in my head. Mind your fucking business, Bryan. Don’t cause trouble.
The problem is…I’ve never been a good listener.
Just ask my twin. Brenny’s been cleaning up my bloody messes for years.
Still, I grunt in acknowledgment and tell my feet to get moving. “Aye, I suppose we should go.”
Logan pushes off the wall, muttering something about babysitting bulldogs, and I take another sip of my coffee. We’re about to merge into the shuffle of foot traffic when I make the mistake of glancing across the road.
Ponytail girl is standing between Mason and the playboy—obviously he’s the lure to this fishing expedition. A pretty face to lower her guard before the shark moves in.
Even with her back to me, I see the tension in her shoulders. She’s not resisting, but she knows something is wrong. I study the subtle shift in her posture, the way her weight transfers to the balls of her feet.
I’ve seen it dozens of times in fighters who realize too late they are outmatched.
The playboy says something and Mason gestures toward the car. There’s a beat of hesitation before she follows their lead.
No. Don’t fucking do it, ponytail. But no matter how strongly I send the mental warning, she keeps going. Another step and she’ll be in the car, and what happens next won’t end well for her.
I don’t think. I move.
My coffee drops to the pavement, splashing up my pant leg as I cross the street in a few long, angry strides. Logan curses and then shouts something behind me, but I can’t hear it over the rush of adrenaline in my ears.
The moment Mason grips her arm, it’s over.
I’m already swinging.
My fist collides with his jaw, the impact snapping his head to the side. The familiar shock of bone against bone travels up my arm, a sensation I crave in the ring.
The playboy barely has time to react before I send him crashing into the side of the car with a well-placed shove.
Someone shouts and the driver jumps out of the car to join the fun. “Mr. Mason, are you?—”
I lay him out with a spinning backhand and pull the girl behind me. Her body is warm against my back, a strangled, feminine cry slipping from her perfect lips.
Mason scrambles to his feet, shaking off the hit with a grunt. He spits blood onto the pavement as he levels a glare at me. “Who the fuck do you think you?—”
He gets a good look at me then, and his entire posture hardens. Recognition flashes in his eyes and then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and glares. “You’re a long way from home, fucknut. This isn’t your business.”
“That’s for damned sure. Exploiting women as a commodity is the business of cowards and scum.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, memories of the girls my brothers and I have rescued from trafficking rings fueling my anger.
The playboy coughs, muttering a curse, but Mason just smiles, slow and mean.
“You’ve got no idea what you stepped into, Irish.”
I raise my palms. “And I have no interest in finding out. Consider this a problem with impulse control. I heard the lady’s call for help, and I responded without thinking.”
His gaze narrows. “She didn’t call for help.”
I feign surprise. “She didn’t? Och, my bad, mate. I could’ve sworn. My deepest apologies.”
Backing away, I grab the woman and frog march her the hell away from them, not stopping until we’re down the block and around the corner. My hand spans the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd with the same protective instinct that drives me when I’m with Laine, Piper, or Nora.
I try not to look too closely at that and chalk it up to a stressful few days. Me blowing off some steam was inevitable. This was simply my frustration getting away on me. That’s it. That’s all.
I take a deep breath and focus on the woman. “It’s fine now, lass. You’re safe?—”
The right cross to my cheek spins my head on a pike before she shoves me back into the brick wall behind me. Stars explode behind my eyes, pain blooming across my face. Fecking hell, for a woman, she packs one hell of a punch.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hisses, eyes blazing with fury. She pushes forward, her face inches from mine. “You ruined everything !”
I stare at her, my brain stuttering to catch up. She’s not scared. She’s not relieved. She’s pissed . Her ample chest heaves with each angry breath, color high on those sharp cheekbones.
I’m not sure when I took the off-ramp from reality, but if I didn’t know better, I’d swear this firecracker wanted to be taken.
Huh. I did not see that coming.
* * *
Harper
I storm down the narrow side street, my boots striking the pavement harder than necessary, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. Behind me, the big Irish beast is still standing there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.
I’ve seen that look before—stunned disbelief—like a man can’t quite process the idea of a woman not falling to the feet of her big, burly protector, to gush in gratitude for him pounding on his chest.
Is there any man who believes a woman can take care of herself? Any man who doesn’t think we’re delicate flowers waiting to be rescued?
I don’t stick around to see if he recovers from the stroke he seems to be suffering. Putting distance between us, I turn sharply, my pace quick and full of frustrated energy. The morning air cools my flushed skin, but does nothing to temper the fire in my veins.
That outburst just pissed away two weeks of my time, all because some testosterone-fueled hulk with a hero complex couldn’t leave well enough alone. Two weeks of cautious observation, of subtly playing a role, of cultivating the interest of the wrong kind of people.
