Page 10 of Desecrated Reign

Sitting upright in my seat, I shift my spine as excitement races through me. “Don’t fuck with me, B. What do you know?”

“Gabriel called a meeting with the board.”

My brows narrow, and I gnaw on my bottom lip. “What? How have we not heard about this?”

“Aunty Lou only found out today. Here’s the thing,” she adds, “Lorcan’s not invited because Gabriel played the Saoirse card.”

“Motherfucker!” I knew it was coming, but I thought we had more time to prepare Saoirse. I should have known better, though. Gabriel isn’t the type to allow people to fucking grieve in peace. He saw an opportunity, and he struck while the iron was hot.

“Your mom said he’s demanding a vote,” Beibhinn continues. “He wants both the Ryan and Reilly families out. And he’s using Lorcan and Éanna’s misconduct as his reasoning.”

Slamming my hands against the steering wheel, I release a strangled “Fuck!” Then, drawing in a breath, I ask, “Do we know when the meeting is taking place?”

“Day after tomorrow. I don’t know the location yet because he hasn’t disclosed it. Gabriel is keeping his cards close to his chest. My bet is on Leinster, though. He’d want the upper hand.” She’s right. Gabriel would never hold a meeting of this importance in someone else’s territory. So it must be somewhere close to home, where he is king.

The cogs in my head start turning, narrowing down the list of places, but even then, I can’t taper it down enough to be one hundred percent certain. The list is endless. “It could be anywhere, B. The syndicate has properties all over the city.”

“Maybe that rat you caught has more information,” Beibhinn adds, hinting at Donnacha.

“If he does know something, we’ll get it out of him. By whatever means necessary.”

“Good! That slimy fucker deserves to see Hell sooner rather than later.” Before I can respond, she adds, “Look, I gotta go, but I’ll be home for the meeting. I have something I need to take care of first.”

“Beibhinn!” I warn, knowing well who she’s referring to. “Don’t.”

“I have to try, Rí.” For the first time in weeks, her voice cracks, showcasing a sliver of emotion.

“It’s too dangerous. Are you forgetting his dad helped set that bomb?”

Her tone turns cold again, freezing me out. “How could I forget that, Rohan? Don’t think for one second that night doesn’t play on repeat in my mind, over and over, driving me to insanity.”

“Then why? Why would you go see him?”

“Because, Rohan, one day in the very near future, my last name will be Connelly, whether I like it or not. Cadden owes me, and I plan to collect. He fucked me as a distraction while my brother was burning alive. The least he could do is tell me what he fucking knows.” The line goes silent before she punctuates the same words I spoke moments ago. “By whatever means necessary, right?”

There’s no point in trying to talk her out of it because she won’t listen anyway. We’re too alike in that regard. So, instead, I ease my mind by telling her to be safe.

“Don’t worry, cousin! I have my guns and am not afraid to use them.”

Tossing my head back against the seat, I close my eyes and exhale heavily. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“See you soon.” The line goes dead, and I fight the urge to call her back and try to convince her what a horrible idea this is. But knowing Beibhinn as well as I do, I know that telling her not to do something will only fuel her to prove her point further. So, for now, I’ll focus on what I can control—extracting information from my dear brother.

6

ROHAN

Leaning against the long, narrow tool bench with my feet crossed at the ankles and a cigarette dangling from my lips, I inspect my torn and bust knuckles as if I have all the time in the world. Then, drawing my bloody hand to my mouth, I clamp the butt of my rollie with the pads of my fingers and thumb.

Tipping my head back, I draw in a drag, savouring how it infects my lungs whilst clearing my head. Finally, I flick the glowing butt across the room, it bounces and lands between Donnacha’s bare feet on the concrete floor.

Lorcan and I have been here for hours, going around in circles, trying to extract some answers from Donnacha. So far, using our fists hasn’t brought us much luck. Blow after blow, and the cunt hasn’t said a valuable word. Unfortunately for him, all that means is we need to up the ante, because we won’t stop until we get the information we need.

“You’re doing yourself no favours, lad. We know there’s a meetin’ t’marra night.” Lorcan tips a bucket of ice water over Donnacha’s head, drenching his bare skin. The shock of the water resuscitates some life back into him. His spine straightens, but his cold, dead eyes remain void of any emotion.

“C’mon, Donnacha. Tell us where and maybe I won’t let Rí here carve you up like a Christmas ham.”

Muffled stutters resound from behind the cotton gag I’d stuffed in Donnacha’s mouth earlier, so Lorcan pulls on it, dragging it past his jaw, giving him permission to speak. “What was that, boy?”

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