Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Bryan
T he war room seems colder than usual.
It might be the stone walls and floor or the lack of sunlight down here… or maybe it’s just me. Ever since Harper turned on me in that parking lot and started looking at me like I’m some kind of monster, I’ve been caught between the bloodshed of my life and proving I’m more than a thug.
Caught between danger and domesticity.
Caught between her and what I’ve become
The family meeting has been put on hold while Tag takes a call. He’s pacing near the monitors waiting for an update from Aiden and Hennessey on something that’s going on down at the docks.
Sean and Brendan are over near the sideboard muttering about a weapons shipment from the Bratva that needs to get rerouted to Chicago. The two of them are smoking one of Finn’s latest exotic blends.
He’s calling it Turkish Delight.
Finn’s glued to his laptop, fingers flying, earbuds in. His mouth is moving but he’s not talking to any of us—just whispering to the AI overlords he lives to impress.
And me?
I’m sitting here with my legs kicked out in front of me, one arm slung over the back of my chair, staring at the Celtic carvings of the war table. But my focus is upstairs.
She’s upstairs.
Not just in the same building, but in my home . She’s spent the past two nights sleeping in my bed. Well, if you can call the fitful state of panic she’s drawn into during her hours of slumber sleeping.
Still, she’s doing better. Healing slowly. Eating more.
She’s still guarded. Still tormented by taking a life, by covering it up, by handling things the Quinn way. But it’s the only way. If Eddie Mason’s uncle finds out his idiot nephew was killed by an independent woman with no connections, he’ll track her down and end her.
It makes him look vulnerable and weak.
But if Eddie was killed during a mob on mob exchange and was taken out while in Quinn territory, raiding a Quinn safehouse, then the Mason family can save face.
They don’t like it. There is definitely bad blood between our families now, but they won’t make a move to retaliate.
It’s the way of our world.
Harper has a sense of honor and justice I admire, but in this circumstance, the truth would not set her free.
It would get her killed.
Tag’s not happy about this whole mess following us back from England, but he’ll take the hit, and we’ll deal with it.
The question I keep coming up against is after watching me kill Mason’s men with my bare hands, does she see me as a predator or a protector?
She hasn’t brought it up—what I did to Mason’s men—and I haven’t pressed her about it.
She’s here. That’s good enough for now.
It feels right in a way that scares the absolute hell out of me but I’m not going to question it. After existing in a void of hollow despair for so long, feeling anything is incredible.
I love watching her work. Listening to her mutter as she peels through documents and digital footprints.
She’s getting close to unraveling Eddie’s sex ring.
Whether she’ll find Macie or Chantal or Zhara alive, I don’t know. But when this is all over, she’ll know she fought like hell and did everything humanly possible to set things right. She’ll make sure the men responsible for their suffering never sleep easy again.
She’s a beast in her own rite.
Tag ends his call, dragging me out of my thoughts.
He drops into the chair at the head of the table and knocks his knuckles against the wooden surface. “All right, lads. Back to it.”
Sean and Brenny join us, a waft of sweet-smelling smoke following them. I hold out my hand and my twin passes me his cigarette. I take a deep draw and let Finn’s mixologist genius take hold. “Fuck. This is nice, Finn.”
He dips his chin. “One of my best, I think.”
Sean grins. “You have a gift, Finny.”
Tag extends his reach, and I pass the Turkish bliss along. We’re all in for the night, so why not take the edge off? Tag takes his turn and then rests his elbows on the table, fingers steepled. “Where are we with the cleanup of the safe house?”
Sean takes that one. “The place has been scoured and bleached by our best forensic cleaners. The bodies have been incinerated and their ashes spread in the Liffey, and the gun was melted down and disposed of.”
“And the bullets? Are they accounted for?”
“Harper remembered firing two at close range when they fought in the bedroom. Those were accounted for. She shot off another two warning shots into the night air while on the run. Those are likely a lost cause.”
I’m not worried. “Without the gun that fired them and no physical evidence tying them to Eddie, even if they are found, it won’t come back on her.”
Tag nods. “Agreed. As long as Harper doesn’t let her conscience get the better of her and stir things up, this should be laid to rest.”
Thank fuck. “I’ll make sure she understands the way things need to be.”
“What about her vendetta with the sex ring?” Sean asks. “That will piss James Mason off enough to reconsider his stance on walking away.”
Tag’s mouth quirks up to one side in a knowing smirk. “Hey, Bryan. What are the odds your girl drops her quest to take down the Mason sex ring?”
I grunt. “About a billion to one.”
Tag shrugs. “That’s what I thought. I’m not keen on being tied to an assault on another family’s business, but I also think what she’s doing is both justified and necessary.”
“Maybe we can find a way to get it shut down and it not come from us?” Brenny says.
“Like an anonymous tip?” Finn asks.
Brenny tilts his head back and forth, thinking. “Leave that with me. I have an idea but I need to talk to someone first.”
Tag nods. “Grand. Now, where are we on confirming the information Carl gave us during his come to Jesus Brute and Beast moment?”
I scoff. “Granted, I lost my temper and killed my guy but it motivated the other piece of shit to cooperate. So, was it really so bad?”
