Chapter 26
AIDEN
Me
I want an update every half hour. How is she?
Bren
Same
Ipocket my phone reluctantly the following morning, with all my instincts screaming at me to turn around and go back to the cottage immediately.
But she’s safe there. Cian has never learned of the property and wouldn’t dare kill us before he had a chance to do it publicly, now that we’re in arm’s reach. He enjoys the spectacle too much.
And I’ll deal with him.
Soon.
But first, there are a few final details to put my safeguards in place.
Pointing my rental car in the direction of town, I drive aimlessly, pausing every now and again to glance in my rearview mirror. The car that had followed us from the airport is still a few lengths back. Fuckin’ amateurs.
I know it’s not Cian, but it could be any number of Clans loyal to him.
The Carrolls and Moores come to mind. They’ve all been placed in positions of favor since Cian came to power.
Or it could be one of the others trying to make a power play to gain more esteem.
Because that’s what happens when you build a house of cards on blood.
Everyone is willing to kill to get to the top.
I’m willing to kill, but I couldn't give a fuck about becoming a leader. Power corrupts absolutely, and I’m corrupt enough without that mantle.
I lead my pursuer on a winding, leisurely route through Doolin, before finally pulling to a stop at a local pub.
One that wasn’t here the last time I visited over a decade ago.
Despite that, when I walk inside, it still feels like home.
Worn, durable red oak bar top. Gleaming brass rails.
The scent of hops, sweat, and wood polish.
I glance around for the person I’m waiting to meet, but it takes him a while to arrive. I make myself at home while I wait. Studying the faces around me to see if one of them is the tail who’d been following us. No one I recognize.
All too soon, the door jangles a greeting, and I glance in the mirror, dread pooling in my stomach as a familiar face takes a seat next to me.
“O’Connor,” Niall Cleary says. “I almost didn’t think you’d have the balls to show.”
“You seem awfully concerned about the state of my balls.”
“He could kill us for this, you know. Don’t fuck with me.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. The only reason I agreed to this is because you have something I want. Do you have it?”
I swallow hard. Wishing I could do anything else. “I spoke with Mara. She’s agreed to marry you like you wanted. Provided that you do what you said you would.”
“Oh, I will. I’m not a pussy like you. I know how to go after what I want.”
I ignore him. “And the rest of the Clans? Do you have any willing to work with us?”
“Murphy agreed, of course. He’s terrified of his brother. Burns and Kelly as well. They’re tired of being so afraid.”
The clock ticks on the wall behind the bar, but he doesn’t continue. “That’s it?”
He levels me with a glare. “You’re lucky you have that many. You better be worth your word, O’Connor, or I’ll make you regret it.” Niall downs the rest of his drink. “That is, if we make it out of this alive. You tell Mara I’ll be in touch so we can finally set a date for the fucking wedding.”
God help him, she may kill him before he gets her down the aisle.
But that’s a problem for another day. I stay long after Niall leaves, hoping I’m doing the right thing.
Trading Mom and Catriona’s safety for Mara’s freedom makes me feel about an inch tall.
But when I brought it up to her the Tuesday following my meeting with Cian, she agreed.
“It was going to happen sooner or later,” she’d said.
But that doesn’t make me feel any better about any of it.
It doesn’t take long for the tail that had been following us from the airport to make himself known once Niall leaves.
He appears next to me, his face grave and determined.
I recognize him immediately. This is the man Catriona was with on the night of the reception, and the one she’d gone to see when she gave the guards the slip.
He’s tall, almost gangly, with unremarkable features and short brown hair.
I dismiss my jealousy almost immediately.
She wouldn’t want him. He’s far too soft.
She’d break him the moment she sank her claws in.
There aren’t many other people on a Wednesday morning, but he takes a seat next to me, eyes on me instead of the beer and liquor behind the bar.
“Why are you following us?” I ask, sipping at my gin for a taste of home. “Or do you have a death wish in general?”
“I’m Senator Gallagher’s personal security. He’s asked me to reach out to you regarding Miss Gallagher.”
“I think you mean Mrs. O’Connor, and I know who you are. Devin Franklin, right?”
A slimy smile. “Of course. A scotch on the rocks,” he tells the waiting bartender.
“You’ve come a long way to order a drink. Don’t they have scotch in the States?” I ask mildly.
“Your wife is asking questions, and I’m sure you’ll understand that the senator would prefer she stop. She’s stirring up trouble.”
“She does tend to do that,” I say into my drink.
“Then you understand our predicament.”
“I understand that I gave Senator Gallagher a warning. I told him if he ever threatened my wife again, he’d regret it.”
He sighs, like this is one big waste of time for him.
“Don’t make us get nasty, O’Connor. We can make this a nightmare for you, too.
For her. If you don’t want to play ball, you can kiss her graduation goodbye.
Her future in law? It’ll be DOA, you understand.
Dead on arrival. Your casino? Maybe your business permits get canceled.
Your liquor license. The building gets condemned.
There are a million ways we could make this go bad. ”
“Nasty, you say?” I finish my gin and throw some notes on the counter. “Sounds like a threat.”
“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”
“And if I said I wanted to make a deal?”
Franklin leans back and finishes his drink. “I’d say you were a smart man.”
“Let’s take this out back then, so we have some privacy,” I suggest, and like a fucking eejit, he agrees.
“I knew you were a reasonable man,” he says to my back, as I lead him through the pub, down a darkened hall to the back alley.
If he knew any better, he’d realize I didn’t consider him a threat by giving him my back.
“Catriona, that girl has always been trouble. Sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.
I’m sure she means well, but honestly, she’s a stubborn little bitch.
But I suppose you know that already, what with being married to her and all. ”
“Oh, I know.”
