Page 112 of Ruthless Savage

“Again,” I breathe. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Devlin McHale. And I’m never gonna stop.”

I fight my emotions, my throat growing thick. “I don’t deserve it. People like me, they don’t deserve it.”

“That’s not true. Everyone deserves love. Everyone is worthy of it.”

“When you say it like that, I somehow want to believe it’s true.”

With the back of my hand, I stroke the span of her jaw, wanting to say those words I know she’s desperately wanting me to say in return.

But I want to save them. The first time I tell her I love her, I want her to be my wife. A McHale. Not a moment before.

Then I kiss her, her body melting into mine, and I grasp on to the hope that maybe she’s right. That maybe, beneath the sinner, there’s someone worthy of loving.

My phone vibrates while she’s fast asleep, and I slip out of the bed so as not to wake her, gently removing my arm from underneath her hips.

When I find Grant’s name on the screen, my pulse surges. Hopefully he’s got dirt on Mason. The more I have on that bastard, the better my conversation with Patrick will go. He comes home tonight, and I intend to drive to Boston tomorrow and have that chat that we should’ve had a while ago.

When I make it to the kitchen, I answer. “What do you have for me?”

“Hey, so I dived into a few of his offshore accounts. The ones your people probably didn’t find because he did a hell of a job hiding them under multiple shell corporations.”

“And?”

“Someone is paying him weekly, fifty large.”

“When did it start?”

“A little less than a month ago.”

“You sure? Nothing before?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“I tried finding out who’s paying him, but it’s untraceable. And you know I’ve tried everything. Whoever it is really doesn’t want to be found.”

“Shite.”

“The account is coming from the Bahamas. But when I trace it, it jumps to another account, then another, all in different locations, then jumps back to the Bahamas. I’ll send you all the info I have so far, but I’ll continue looking.” There’s a tapping sound, like he’s pressing some keys on a laptop. “There’s one last thing. One of the accounts has a name.”

“What is it?”

“Camora. Does that mean anything?”

All the blood rushes from my body. “You sure that’s the name?”

“Yeah. It means something, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, bloody does. Keep looking and send me that info.”

“Already in your email. Talk soon.”

“Aye.”

It’s like they wanted me to find it. Like they knew if I did, I’d know it was them. Francis Palmer is alive. There’s no doubt in my mind, and now I know he’s been paying Mason. And it all began when he met Eriu…

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