Brenny chuckles beside me.
Tag gives me a droll stare. “Aye, it was. Bodies are a complication I prefer we try to avoid.”
“Don’t look so sad, brother.” Brenny pats me on the shoulder. “If we behave, we’ll still get to beat the shit out of them. Won’t we, T? You won’t ground us and take away our fun, will you? Pain is a persuasive language.”
Tag rolls his eyes. “You two are a pain in my arse. Finny, tell them what you’ve found so far.”
Finn finishes typing and turns his laptop around to show us a map of Northside. “Turns out Billy Gravely is as ambitious as Mad Mattie was before him. He’s laying groundwork in three districts—buying up industrial properties through a couple of shell corporations in our territory.”
“What for? Laundering? Drugs? Women? What’s his game?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what for,” Tag says. “Once Finn confirms the addresses and we’re damned sure Gravely is behind them, I want them brought to the ground. Burn them or blow them up, I don’t care, but that fucker won’t get a foothold in our territory.”
I lift my gaze from the map to our little brother. “What do you need from us, Finny?”
“I’m putting together a list of properties. You guys will need to do the leg work, checking them out. If Tag wants them destroyed, we’ll have to watch them and figure out if they’re empty or not.”
Sean frowns. “If they’re using them to funnel women through our territory, we don’t want collateral damage.”
“Agreed,” Tag says. “Stay on it, Finn. When you’ve verified the addresses, we’ll put men on the buildings and figure out how and when to strike.”
Finn reclaims his laptop and grins. “When I’m done, we’ll not only send a fucking message—we’ll carve it into Gravely’s bones.”
I blink, taking in my kid brother. “Dark but articulate.”
Brendan cracks his knuckles beside me and chuckles. “I admire the commitment, though.”
* * *
Gravely’s days are numbered, but instead of the usual adrenaline spike I get after a planning session like that, all I feel is this low pull in my chest, a string tethering me to something softer. Someone softer.
Harper.
I climb the stairs two at a time, boots heavy on the stone, but slow at the security door leading to the main floor. The laughter of our ladies stops me.
It’s still odd to hear.
Mam died when we were kids and Da raised five boys. There has always been the echoes of cursing, pounding on each other, and horsing around but feminine laughter never filled our halls.
Not until now.
Since Laine’s arrival eight months ago, things have been changing for the Quinn brothers.
Changing for the better.
I follow the soft cadence of voices, low and engaged, and pause outside the library door. The rich scent of wood polish, hazelnut coffee, and fresh baking seeps out to greet me.
Cora has been in her glory with a houseful to take care of again and she’s practically bursting at the seams, waiting for the arrival of Baby Q in January.
Harper’s voice floats to me first. “Jamie Rowan is the frontline enticement. He’s hot, confident, and slick when it comes to building confidence. Him having a digital trail on all the socials lures women in with images of parties and good times.”
“If he’s smart,” Laine says, her lawyer side coming out to play, “he’s ensured none of the women in the online photos went missing. It would be too easy to tie him to the disappearances if the authorities saw a pattern.”
“Assumin’ the authorities aren’t in on it,” Piper says.
“Oh, I’m sure some of them are,” Harper says. “Which is why we have to make sure when this story breaks, there’s no way it can get buried. The women who have been caught up in this deserve to have this ended.”
“Then we’ll have to expose all the players,” Piper says.
“Exactly. I’m pretty sure there are other scouts on Eddie Mason’s payroll, but we also want to take down the people holding the women, the men buying them, and everyone who has knowledge that this is going on and who has done nothing to stop it.”
“I doubt they’re all careful,” Piper says. “In my experience, men playing the part of predators tend to think themselves untouchable—especially by women.”
“Then it’s our duty as kick-ass, card-carrying women, to educate them about how wrong they are,” Nora says.
“Hell yeah it is,” Harper agrees.
The room breaks into another wave of chatter, and I can’t help the smile stretching across my face. These women— my brothers’ women —have all been through fire. And here they are, rallying around Harper, making her fight their own, making her one of their own.
It’s only been a couple of days, but they’ve become fast friends. And watching her surrounded by women who are smart, dangerous in their own ways, and equally determined to take down monsters as she is?
I’ve never been prouder.
Or more fucking in love.
Laine’s a criminal attorney. Sharp as glass and twice as dangerous in a courtroom.
Piper was a McGuire. She grew up in this world—knows the politics of blood and legacy better than most men I’ve worked with.
And Nora? She was raised by the head of the anti-crime task force—she practically breathed take-down strategies over breakfast.
Harper couldn’t have found a stronger circle if she’d sourced them out herself and built it from scratch.
And listening to them? Well, it’s clear Harper is well on her way to finding her footing again.
Hope stirs in my chest—unexpected and powerful.
Maybe if she sees how they love my brothers, she’ll see that the Quinn brothers are more than blood and violence. We’re family men. We’re lovers. We’re protectors.
We do our best for North Dublin. We protect our people. And if we weren’t standing here, fighting the fight against the McGuires and Gravely… well, things would be a fuck ton more dangerous.
Everything in me wants to go in and join them.