The alley is clear except for a drunk who toddles off with one sharp look from me. Then we’re alone. The shadows from the nearby buildings are thick, allowing me to conceal the gun I pull from my waistband.
“I told Mr. Gallagher you would. You seem like a reasonable man. He didn’t think you would agree, but I insisted.”
“Of course.” I peer around us for cameras, but none cover the alley that I can see. Perfect. “About that deal.”
“Yes. The senator is willing to put in a good word for you with—”
Unfortunately, I don’t get to figure out the ways in which Rory Gallagher is willing to sell out his daughter, because the moment Devin Franklin turns around, I have my Glock pointed between his eyes.
“You know, I never thought I was much like the man who raised me. I prefer to think I got most of my personality traits from the man who made me, but I guess now, I know for certain there’s some truth to the nurture aspect of that whole debate.”
“You’re going to regret this.”
“Oh, I don’t think I will. Because you see, Franklin, I told Rory if he ever threatened my wife again, I’d have a problem, and he didn’t listen.
Now—let’s not embarrass ourselves with tears, Franklin.
You need to take this like a man.” I pause.
“Where was I? Right. Now, the man who gave me life, he would have made some overtures. Gave you some hints. Knocked you around. Took a few fingers.” At this, Franklin whimpers.
Pussy. “But the man who raised me, well, he was from a different school of thought. He didn’t believe in overtures. ”
“Look, you need to understand, your wife is—”
“What my wife does or doesn’t do is not your concern.”
“I’m telling you now, man to man, she’s going to get herself hurt.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing she has me, isn’t it?” I flip the safety and cock the gun. “I want to know everything he’s said to you, and what she’s told you.”
“N-nothing, I promise. She was just busting my balls about her mom, man.”
I consider this as I back him against the wall. “What about her mom?” I ask carefully.
“Shit, I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his thinning hair. “She keeps cornering me, asking questions about the night her mother died. I didn’t have anything to do with her death, I swear.”
The barrel of the gun slides through the gloss of sweat coating his head. “Are you sure about that?”
“Y-yes, man. Please. Let me go. I won’t say anything.”
“You know, I was there the night the man who raised me killed my father. Sounds like something you’d see on TV. But you want to know what I remember the most about that night?”
“Fuck, fuck, yeah, whatever you want.”
“I remember how my father was on his knees. It had been raining, and he was freezing. My mother was next to me, watching. And all my father could do was say please, please. Please don’t do this. Please don’t make them watch. Please.”
“You don’t have to do it, man. I’ll leave her alone.”
“I learned that night I’m more monster than man. That I’d have to grow up to be more like the man who raised me if I wanted any hope of killing him. Payin’ him back for what he did to my family.”
Devin Franklin moans. Perhaps he realizes there are some fates you can’t escape. Something I had to come to terms with myself.
“Tell me, did you have something to do with the person who took shots at her and the old man, Broussard?”
“I don’t know anything about that. Fuck. Please.”
If he were going to admit it, it’d be now. With my gun carving a dent into his forehead and my hand fisted in his suit jacket. If he’s lying, he’s doing a damn convincing job of it. And I know what it’s like to look a liar in the face.
I lower my gun and take a few steps back. Then I pause, aim it at his head, and say, “That’s too bad. You would have been more useful if you had more information.”
Then several things happen all at once: there are footsteps behind me. Shite! I give a half-turn automatically to look in the direction of the sound. My finger pulls the trigger, and the bullet misses Franklin by a hair. He screams and ducks, nearly falling to his ass among the garbage.
Turning, I scan the space to my right for the source of the sound, but find nothing.
I do the same on my left and see a figure moving toward me.
What little light there is in the alley glints off the silver of a knife arcing toward me.
I manage to turn on instinct, and the hot fire slashes through my shoulder.
A grunt punches out of me at the searing pain, but experience tells me it’s not a mortal wound. The attack unbalances me enough that I crash into the brick wall of the building, and my head glances off, sending sparks through my vision. My knees buckle as darkness encroaches.
Devin hisses at them to leave before I get up. And then the darkness, my old friend, swallows me whole.
“Hey! You. Get out of here before I call the garda.” There’s the rustle of footsteps. “I mean it! I don’t want any trouble.”
I jerk to my feet at the first sound of the voice. My head and shoulder scream in protest, but whatever happened, I don’t want to be here if the proprietor follows through on their threats. Stumbling, I find the end of an alleyway, wincing as the sun stabs into my brain.
By the grace of God, I find my rental and climb in. By the time I settle behind the wheel, the memory of what happened comes back to me in a sickening roil.
Devin Franklin.
The knife.
Fuck, no wonder my arm aches like a bitch.
I peel out of my jacket, grimacing as it screams in protest. The slash is only a couple of inches. I got fucking lucky. Then I find my phone and check messages.
9:33 a.m. Bren
Same
10:02 a.m. Bren
Same
10:36 a.m. Bren
Same
11:01 a.m. Tadhg
Same
11:39 a.m. Tadhg
She’s leaving the property to shop in town. We’re following close behind.
3:11 p.m. Tadhg
She’s heading back to the cottage
A quick check of my watch shows it’s 5:38 p.m. Mouth tasting like the inside of a gin bottle, I drive back to the cottage, stopping first to check on Bren and Tadhg and clean up. Bren, who took an emergency medicine course, stitches up the wound on my shoulder.
The call from Cian, summoning us to family dinner at eight-thirty, comes as we’re finishing up.
I leave them with instructions to contact Eamon and find out all they can about Devin Franklin and his known associates, and to make sure he’s already left Ireland. Because if he hasn’t, when I find him, there’s a bullet with his name on it.