Page 46 of Iron Blade

We probably held on longer than needed. But it was good to have him on American soil. To have him on the same continent! He was a prodigal son coming home.

“I need a drink. They had nothing but cheap, tiny wine on the damn flight.” He shuddered in disgust.

“The driver’s waiting outside,” I said with a laugh. Of course, I had brought a driver. I never drove drunk, and we were about to get right bluthered like a couple of college boys.

I didn’t have to tell him where we were going. There was only one choice - Four Green Fields Bar. The same hole in the wall that we had gone to a dozen times in our youth, throwing around our weight as Green heirs to drink under twenty one.

Tommy Makem played on the overhead speakers, crooning about a foggy dew.

“Martini,” Dairo ordered, with a quick raise of his hand.

“Absinthe,” I said to the bartender.

The skinny, tattooed fella went back to the bar, pulling what we wanted from the top shelf - because of course he’d give us the top shelf stuff, even though we knew that we weren’t paying.

“So, what’s the craic, Dairo?” I asked, finally, pulling a pack of cigarettes from my pocket, and tapping the top of it against my newly-wounded palm. The sting of the carton against the cut sent a warmth through me, the pain of it giving me the slightest sense of strange catharsis.

“This is a non-smoking establishment,” Dairo smirked.

I rolled my eyes, as I pulled a Dunhill cigarette out, and placed it between my lips. Rowan came with an ashtray, placing it on the table in front of me without a word. I raised a brow at Dairo, who then rolled his eyes, as I lit my cigarette.

“You want one?” I asked, offering him the pack. He shook his head. “So what brings you back home, Dairo?”

He smirked, shrugging his shoulders.

“Can’t a cousin come for a visit?” Dairo leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table.

“When the cousin is you, no.” I chuckled, blowing smoke right in his face as he tried to wave it away.

He had been named after my father, Alastair. Born a year ahead of me, my uncle decided to name him for a beloved brother that could not have an heir.

For a year, the princely crown of Green Fields Enterprises was placed on his head… until I was born.

It was uncanny how we were practically twins, apart from the color of our eyes.

Maybe the color was why we saw the world through different lenses. To him, the world was a kind, and good place, ready to be ruled by men of strength and cunning.

To me, it was a dark world where tragedy lurked around the corner.

Tragedy was a simple fact of life, like death and taxes.

As much as my father wanted to pit me against Dairo, believing that competition bred strength, it never happened.

We were the oldest and best of friends. If my father offered him all the world’s riches, and every bit of power in existence in exchange for him putting a bullet in my head… he’d turn the gun on my father. I knew that. I knew that if the world came for us, we’d stand back to back against the demons that nipped at our heels.

“Are you coming back to Green Field’s Enterprises?” I asked, leaning forward, pursing my lips to the side.

He had recently left the British Army - the bunch of traitorous bastards - and maybe he was making his way back home.

He lowered his head and chuckled, before his crystal blue eyes looked back at me. “I’ve taken a job at a security company. I’ll be a part owner, with a man I served in the SAS with.”

“Oh?” I asked, taking a pull of my cigarette and narrowing my eyes.

He needed to come home, and take his place by my side. One day, he would take his rightful place at my right hand. I’d wait, if I had to. But this detour into security? It was absolute bollocks.

“I get twenty-five percent shares in a company with my mate, Callum MacLachlan.”

“Is that so?” I leaned back in my seat, and observed my older cousin with a critical eye. “What's the company name?”

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