Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
TALLY
F or someone who was running early, Walsh sure makes me wait a long time.
After I’ve spent a good hour standing in a freezing cold wind tunnel, he messages to say there’s been a change of plans and to meet at work.
By the time I turn into the street where the pub is, my whole body aches from the cold, the sun is rising, and the early morning commuters are looking at me like I’m doing the walk of shame after a night out.
With each step closer, the more I accept it’s not just going to be Walsh I’m meeting with. It’s too obvious, really—the change of plans, the time that has passed since I first reached out—that Walsh has involved someone else.
The lights are down low, and the front door has been left ajar. I’d say whoever is waiting knows I’ve arrived.
“Hello,” I call out as I walk further into the bar.
And I was right. Standing around the bar are people I recognize, not that we’ve met.
“Come on in, Tally. You ’right?” Walsh says, and the way he lays on the charm has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.
“Kind of,” I answer, walking towards him.
I keep my gaze on him only. In one small, obvious move, the message is, I’m not important but more so, I wouldn’t be able to say I saw them here either.
It’s a strategic move, and nothing else.
I see the moment he notices the obvious limp I walk with and the grazes on my face.
They’re superficial, and look a lot worse than they are, but my lack of makeup also helps make me look like I’ve been in a fight, which is the damn truth.
He stands up. “What happened?”
Before he can take a step towards me, I act like a deer in the lights, freezing on the spot, letting the fear in my scent twist around me, making it impossible to ignore.
“I ran. Sorry, Walsh,” I mumble, running with the whole I’m basically useless thing he’s already thinking for himself.
“We’re friends, it’s good,” he says, extending his hands as he closes the distance. He drops his height, crouching the last few steps to peer into my face.
I turn slightly, letting him get a glance into my eyes before I drop them intentionally.
“I know you, but not the other Alphas here. It’s a bit much.
” I let my words flow like what happens when you get rattled.
“But I called earlier because I didn’t want to cause any issues or make you think I’d stolen from you.
I… I… I got the money from the till from last night.
It was all I thought of doing before I had to run. Sorry, Walsh.”
My voice falls away at the end, my hands twisting in anxiety, and he falls for it hook, line, and sinker.
“You got the money? Wow, Tally, you really were thinking of me, huh?” He rubs a hand over my back, leading me towards the others. “See, I knew we could trust her, lads. None of the others grabbed the money. She’s got your best interests at heart.”
There are grunts of agreement before one of them clears his throat. “You probably should have let Walsh know you’re Rosie Murphy, Oscar’s family.”
I gasp, twisting around to look at the Alpha speaking. His scent is like crushed almonds. Not nice, like what they fill almond croissants with. His is so bitter, it makes my throat close up like I’m choking.
“Do you know Oscar?” I ask, keeping my eyes down so they don’t see the flame of excitement that I might finally be on the right track.
“We can talk about him another time. What’s more important is that you should have told us.”
“Told you what? That I’m related to Oscar? Maybe I should have, but I wasn’t sure how to start the conversation. And I wasn’t sure if telling you would make my life harder than it already is.”
There’s a hum of noise from everyone joining us this morning. And it sounds a lot like understanding.
“Oscar’s here?” I ask again, being pushier than I should, but I offset it by keeping myself small and submissive.
I knew Walsh was a door into something, and now it seems he might just come through.
In more ways than one. The people study me carefully without speaking.
When I walked in, I didn’t realize how many people were in the room, but it’s pretty much all the “guests” from last night, as well as a few other familiar faces.
“How about we let you go home and get some rest, Rosie,” the new Alpha says without introducing himself.
I bite my nail, looking up at him. “I go by Tally now. Is that okay? I mean, I’m still a Murphy—that hasn’t changed.”
“That’s fine. Tally, these men here are important,” Walsh says, taking control, but it’s not because he’s the strongest. More that he talks because he’s the lackey, the one who runs after and does the bidding of the men leaning against the bar.
I nod, smiling but not really looking at them properly in the eyes.
“This is Mr. Black, Mr. Doyle, and the Fanning brothers. Plus Mr. Kelly. If they ask you to be doing something, I expect you to treat them like you would our VIPs. Right?”
“Of course.” I nod again, because it’s an easy way to appear coy, malleable.
