Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Aisling - Present
Two Years Earlier
This isn’t my best day.
Aisling Walsh lay stretched across the cold metal bench in the holding cell with her jacket wadded up under her head as a pillow. It wasn’t comfortable by any stretch of the imagination.
She’d experienced worse.
When in the Army, for starters.
But that wasn’t anything she wanted to think about now.
Elsewhere in the station, she heard noises as other prisoners moved around, farted, screamed, puked, pissed, and snored.
She now had this cell to herself. There’d been a prostitute occupying it when Aisling had been unceremoniously tossed in here six hours earlier, but that woman bailed out about an hour or so past.
Aisling had called her little brother, Sean, an hour after she’d been pinched, and he said he’d come bail her out. He was the only one of her brothers over here in Britain.
I wouldn’t blame him if he doesn’t.
She tasted the whiskey in the back of her throat. She’d lost count at two bottles, but apparently she’d managed to down another two before the pub had kicked her out.
Wanker. After she’d paid up front and gave the guy an extra twenty quid to let her drink right from the bottles, too.
She was lying there with her eyes closed when she heard footsteps approaching, stopping in front of her cell.
“Get up, Walsh,” the matron said.
She peeled an eye open. “What?”
“You’re out.” Her sour face transmitted the truth to Aisling. “Not that I think you should be going anywhere.”
Ah, good ole Sean. The wee gobshite was fit for something after all. Aisling suppressed her groan as she sat up. “Yer not still mad I boked on yer shoes, are ye?”
“Get up, now, or I’ll forget you’re in here.”
Aisling stretched as she stood, snagging her jacket from the bench and sauntering through the door in a casual way she didn’t feel in real life. When the matron led her out to the processing area, Aisling let out a groan.
“Bugger.” She turned to the matron. “Just do me a favor and lock me back up, aye?”
Trevor Clarke slowly shook his head. “Get your things and let’s go.”
“Feckin’ hell, did my brother call ye?”
“Yer mam did.”
“Ah, fer fuck’s sake,” Aisling groaned again. “Now why’d Sean have to go and do that? I told him not to tell her!”
He smirked. “Which is exactly why he did. Come on.”
Aisling went through her belongings to make sure nothing had been nicked before following Trevor out of the station.
“How much am I into ye for this time?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about it; it’s been taken care of. You’ve been released without charges. You’re coming to work for me full-time now.”
She stopped in her tracks. “Pull the other one.”
“No, you are.” He opened the passenger door for her and pointed. “In.”
Knowing she had no choice, she climbed in while he walked around to the right side. “I’m a shite errand and odd jobs girl,” she called out. “I’ll remind ye of it right now, if ye don’t recall that fact.”
Once the doors were closed and he’d started the engine, he hesitated, staring out the windscreen for a moment. “Faegan Lewis.”
She sighed. “Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, and the donkey they rode to Jerusalem on, that stupid twat? What’s he done now?”
Trevor looked grim. “He’s after my daughter.”
She squinted at him. “Okay, I know I’m fecking wasted, even fer me, but I thought you just said he’s after your daughter?”
“He is. Maisie. Because she mated and married Tamsin Lewis.”
Aisling’s eyes widened. “That feckin’ cunt’s daughter? Oh, bloody hell.” She sat back, now understanding Trevor’s long stare. “Yer not just comin’ after me for help because I’m—”
“No. You’ve dropped into my lap at a fortuitous time.” Trevor turned to her. “Faegan has no clue who you are, right?”
“I’d expect not. Never had direct dealings wi’ him.
He mighta heard of Da or me brothers, though.
But it was my impression that he rarely makes it over there.
Never heard anyone talkin’ about him, other than discussin’ what a cunt he is.
Unless someone’s working for or wi’ him in secret, which is doubtful.
None of our lot would, at least. We’ve always sided with the wolves over those batshit corgi wankers. ”
“I need you to do some scouting for me. If he smells a wolf anywhere nearby, it’ll set him off. You can move unfettered in a way others can’t. We need to learn his plans, identify any associates, that sort of thing.”
“I don’t have a ride. Or money.” She sniffed herself. “And I need a shower. I’m absolutely rancid. I won’t make a good spy in my knackered state.”
“We’ll fetch your things and I’ll take you to my home. You can clean up there. Then we’ll take care of the rest. You’ll be sober by then, I expect?”
“I’m too feckin’ sober now and I bloody well wish I weren’t. I expect by the time yer done talkin’ at me I’m going to really wish I weren’t.”