To wrap an arm around her waist and kiss her temple and tell her she’s fucking incredible.
But I don’t.
She’s in it . Focused. Powerful. At home—even if she hasn’t realized it yet.
No. I let the moment with the ladies live on, undisturbed, and head upstairs.
The more she bonds with the members of my family, the clearer she’ll see what a future here could be.
* * *
I push open the door to my suite and step inside, letting the sensation settle around me.
The fire’s burned low in the hearth, the soft crackle of burning logs almost died out. I stride over to the poker stand, grip an iron rod, and bring the embers back to a fiery glow.
I toss a couple of pieces of split cedar into the fireplace and set the screen into place. It’s the third week in November and the damp chill of winter isn’t welcome in my bedroom.
If and when I get Harper naked again, I don’t want her wishing she was covered or buried under the covers.
I want her bold and bare.
I scan the room and frown. The place is clean—Cora wouldn’t have it any other way—but tonight it feels wrong. Too much leather and no lace. Too much steel and no silk.
This room is mine—but now, she’s here.
I want our space to reflect that.
The Quinn quarters aren’t just bedrooms. They’re small sanctuaries, private little kingdoms tucked into the ribs of this stone castle we call home.
Each suite has a sleeping space, a living room, and a private bath. Mine’s in the east wing, with high ceilings, black-out curtains, a full bar, and access to the round, stone turret room on this corner of the castle.
I glance at the heavy wooden door that leads to the turret. When did we stop playing knights and monsters? How long ago was I last in there?
Opening the door, I chuckle at the hand-painted sign hanging on the opposite wall.
Quinn Dungeon!
Prepare to be tortured.
I laugh and pull it down, folding it to show Brendan tomorrow. How old were we when he wrote that? Twelve?
Seems we were inclined toward torture even then.
I scan the space and wonder if it could be someplace Harper could claim. Brendan gave Nora a room to paint.
What would she want? A little library? An office? No, it’s not big enough for either of those.
Maybe it’s a dumb idea.
I turn back to my bedroom and sigh. These rooms have always suited me—but they don’t feel like us .
It doesn’t feel like home — not yet.
I cross the room slowly, dragging a hand over the back of the leather sofa, past the espresso bar she hasn’t touched, the mantle lined with dusty frames I haven’t looked at in years.
None of this is her.
She deserves something warmer. Softer. Somewhere she can curl up and work without freezing her ass off or feeling like she’s living in a fucking villain’s lair.
I make a mental list—throw blankets, softer lighting, maybe an actual bookshelf instead of the single shelf full of old boxing trophies and whiskey.
Maybe even flowers, I think with a grimace.
But before I can finish the thought, my gaze catches on my jacket—draped over the back of my desk chair.
Black leather. Stiff and worn from years of use. And inside that jacket… Yasmine’s letter.
My chest tightens.
In all the chaos—Eddie, the safehouse, the hunt—I haven’t opened it. Riya said she kept it, waiting for when I was ready.
I don’t know if I am. Will I ever be?
I’m not sure, but for the first time in years, I want to be. I want to be whole and ready to look forward instead of back. I want to get out from under the grief and guilt that has weighed me down for years.
The mattress dips under my weight as I sit down slowly on the edge of the bed. I stare at the envelope, at the handwriting, so delicate and flowing.
Bryan—written in the soft, looping letters only Yasmine used. My thumb slides under the flap. The paper tears. My heart does too.
I unfold the letter with careful hands.
And read.
Bryan,
My friend. My love. My soul.
If you’re reading this, mama thinks you’ve healed enough to hear my final words. I’m writing this in the hospital after sending you home. I know you don’t actually leave. Papa told me he’s seen you sleeping in your truck in the parking lot.
That breaks my heart, but also fills it at the same time. I don’t know that I could leave you either if our roles were reversed.
Right now, you’re as trapped in my death as I am and that hurts me to my depths. It’s not what I want for you.
I want you to smile like you used to when we’d walk along the river.
I want you to laugh with your brothers as you throw back pints and grill meat in the courtyard.
I want the light in you to shine again, making your eyes glow like the most beautiful emeralds.
I want you to live life for the both of us.
You’ve fought with everything you have, but this isn’t a battle my warrior man can win.
Still, I love you all the more for trying.
You are loyal, stubborn, brave, and I’ve had the privilege of filling your heart for seven glorious years. Seven years of sharing classes, laughter, and dreams of a future that sadly will never be.
But nothing can take those years or those moments away from us—not even death.
Not even you moving on.
I mean it, Bryan. You’re as stubborn as rocks, but I’m telling you to move on. It’s going to sound like a cliché meme but get back out there. Live, laugh, and love.
It’s not a betrayal. It’s not leaving me behind. It’s not betraying me. I will always hold the honor of being your first love, so put that big heart of yours out there and find yourself a new love.
And when you find her, give her a message from me. Tell her I wish her strength and patience dealing with you, and nothing but happiness for a long life together.
And maybe, if she’s up to it, take her to meet my parents. They love you, Bryan. Let them be a part of your life. It’ll help them move on, too.
I love you, heera.
In life, death, and beyond.