Heavy footsteps thump behind me, closing in on me fast. I glance back and roll my eyes. Perfect.
“Ye have no idea what those men are capable of, ponytail,” Irish guy shouts, his deep, rolling accent cutting through the alleyway.
The nickname makes me bristle—being reduced to a hairstyle. I throw a glare over my shoulder. “I was doing just fine!”
His laugh is sharp, disbelieving. “ Fine? And do ye realize ye were thirty seconds away from bein’ stuffed into the back of a car? Ye wouldn’t have been doin’ fine much longer after that.”
I whirl around mid-stride, forcing him to pull up short. “That was the whole point , you big dumb ox!”
His brows shoot up, his incredulous expression lit by a glow of fury in his eyes that turn them an almost supernatural shade of emerald green. “Sweet Mother Mary, yer off yer nut.”
I catch myself before I admit I wanted them to take me. I needed them to take me! No. I don’t know this guy and I certainly don’t want to overshare.
Instead, I scoff and turn back around, picking up my pace. “And you’re an arrogant, hotheaded, knuckle-dragging Neanderthal.”
There’s a sharp huff behind me, then another quick thud of boots as he catches up. His stride is longer than mine, but I refuse to jog to maintain distance. “Call me whatever names ye like, sweetheart, but I saved yer precious little peach of an ass from a fate worse than death.”
I throw my hands up, exasperated. “Oh, and you know everything, do you?”
“Aye.” His gaze is menacing as he prowls forward, using his height and his incredible size to try to intimidate me. “About this sort of thing, I do . And if ye had a lick of sense in that pretty head, ye’d be grateful I pulled ye out when I did.”
My mind short circuits. “Grateful? Grateful? ”
I have been working for weeks to get close to someone like Jamie Rowan, and now, thanks to this musclehead, I’m right back where I started. How do I go back to the hotel and tell Anton our best chance at getting his sister back just blew up in my face.
I realize it’s likely too late for Macie and Chantal, but it dulled the pain of losing them a little to think I could help save someone else. To think I could expose the people who hurt them, to balance the scales somehow.
Now, it’s all ruined.
Drawing a deep breath, I poke a finger into the chiseled plane of his chest. My fingertip meets solid resistance, like stone wrapped in a soft knit Henley.
Holy hell, the man is built like he’s been chiseled by the gods out of the hardest marble.
I push that thought out of my head, wrapping myself in the anger firing hot in my blood. “I get that you thought you were playing the part of a good Samaritan. Yay, you. But you don’t know me or my situation, so next time butt out!”
His open hands lift like he wants to shake me. “Aye, I’ll do that. The next time ye decide to walk on the wild side, I’ll let them toss a bag over your head and whisk ye away to the cage they’ve got waitin’ for ye in a warehouse somewhere near the docks.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you’re finally getting it.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks and I can practically feel the frustration radiating off him. The energy between us is thick and charged like the air before a storm. It crackles in the space between us, dangerous and electric.
I let out a sharp breath and turn to keep walking, this time refusing to acknowledge the steady thump of his boots behind me. The heels of my boots click against the pavement in counterpoint to his heavier footfalls, creating an odd, tense rhythm.
We make it to the hotel, and I spin around so fast he almost barrels into me.
“Enough is enough, big man.” I fold my arms, my voice cutting. “Fuck off and stop following me.”
He scowls, something dark flashing across his face. “I’m not following you.”
I arch a brow, giving him what I hope is a ball-shriveling glare.
He steps closer, voice dropping to a low, near-growl. “I’m not following. I’m not stalking. I’m not trying to help. I’m not anything .” He jerks his chin toward the entrance. “I’m simply going back to my fucking hotel room .”
My mouth parts as realization slams into me like a physical blow. Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
He smirks, the anger still simmering in his emerald gaze. “See ye around, ponytail.”
I huff, whirl around, and shove the door open hard enough that it slams against the frame. The sound echoes through the lobby, drawing curious glances from the staff standing at the reception desk.
I don’t stop. I don’t look back.
My stride is clipped as I cross the marble floor to the elevators, my cells firing, my blood burning.
And I hate that I don’t know if it’s from anger, or something else entirely—something more complicated.
* * *
Bryan
I fight to get up to my room and inside before I explode. Once the door latches behind me, I turn and brace myself with both hands on the frame. She called me a fucking Neanderthal and honestly, that’s how I feel.
I want to rip the fucking door off its hinges and throw it down the hall.
Instead, I tip my head back and let a scream tear from my throat. I’m sure, by the time I’m finished, several people have called down to the desk and another few have called the police.