She gave him directions to the hostel where she’d been staying just outside London and collected her things.
Once she’d tossed everything into the boot and rejoined him in the car, she shook her head.
“Can’t ye just ship ’em out to yer friend over in the States fer a while?
Bloke who runs that big pack. What’s his name… Charlie Bleacke, innit?”
“Well, I could…if he hadn’t been murdered twenty-five years ago.”
“Oh. Well, shit. Sorry.”
Trevor shot her a grim look. “You’re a little behind in the latest news, I take it?”
“Guess my shifter newsletter and secret decoder pin got lost in the post. I was in the Army and stationed overseas in…” She thought about it.
“I was in Lebanon about that time.” She wished her mind hadn’t gone there.
“I was a little worried about gettin’ my own arse shot off, and several of my mates dyin’, to worry about keepin’ up with what was goin’ on wi’ wolves in the States or anywhere else, thank ye. ”
Trevor winced. “Sorry.”
She shrugged. “Ye didn’t know.”
No one did. Not really. Not if they weren’t there with her.
And several of those people didn’t make it back home alive, much less in one piece.
“How angry’s me mam?” she asked.
“She’s not happy with you.”
“I’d expect not. She rarely is.”
“I lied and said you’ve been doing undercover work for me.
Assured her you’re not really in trouble.
Fortunately, that calmed her down. Told her your little brother didn’t even know, and I asked her to keep it to herself.
She also gave me an earful about you,” he added, glancing over at her.
“About how she can’t understand why you won’t settle down, get married, and have a family.
I’m assuming that means she still doesn’t know? ”
Aisling looked out the window. “Yeah, well, I’m not interested in havin’ the kind of family she thinks I should, so let’s just leave it at that, aye?”
“I know,” he said. “I made the right noises and got off the call as soon as possible without outing you. Give me a little credit, hmm?”
“Well, thanks fer that, at least.”
The only reason Trevor knew her secret was because of the time her mam asked him to play matchmaker for Aisling. Then she’d been forced to confess to the man that it would be a mutually frustrating and futile mission, so they came up with excuses to put her mother off the scent.
And he’d helped Aisling get an updated ID and paperwork to allow her to move over to the UK, putting her well away from her mother’s prying snout.
In return, Aisling would stay out of Trevor’s way and do the occasional off-books task for him that required someone with her…
skills. Someone who didn’t smell like a wolf.
Someone who didn’t mind the smell of blood.
Or didn’t mind spilling it, either.
She reclined her seat and closed her eyes. “Wake me up when we’re there, eh? I need a bit of shut-eye.”
It felt like seconds later that he poked her right shoulder. She was about to snap at him when she realized they’d come to a stop and it was nearly dark outside.
“We’re here,” he announced before getting out and walking around to the boot.
Five minutes later, she was standing under a shower in the en suite in one of Trevor’s guest rooms and letting the hot water soak her sore muscles.
I need to get my shite together.
No, she didn’t want to settle down. Not even with the right woman.
Because the “right woman” likely wouldn’t understand her life experiences.
Be able to weather her nightmares.
Understand her rage.
Because she damned sure didn’t understand it at times.
Therapy had only been mildly helpful because it wasn’t like the therapist understood the whole picture.
The years of generational trauma, both mundane and supernatural, that had shaped the warp and weft of her family, the violence she’d endured—and participated in—over the years. Both while in the Army and before that.
And after.
Obviously, she hadn’t been able to talk to the therapist about a huge part of her life—being a shifter.
No, she didn’t want to subject a partner to that. Didn’t want to traumatize another person.
Besides, she was a gay female Irish Wolfhound shifter. It wasn’t like she’d be able to find someone she’d bond with. She’d met Maisie a couple of years ago and hadn’t felt anything for her then, but that was also before she’d known Maisie was gay.
Finding people for a quick shag? Sure, that wasn’t difficult.
Except keeping herself insulated to protect others meant a relationship wasn’t her priority.
There wasn’t much that was a priority in her life until now.
Aisling carried her wad of dirty clothes when she rejoined Trevor and his wife, Elizabeth, downstairs. “Don’t s’pose I can do my laundry, can I?”
“Absolutely,” Elizabeth said with a kind smile. “I’ll show you to the laundry room.”
“Happy days.” She followed Elizabeth and tried not to visibly react when Aisling followed her into the laundry room.
Well, that’s class, innit?