Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“No problem.” Tye nods with a grin. “I’ll have info for you before dinner,” he tells me easily. He’s good at what he does. Even though he’s a youngen, I trust his expertise. I’ve watched him hack into the Garda’s network far too many times, and every time, I’m impressed.
“There are places a man like him can go,” I say before looking at every man in the room. Each of them brothers. Family. They may not be blood, but I trust them more than I would anyone else in my life.
We have been through some shite together. Each time I had a lead on who killed my mother, on finding Bragan, my brothers would be there for me. After he murdered my ma, the bastard didn’t stay in Ireland, not for long anyway, that’s for sure.
The property he ended up in may have been close by, but the mob have so many properties to hide their soldiers. We had no idea where he was, and as the leader, he was able to stay underground and never get his hands dirty. A man like him would hire people for that shite.
“Pres,” Sully says. “I cleaned up the warehouse. Found this on the body.” He pushes a metal clasp—with a shimmering emerald on the front—along the table, and it slides down to where I’m sat. I pick it up and find it looks expensive. It could be his wife’s.
“Find out if the arsehole had any family, kids.” I didn’t even think about the outcome before I killed him. They’d be better off without him anyway. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
No child should grow up in that life. They shouldn’t know violence.
I know it can’t be stopped, but if there ever was an option to save a youngen from being brought up around violence, I’d do it.
“Look into this,” I tell Rebel as I hand him the sparkly object. “I’m going to get on the phone to Jameson in New Orleans. Feckin’ time difference will put it at about midday over there, I reckon. Once his men find Bragan’s wife, we’ll have to either fly over or bring the cailín over here. One way or another, we will speak to her, and we’ll get answers. If Bragan is still alive, she’s the first person he’ll go to.”
“How do ye know?” This comes from Brute. That’s his road name. The fecker’s real name is Hades. And at times, I wonder if the bastard has come from hell itself.
“If ye were hidin’ out, ye’d go to the one person who would lie for ye.” I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter if they’re no together anymore. Safety’s what matters. And I’ve a feeling she’ll take the criminal in.”
“We also need to find out about any kin,” Racer suggests, and I nod again. He’s right.
“Aye,” I say, then look back at Tye. “Can you dig into the records and find out if they had any wee ones?”
“Will do.”
“Anythin’ else I missed?” I look at each brother, face-to-face. None of them offer up anythin’ more, which means the meetin’ is over. “That’s it,” I say, hitting the gavel on the smooth wooden surface. “Let’s drink.”
SEVEN
MIREN
I try not to look at him, but my eyes seem to be like magnets, and he’s the metal. I’m in his home, a place where I’m surrounded by danger, because if they found out who I really am, they’ll kill me. There’s no doubt in my mind I’m the enemy. As he watched them carry body parts from the wreckage, I could tell from the anger in his expression he wanted those to be of my father.
I don’t know who he is, or why he hates us, but I plan to find out. I glance at Callia who’s sipping her beer and smile. “So,” I start. “How long have you been living with the club?”
She shrugs. “A couple of years now. They found me on the streets, turning tricks. Racer over there,” she says gesturing towards the guy with ink all the way up his arms to his neck. His dark hair stands in spikes, and his deep blue eyes are on the girl sitting in his lap. “He came across me when I was out in Dublin. He was on a run and wanted to hire me. When he found out I wasn’t old enough to be doing that shite, he lost his mind.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen,” she informs me with a wink. “I had to grow up pretty fast, and when I ran away from home, I didn’t plan on going back. So, I did what I needed to.”
She doesn’t seem at all perturbed at telling me this, but I’m shocked anyone at that age would even consider selling themselves.
But then again, I’ve been lucky all my life.
Even though my mother was focused on her work, she ensured I was safe and looked after. I never needed for anything. Some would say I was spoiled, but I didn’t see it that way. With the schooling and the gifts I received, they never could equal the love of a parent. My mother was good in setting rules and boundaries, but she never offered me the gentle affection most maternal figures do.