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)
I rush from the room as I shrug on my cut and find the brothers all in the room we use for church. They’re seated around the table and look up the moment I walk in. The party has ended. There are no signs of any of the women around.
“What the feck is going on?” I settle in my chair and look at my VP.
The concern in his expression has me on edge. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening, especially when it comes to my men.
“Tye got some new info,” Rebel tells me before looking at our resident computer genius.
“I got into some emails, a long thread of them,” he tells me as he brings over a stack of pages. “But the two pages on the top will explain why we called you down. I didn’t think it could wait, and Rebel agreed.”
I glance between the men and nod. “Fine.” I pick up the first page and scan the details. My stomach drops to my feet when I read the communication. It seems Da wanted Miren’s mother dead. Da told Patrick about it, which shocks me because he hated the mob. “Da was workin’ with Bragan?”
Tye nods. “I found out when talkin’ to our contact at Scotland Yard, ye da was thick in with the Irish mob. This was since before you were born. Patrick wanted rid of Sinéad, and he went to ye da for help. They planned it right down to the hour.”
“But Sinéad found out?”
“Aye,” Rebel says then. “She ordered a hit on ye ma in retaliation. She wanted to put the fear of God in ye da. But there’s more, documents from MI5 confirming ye da was working with them.”
“What?” I drop one page and pick up another. My eyes can’t read fast enough. There are years’ worth of emails, communication between Da and the inspectors and detectives from the agencies in London. “They wanted Patrick. They wanted the whole feckin’ Irish mob.”
“And ye da agreed. In return, they would provide safety for ye and yer ma.” Rebel’s words don’t take long to sink in. Realisation hits me right in the chest. Da was trying to keep us safe, but he hid the truth from us because he must have known if I were to get taken by the mob, by Sinéad’s or Patrick’s men, I could have been tortured. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
“But instead of protectin’ us, he got himself and Ma killed,” I bite out before slamming the documents on the table.
Shoving the stack, I create a wave of paper that’s scatters across the floor. Pushing the chair back, I rise to full height and place both palms on the table. My gaze meets each man in the room, my focus on them as they look at me. I have to give them the next order, the plan of attack. But I’m too shocked to think straight.
I know Patrick and Sinéad have to pay, there’s no doubt about it. But right now, all I can think about is Da doin’ somethin’ stupid without tellin’ us. I spent my life hatin’ him. I blamed him for leavin’ us alone, and I should blame him for Ma’s death. He forced the hand of one of the most dangerous organisations in Ireland.
“Patrick did kill ye da,” Rebel says. “We’ve gone through the paperwork. Tye’s been working on it. There’s no doubt about it. Even though Sinéad is the head of the organisation, it was Patrick who pulled the trigger.”
Everything seems to crash down around me. I can’t find words to ponder what the feck is goin’ on. First, I was wrong, then I was right, then wrong again. But now, I’m right, and it was Patrick Bragan.
“When is that feckin’ flight comin’ in from the across the pond?” I bite out as I pull my mobile phone from my pocket. I shouldn’t have it on me in church, but I knew Jameson would be callin’ with an update. As if he can hear me, his name flashes on the screen with a call.
“Mate,” I answer as I press the device to my ear.
“I have news for you, I don’t know if you’re going to like it, though,” he tells me. Jameson who runs the New Orleans chapter of the Royal Bastards is a brother from over the pond. I’ll trust him with my life. “Can you talk?”
“I doubt it can be worse than what I’ve just learned. Aye, I can talk. What do ye have fer me?” I ask him as I pace the room.
I can feel eyes on me. Every man in this room is tense, watchin’ me as if I were a bomb about to go off. I feel like one. If I had to be honest, all I want to do is kill. Red is the only colour I see.