Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bryan
“M orning, trouble.” I push the door open to the hotel business center and hold it with my elbow as Kieran comes in behind me with our computers. Harper’s already there, plugged into her laptop, her fingers flying over the keyboard, her focus locked in.
She holds up a finger, lost in something she’s reading, which is a good sign—she’s back to being all business.
Whatever adrenaline-fueled moment we almost got caught up in after our workout last night was just that—a moment.
An explosive, hot and bothered moment, but nothing more. And it’s better that way. We’re both here for a reason and we’re both committed, determined people.
There’s no sense muddying the waters.
Besides, the only women I’m interested in are the anonymous variety who will ride my cock, scream out my name, and then be gone by the time I’m out of the shower and ready to go to bed.
Harper doesn’t strike me as a swift exit, no strings, use it and lose it, kind of woman. And after hearing her plan to get kidnapped, there’s no doubt in my mind that she is all kinds of trouble.
That’s why I reckon this will work—this arrangement.
I set the tray of coffees down on the table, along with a couple of bags of food. When she finally glances up, her gaze flicks from me to Kieran to the spread of food I’m pulling from the bags. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I brought a bit of everything. Help yourself.”
Her brows lift slightly, and her expression softens. “That was thoughtful. Thank you.”
I shrug, dropping into a chair across from her. “I figure we’re going to be here for a while. No sense spending the hours with an empty stomach.”
Kieran scoffs, snags his coffee from the carrier, and takes the seat farthest from where Harper is sitting.
Like that, is it?
I grab a couple of scones and one of the containers with a full English breakfast. I slide it to my seat and set my coffee down. “Harper, this is Kieran. He’s not thrilled with our arrangement, so you’ll have to excuse him being less than his usual charming self.”
Kieran flashes me a middle finger salute and opens his laptop.
“It’s nice to meet you, Kieran. Hopefully, I can find something that eases your misgivings.” She shuffles down the table and makes herself a plate—scone, fruit, and a couple of strips of bacon.
Good choice.
Kieran’s glare is going to get old fast.
“Normally, he’s all charm and silver-tongued devil.”
He grunts and leans toward me. “Stop talking about me like I’m the issue here. We both know this is a clusterfuck of an idea. One that I guarantee would get you a fist to the balls if you floated past the people at home.”
“Well then, I’m glad we’re not home because I prefer my balls to be left out of things, fuck you very much.”
Harper doesn’t say anything. She’s eating her breakfast, her attention bouncing back and forth between Kieran and me like a spectator at a football match.
I reckon we seem like a rough lot.
Even cleaned up, Kieran has a don’t-fuck-with-me biker look—russet hair, wild and long, scruff shadowing his jaw, and though he can be charming as fuck if it suits him, he can also flip from Irish charm to ready to throw elbows in the blink.
Harper eyes him for a beat, then smirks. “So, not a fan of working with the Canadian girl?”
Kieran huffs a laugh. “What gave it away?”
“The scowl more than anything.”
I chuckle, but Kieran just shakes his head and opens his laptop, glaring at me. “So, this is the plan, then? We’re doing this?”
I nod. “We are. Your concerns are noted and overruled. We’ve been here three days and gotten nowhere. It’s time to try something new.”
Kieran makes a noise but doesn’t argue. He knows I’m right. Logan got us a pass to stay and search for Siobhan if we didn’t interfere in Mason business again.
Having our hands tied and being stuck in this hotel is getting us nowhere.
I look at Harper. “Kieran will use his local contacts to discreetly enquire into Eddie Mason and his operation. And in return, you will turn over some new rocks and give us a fresh perspective on where Siobhan might be tucked away in a safe house.”
Harper nods, swiping a piece of fruit through the last traces of her scone’s jam before popping it into her mouth. She chews thoughtfully, then swallows. “I assume you’ve already looked at police transfers, legal transport routes, and known safe houses?”
Kieran scoffs. “We’re not new to this, little girl.”
She shrugs. “Had to ask.”
“No. You really didn’t.”
Harper looks over at me and I’d swear she’s trying not to laugh. She really isn’t afraid of testosterone-fueled angry men. Weird.
After drying her fingers on a paper napkin, she pulls her laptop back in front of her. “Alrighty then. Let’s get to it, shall we?”
I go back to my breakfast and decide to keep my head down for a while. This partnership might be uneasy, but for now, it’s the best idea I’ve got.
* * *
Harper
When Kieran takes a call and steps out into the hall, the tension in the room eases. That guy is intense. And given the tattoos on his knuckles and the whole ‘speak to me at your own risk’ vibe he’s giving off, I can safely say he’s likely got the goods to back up his hostility.
He doesn’t know me, doesn’t trust me, and I have no doubt if I do something that screws them over, I’ll be in as much trouble or more from them as I would’ve been if I just took on Eddie Mason on my own.
But I won’t screw them over, so this is going to work.
It’s a risky collaboration, but hopefully we can all benefit from it. I’m damned good at digging things up. For instance, given what Bryan told me last night—Five brothers. Irish. Criminal affiliations—I discovered he is none other than Bryan Quinn, of the Quinn brothers.
