Page 26 of Dublin Devil

No argument.How could a father do that to his child? I try not to think about the heart-wrenching sight of Piper’s world shattering, but being sucked into her glassy eyes nearly did me in.

I shouldn’t be so drawn in by her disillusionment, but there’s something about her... It’s like I have a pathological compulsion to protect her, to keep the evils of her life at bay until she gets back on her feet.

Not that her being with us is much better—the Quinns are no saints—but we’re a fuck-ton better than the McGuires.

Usually, being out with the boys clears my head and gives me singular focus. Tonight, all I can think about is that video of those Russians taking the boots to Piper in the street and the fact that I can’t avenge her.

At least not yet.

I’ll save that torture until the time is right.

“This is a straight snatch and grab, boys. Kieran’s contact will let us in the side door and give us a door card for the elevator and the suite. We go up, we tranq them, we leave the same way we came.”

Brendan chuckles. “These tranq guns look crazy real. We should play a game of Quinn Tranq Tag one night when we’re drinking. Last man standing wins.”

“I’m game.” Bryan grins.

I meet Kieran’s gaze and roll my eyes. “My brothers are eejits.”

He holds up his palms. “What you five do on your own time is your business. I’m just thinking that it would hurt. These tranq darts are wicked sharp.”

The truck’s brakes are wet and let off a whine as the truck rolls to a stop. Gallagher sticks his head into the opening of the window from the cab and grins at us. “Last stop, the NYX Hotel. Everyone out.”

Five on two are good odds and I’m not a bit worried that we’ll be out-manned. I watched the video of the two Russians attacking Piper a dozen times and while they were sent here as representatives, they are the big man’s cousin and his bodyguard, not true Bratva killers.

The area around the side door is dark, the light over the door conveniently turned off. Kieran sticks his mug in front of the glass sidelight of the door and the metallic clunk of a push bar opens.

As we shuffle inside, Kieran meets our contact with a clasped hand and then gestures down the hall for him to get us moving. “Where are we headed, sham?”

He strikes off down the carpeted corridor with the five of us in tow. “The top floor has eight extensive suites, and the one the McGuires rented is 604. You’ll need this key card to get the elevator to move, and it’ll open the door for you as well.”

The guy is wearing a NYX polo shirt and, by the tool belt hanging around his hips, I’d guess he is a maintenance man of some sort.

“You’ll be quiet and careful, won’t you?” He turns a worried look on us as he calls the elevator.

Sure, five tattooed guys with long hair and wearing leather look threatening, but what did he expect? We’re a fucking motorcycle club run by a mafia family.

It would be even worse for him if he saw the weapons we’re carrying.

Still, he’s Kieran’s contact and we try never to burn our eyes and ears on the south side, so I field his question and draw an X over my heart. “We’ll be as quiet as Mary’s little lamb, I swear.”

Brendan chuckles, but a look from me quells his amusement. “We appreciate the help, mate, and will do our best to ensure nothing blows back on you.”

The doors of the elevator slide open with a mechanical whoosh, and we get in. Kieran does the honors of pressing the buttons and we begin the climb to the top floor.

“For your troubles.” I hand the guy five hundred bucks folded into a neat wad. “All you need to do is hold the elevator for us while we secure the Russians, so we can get gone fast.”

His eyes blow wide. “Me? I thought all I had to do was get you in.”

I hold the bills when he reaches for them, assuring that I have his attention. “You’re almost done, kid. Don’t freak out on us now.”

“He’s not going to freak out.” Kieran faces the guy and squeezes his shoulders. “They won’t be conscious, so they won’t see your face. I give you my word. This is going to be fine.”

Kieran isn’t big, but he’s wiry and lethal. I’m not sure if the reassurance makes the kid less afraid of the Russians or more afraid of crossing us.

Whichever it is, it seems to work.

He swallows and gives me a nod. “I’m good. I’ll be here, holding the elevator.”

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