Welcome to fucking Liverpool.
When I turn around to face the room, Kieran is staring over the back of his open laptop, his russet brows lost behind the fall of his hair. “I notice you’re not carrying anything. Is it safe to assume the coffee run didn’t go smoothly?”
I grunt, running a hand through my hair as I pace toward the window. The street below is still alive with morning traffic—cars, commuters, and a world that doesn’t give a damn about the disaster I just walked away from.
My knuckles are still tingling from the impact with Eddie Mason’s face, my blood still rushing hot through my veins. I need to get a hold on the beast raging within before I destroy this entire fucking room.
Which would actually feel really good right now.
Kieran sits back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Where’s Logan?”
That’s the moment it hits me. Shit. I stormed off after that fight, after that woman , and never even checked if Logan was behind me.
Fuck.
I turn back to Kieran, about to answer when the door swings open again.
Logan steps inside, kicking the door shut behind him, his movements sharp and controlled—except for his face .
That’s pure rage.
“Well done, you absolute tit ,” he growls, throwing his keys onto the table with a loud clatter. “Do you have any idea how much of a shit storm you just stirred up?”
I exhale through my nose, turning to face him fully. “I assume you and Eddie Mason had a few words.”
“A few words?” Logan barks a laugh, shaking his head. “You might say that.”
“What the hell happened?” Kieran closes his laptop and gives us his full attention.
Logan’s gaze flicks from me to him and back again. “This bloody idiot saw one of the Mason boys doing business in the street and he stormed over like a bloody wrecking ball and laid him out like a punk.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“Yes, that’s one way to put it.”
I reach back and pinch the base of my skull, hoping to stop the headache taking root. “I did apologize.”
Logan scoffs. “It was a backhanded apology at best, a slap in the face at worst.”
“But you stayed and smoothed things over?” Kieran asks, wincing.
“Not exactly.”
I hold up my hands. “What the fuck does that mean? What did he say?”
Logan dips his chin and frowns. “His exact words were, ‘You have until the end of the day to get that rabid Irish fuckwad out of my city and out of my fucking business.’ I said I would pass the message along.”
I scoff, unbothered. “He doesn’t get to tell me where I can and can’t be. I’m not taking orders from some Liverpudlian slime with delusions of grandeur.”
Logan’s eyes flash with something lethal. “You really don’t get it, do you?” He steps closer, voice dropping. “Things between the London and Liverpool families aren’t always good. There’s tension , Quinn. And the Watsons—the people I answer to—they’re not gonna be happy that an Irish upstart we vouched for is antagonizing the Masons, regardless of why you’re here.”
Kieran straightens in his chair, his focus sharpening. “Shite.”
I clench my jaw. I don’t give a damn about Eddie Mason’s orders, but I do care about getting what I came for.
If I get forced out before we even confirm Siobhan’s whereabouts, I’ll have jeopardized my father’s vengeance for nothing.
I exhale sharply, forcing my anger down. It’s like trying to stuff a hurricane into a glass bottle. “All right. I fucked up. Talk to your bosses and explain what happened. Tell them I won’t step out of line again. Ask them to convince the Masons to give us a couple of days . If the task force has Siobhan in Liverpool, we’ll find out. If not, we’ll go . Peacefully.”
Logan looks at me and lets off a humorless laugh. “Oi, right. Is that all? You think it’s that simple?”
I level him with a hard stare. “Make it simple.”
He shakes his head, muttering a curse under his breath. “Tall fucking order, Quinn.”
“But you’ll try.”
He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face before jabbing a finger at me. “If I do this, you’ll stay on a leash and do as you’re fucking told.”
“I’ll be as obedient as a faithful little pup.”
He rolls his eyes. “More like a feral Rottweiler on a paper chain.”
And look at that, we just met, but he gets me.
I feel so seen.
He stares me down for another moment before he pulls out his phone and storms toward the room next door. “Don’t let this come back to bite me in the ass or I’ll put you down myself.”
I take my finger and make a little cross over my heart and give him my sweetest smile. “Scout’s honor.”
When he’s in the other room, I finally let the past half hour wash over me. I fucked up, no question, but even knowing the aftermath, I don’t know that I could’ve let it play out any differently.
Da raised us with a governing code. I wouldn’t be his son if I stood there and watched that woman get taken.
But now I need to keep my focus on finding another woman—Siobhan.
That’s why I’m here. That’s what I’ve been tasked with. The only problem with that is when I close my eyes, all I see is a fire-eyed woman with a sharp tongue, a swinging right hook, and a whole lot of secrets.
Ponytail is trouble…and she’s in trouble.
Despite her insistence that she’s got things covered, I have a feeling our paths will cross again.