Once I knew that, I spent hours learning everything I could about them.
The oldest brother, Tag, came into power a year ago when their dad died.
The one with the scars, Sean, runs the Dublin Devils motorcycle club.
Bryan and his twin brother Brendan are the muscle and cage fight for charity.
And the youngest brother is Finn. There wasn’t much on him, but Bryan mentioned that he’s the one that’s good with computers.
One of the most interesting things I learned is that these men rule for the people and with the people. They have a moral code called the Quinn Laws.
One of their tenets is that women are to be protected. These men are criminals, but they aren’t like Mason. They have a code .
The Quinn Laws.
I read every scrap of information I could find on those laws—statements, whispers, rumors. It seems the Quinns have a reputation for ruling with the people of Northern Dublin in mind.
They are still dangerous criminals—I’m not trying to downplay that—but there were dozens of references to their efforts to keep their streets and their citizens safe.
Especially women. That may explain why Bryan stormed across the street and ripped me away from Mason’s men a few days ago.
Looking at it now, it could be considered… gallant .
Despite ruining my plans.
Despite making my life a lot more complicated.
I slide a sideways glance past the curtain of my hair to where Bryan is scowling at his computer. He’s got the patience of a raging bull—the muscles of one, too.
Wearing his signature black jeans and black T-shirt that barely stretches enough to contain him, there’s nothing much left to the imagination.
Not that I have to imagine—I saw him without his shirt last night in the gym. I know exactly what’s happening under that T-shirt. All that inked flesh stretching over his honed physique.
I miss the gray sweatpants though. The way they dipped low on his hips as we worked out. The way they did nothing to hide the outline of his fineness when things got interesting.
I shake the thought off and refocus.
Siobhan Daley.
The woman they’re looking for isn’t just some girl on the run—she’s been tangled up in the Dublin underworld her entire life. And, from what I’ve found out, she has slept with or gotten her hooks into every male power player in Dublin.
I would never slut shame anyone, but this woman made bedding the bad boys an Olympic sport.
When I mentioned that to Bryan, he scowled and said there was history with her and one of his brothers but he never saw the appeal.
When I asked Bryan why he needed to find her, he said she crossed one too many lines and needs to answer for the pain she’s caused his family.
During the entire time Bryan spoke about her, he radiated a fake calm so unsettling it creeped me out. It was obvious he was seething under the surface. Whatever she did, she’s lucky the Quinns don’t hurt women because he looks murderous whenever she’s mentioned.
So, I’ve been tracking her as my part of the deal.
Kieran filled in a few of the blanks earlier. Siobhan was on a private plane that landed at Gatwick before she was escorted somewhere near Liverpool .
I scroll through a new batch of search results, cross-referencing old cases and security details tied to government witness programs, searching for property holdings near the city.
None of this information is public and none of it is easy to find, but I do some of my best work in the gray areas of legality.
Across the table, Kieran mutters something to Bryan in Irish under his breath. Bryan frowns and speaks right back to him. I understand none of it, but the Irish language is really beautiful.
When they’re finished, Bryan meets my curious gaze. “His contacts in the area don’t want to make an enemy of the Masons so he’s reached out to his friends in London. He’s waiting for a response.”
Kieran frowns. “And if I wanted her to know my business, I would’ve just fuckin’ said that straight out.”
I understand his reluctance to speak in front of a stranger, especially a stranger who he knows is an investigative reporter. So, I try to ease his frustration a little.
“I haven’t found her, but I tracked the car she was moved in and found that it is part of a fleet belonging to Sentinel Risk Management.”
Bryan’s interest sparks. “Go on.”
I turn my laptop toward them, pulling up the file I’ve been building on Eddie Mason’s operation. “It’s not the first time I’ve run into that name. Through my research on the speakeasy and Mason’s network, I found that he uses the same company to secure his operation.”
“So, who are they?” Kieran asks, coming over to look at my screen.
“From what I’ve been able to find, it was established a few years ago by two local ex-police officers and an ex-military man. They work a lot in this area and seem to have clients on both sides of the legal fence.”
Bryan grins. “Maybe after we proved the McGuire’s had infiltrated their task force, they outsourced to ensure we couldn’t find her.”
“That would explain all the brick walls I’ve been running into,” Kieran says.
Bryan grunts and tilts his head toward me. “Keep on it, Harper. It sounds promising. And thanks. Ye don’t know how fuckin’ important this is for us.”
“Aye, and I’ll keep on things on our end,” Kieran says. “Eddie the Eel comes off as if he’s the shit but he’s arrogant. He’s pissed people off along the way, and I’ll find the ones who don’t mind venting.”
“Aye, ye will,” Bryan agrees. “Kieran’s got a gift with gettin’ people to talk. We’ll work out how his operation works and get ye what ye need to avenge yer friends.”
“Thank you.” I turn my attention back to my laptop. Desperation makes odd alliances sometimes, but if there’s a trail to follow, I’ll find it.