And despite it being completely the wrong time to think about it, the ring and the few words the Alpha of the O’Connor said last night flashes like a camera bulb in my mind. I blink his delusion away and refocus all my attention here.
Mr. Kelly’s eyes are locked on my face, but I keep my eyes trained at the ground. “She’s a good lass. You can call me Des or Mr. Kelly, whichever you prefer. Black goes by Black. Mr. Doyle is Patrick.” I look up but not at their faces. “And this here is Sean Fanning and his brother is James.”
“Okay,” I agree quietly.
He’s nodding at me, though his eyes are on Walsh. “Call her a fucking cab, man. She’s dead on her feet.”
Walsh reaches over the bar to use the work phone, and I unzip my bag and pull out the bundles of cash I collected.
In the scheme of things, there’s not a lot to hand over, if you compare it to the millions of pounds the crime world generates hourly, but in this world, loyalties are infinitely more valuable.
“How ’bout you sit down and have a drink of Coke, maybe. You’re looking peaky,” the Alpha who called himself Mr. Kelly says.
He clicks his fingers at Walsh, and Walsh grabs a Coke from the fridge, putting it in front of me. “On the house, Tally.”
So generous . The Alpha, one of the Fannings, scoffs at Walsh, echoing my sentiments exactly. It’s a stretch, but not by much, to assume these Alphas are higher up the food chain. How high, only time will tell.
There’s a car horn from outside, and Walsh gets up to walk me out, but the other Alpha beats him.
He doesn’t touch me, thank God, but he hovers close.
I stumble—this time it’s not put on—and he claps his hands around my waist to catch me falling.
His grip is right over the wound, and I have to clench my jaw not to squeal in pain or start crying.
It’s one thing having scrapes and bruises, but stab wounds aren’t something I want these people knowing about.
He keeps his hand on my side like he’s got every right. I struggle not to slap it off me.
Of course, he waits until it’s just him and me outside before he talks, bending down to invade my space some more. “You good?”
Simple question, but it’s loaded with suggestion too.
He’s very much an Alpha. His cockiness, which is as obvious as his almond scent, suggests he’s used to doing the bare minimum for a woman’s attention and getting it. He’s a ladies’ man that sleeps around. I’d put money on it.
Ignoring the sharp pains, I twist around so he can see I am not interested at all. Like at all, at all. I ignore the flash of challenge in his eyes.
“Yeah, tired. It was mad last night, but I appreciate you making sure I’m good. Then, with the Oscar thing, it was the icing on the cake.”
He follows me to the car without answering. He’s too close, making me feel uncomfortable, but there’s not much I can do.
Maintaining his closeness, his persona gets more friendly than flirty. “I’m Des Kelly.”
And I improvise on the fly, using the car door as a shield. I get a sense he was going to physically help me get into the car or shake my hand, but I don’t give him the chance.
“Thanks again, Des. Guess I’ll be seeing you.”
After I shut the door, he raps his knuckles on the window, and I have no choice but to lower it. “Here. Call me if you’ve got issues, but I’ll message you to set up a time for us to all get together again. It will take a bit to arrange, and this is just between you and me, right?”
“Really? That’d be so good. I’d really appreciate that, Mr. Kelly. Have a super day.” I turn to the driver, giving him directions on where to drop me.
I give Des an off-handed wave, not making eye contact with him and not checking to see if he’s watching the cab drive off.
The driver doesn’t talk on our way to the post office, and the silence is exactly what I need to shift personas.
All my injuries are starting to hurt, and I plan on being quick.
Get in, collect the package waiting for me, then make it home and sleep the day away.
The first part of my plan happens seamlessly. I even make the time to send my contact a coded I’m doing good, chat soon postcard, dropping it in a post box on my way across to a small fry shop. I sit with a plate of hot chips and give Joe a call on a secure number.
He answers on the first ring. “Kid, I was getting worried. Are you doing okay?”
I close my eyes, relaxing into the immediate comfort his voice brings.
We spend the next few minutes talking about what we’ve been up to.
Joe gets a fairly accurate recount of the past few days.
For obvious reasons, I leave out the most important information—the events of last night—which would only make him stress.
He knows it’s how it has to be when I’m undercover.
A big part of me would be crushed if anything happened to Joe, which is why I keep contact to a bare minimum, and then we talk about nothing consequential.