Chapter 24 #2
The guard’s eyes flick over us, weighing, cataloguing. Not dismissing. That’s something.
“You can tell Mr ó Briain,” I say, “that if this is a set-up, this house is going to get very fucking expensive to repair.”
He gives me the smallest pause, like I’ve said something mildly interesting. “I’ll pass on your concern.”
Dervla snorts and climbs out. She straightens, chin up, bruised face lit gold by the lights spilling from the house. She looks wrecked and furious and somehow still like she belongs here more than half the polished bastards inside probably ever will.
The front door opens before any of us reach it.
Warm light spills over stone. A woman in black steps out first, elegant and severe, one hand on the brass handle. Another guard moves behind her. Then Séamus ó Briain appears in the doorway.
His eyes land on Dervla.
Every man around us waits.
Not for Aidan. Not for Cormac. Not for me.
For her.
“Inside,” he says.
Dervla doesn’t move at first. “You like issuing orders to strangers?”
His gaze flicks over her face. The bruises. The split lip. The swelling. Something cold flashes through his expression and vanishes so fast I nearly think I imagined it.
“You were being followed,” he says. “I chose efficiency over courtesy.”
“And you knew we were being followed, how?” I ask.
“You left your house. It doesn’t take a genius, Mr Finnegan,” he says, that gaze landing on me, but not making me feel idiotic for asking. Simply, a statement of fact.
Fair enough.
“Please come inside.” This time, he doesn’t wait for us to catch up. He turns and strides back in.
I look at Dervla.
She looks at the open door like she’s deciding whether to walk into the lion’s den or set fire to it first.
Then she squares her shoulders and goes.
I stay close enough that if anyone twitches wrong, I’m on them before they finish the thought. Aidan comes in on her other side. Cormac is half a step behind. The woman in black shuts the door once we’re through, and the sound lands heavy in my spine.
The entrance hall is as big as my parents’ entire house down in Cork.
It’s old money done properly. Stone floors softened by runners, dark wood panelling, a staircase that curves up like it belongs in a period drama about inherited cruelty.
Paintings line the walls. Men in military dress.
Women with sharp bones and dead eyes. Landscapes that probably contain bodies if you dig deep enough.
A fire burns somewhere further in, and the whole place carries that polished, controlled silence of houses where nobody ever raises their voice because they don’t need to.
Séamus doesn’t stop until he reaches a sitting room off the hall. He expects us to follow.
Of course he does.
We do.
The room is large without trying to impress. Bookshelves, low lamps, dark leather, a fire lit under a carved mantel. A decanter sits on a sideboard. Thick curtains shut out the night. There are two more men in the room, both armed, both watching us with the stillness of professionals.
Dervla notices them immediately. So do I.
Séamus turns to face us fully. I don’t like the way he takes us in. Not because he looks surprised. He doesn’t. That would almost be easier. He looks like he expected this exact configuration. Dervla bruised and furious. The three of us flanking her like a problem he anticipated.
“You’re hurt.”
Dervla gives him nothing. “Observant.”
One corner of his mouth shifts, not into a smile. Into acknowledgement. “Sit down.”
“No,” I say before she can answer.
His gaze moves to me.
I hold it. “You want to talk, talk. She doesn’t sit anywhere until I know who the fuck these two are.”
The men in the room do not react. That bothers me more than if they had. Professionals, like I thought.
Séamus folds one hand over the other in front of him. “Men who would kill for me if required. The same as yours.”
Dervla snorts once, sharply. “Can we skip the pleasantries and get to the bit where you explain why my grandmother went into a fucking panic over a hard drive, she claims Dad left for you.”
The room stills.
Séamus studies me for one long beat, and I get it then. The whole thing. The old power. Not volume. Not theatrics. Just a man standing in his own house while everyone else unconsciously arranges themselves around him.
“I’ll explain,” Alanna says, moving into the room. “Even though it’s quite self-explanatory. Dervla, darling. You look terrible.”
Before Dervla can reply, her eyes land on me. “I like you,” she says. “These two I’m not sure about.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say, trying not to laugh at Aidan’s face.
“Do,” she says. “Perhaps the three of you would like to move to another room while we talk to Dervla.” It’s not a question.
“No,” I say, moving closer to Dervla. “We aren’t going anywhere.”
Her gaze lasers into mine. I respect her. She is everything Dervla said she was and more. “No?”
“No. If you keep pressing and I end up saying ‘make me’, we are going to have a problem.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “See, I knew there was a reason I liked you. You aren’t as serious as some people.” Her gaze lands on Aidan.
He doesn’t move a muscle.
“Or as violent as others.” Her gaze moves to Cormac briefly before moving back to me. “Fine. Stay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Dervla’s gaze cuts to mine, and we stare at each other for a long moment, wondering what the fuck we’ve got ourselves into now.