Page 6 of Dublin Devil

After closing up for the night, I stand on the long porch of the clubhouse and have a smoke while I consider where to go next.

I could go back to the compound and check on Tag, but it’s late and hopefully he’s asleep. I could go grab a pint at Jimmy’s, but honestly, I’m too tired.

I need sleep.

I finish my smoke, pull out the keys to my ride, and straddle my Harley. On the second try, my contrary girl starts with a low growl, and I’m glad of it.

The weather took a turn during our meeting, and a chilling drizzle is pissing down from the heavens. I ease my bike out toward the street, lock the fence surrounding our yard, and note how wet and slick the pavement seems.

There’s no traffic coming my way, so I give my baby some gas and test the traction.

Rain runs down the visor of my helmet and I squint to see the road ahead of me. A couple of loud bangs crack over the rumble of my bike and I slow to an idle to listen.

Were those gunshots?

I wait, but don’t hear anything more. Letting the clutch out, I give it some gas and start moving up toward the bridge. The hair at the nape of my neck prickles as I glimpse something in the shadows.

It’s an ominous gray and dismal night, but am I seeing a girl lying on the sidewalk?

Can’t be.

Fog is drifting in from the River Liffey, creating a shroud of shadows along Ormond Quay. The turn to my place is up ahead on Arran East, but with what could’ve been gunshots, I pull over to the curb and set the kickstand.

My boots beat out a steady rhythm in the darkness and the closer I get, the surer I am.

Fucking hell. So much for sleep.

I take a quick look at the body lying next to a craft shop just on this side of the bridge. A homeless person? We have shelters in Dublin, many of them supported by my family and our charitable efforts.

Staring down at her through the rain and fog, she appears young and barely dressed. No, sheisdressed, but her wee red dress is ripped.

I kneel to check on her and find dozens of fresh cuts marring her skin. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

A moan comes from deep inside her and when she sees my face, she skitters back. “Don’t kill me.”

Do I look like I’m going to kill her? Well, not her, but probably like I’d kill the person who did this. I raise my palms. “You’re safe now, lass. I won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“I’ll do my best to honor that wish, but you have to let me help you.”

She turns her head, and I get my first look at her face. My heart picks up the pace and I curse. A second look, ignoring how her cheek has been altered by red welts, swelling, and blood, confirms it.

Piper McGuire.

So much for staying clear of the McGuires. This is Mad Mattie’s only daughter, and she’s beaten and bloodied on our side of the river.

Fucking hell.

Tag and I grew up getting into schoolyard brawls with Ryan and Declan McGuire, and while we were never friends, we knew their little sister.

She was just a baby then, but a cute little thing. And with Da’s views on family, the preservation of innocents, and the protection of women and children, we knew she was out of bounds.

Then, I saw her a couple of years ago at a charity event and she stole my fucking breath. Piper McGuire grew up well, and any man with eyes would agree with me. The fact that someone beat the shit out of her doesn’t bode well for whoever did this.

“Let me help you, lass. Can you sit?”

I grip her under her arms and tug her off the wet concrete. The wall of the craft shop is sturdy behind her back, and I prop her up. The awning above our heads shields us from the rain, but the odd cold drip runs down my neck and makes me shiver.

---