With my bridges burnt to a crisp, it’s time to plan for the next phase of my life.
I head to my closet to grab my suitcase, but it isn’t there. Fine. They can’t stop me from leaving just by taking away asuitcase. I stride across the hall to Rory’s room and grab one of his sports duffle bags from under his bed.
Once I’m back in my room, I start to pack.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sean
I’m sitting in the back room of the Dublin Devils’ headquarters, the air thick with the smell of oil and leather. My phone lies on the table in front of me, its screen too dark for my liking.
I’m waiting for a text from Piper, hoping she’s safe, especially since it’s been over an hour since she said she was off to confront her father.
She’s tough—I know that—but she’s also innocent and very breakable.
I tip my tumbler back in a greedy gulp, the images of her beaten and bleeding forever etched into my mind’s eye. Never again.
I will gut anyone who ever lays a fucking hand on her.
Piper doesn’t understand the lengths I will take to keep her safe. I will slaughter anyone in my fucking path to get to her.
I’m already counting the days until I can hunt down Vladmir Volkov and Arkady Sidorov and string them up from the nearest bridge with their cocks cut off and shoved down their throats.
Mattie McGuire deserves the same fate.
But as angry as Piper is at her father, I doubt it would earn me any favors in the romance department if I emasculate her father like that.
How about a good ‘ole 9mm round through the skull?
That might go over better.
I stare at the clock on the opposite wall. With Ryan’s funeral in a few hours, it feels like the city is holding its breath, waiting for a spark that will ignite the chaos.
The phone vibrates, and I’m quick to grab it, but it’s not Piper. “Hey, Tag. What’s the craic?”
“That’s my question, brother. First off, how are you?”
He’s not asking about my mental state. There’s no reason why he would be worried about that. He has no idea I’ve fallen for the enemy and am about to be sick knowing she’s out of my reach.
No. He’s talking about the hole in my side.
“I’m sound as a pound. How are things on your end?”
“Quiet. Maybe too quiet. I don’t like it.”
I glance around the dimly lit room, the maps of Dublin on the walls marked with our territory and notable incidents over the past weeks. “Calm isn’t a bad thing, but I hear what you’re saying. Maybe the McGuires are taking the day off to mourn, or maybe they’ll strike out.”
“Exactly. There have been no fires, and no attacks. It’s making me jumpy.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I want twice the normal number of riders patrolling along the river and watching over the Quinn properties.”
My fingers tap against the wooden table as I watch the arms of the clock stretch around their circle again and again. “Aye, I’ll get it done. Anything else? Have you heard anything more from the Russians?”
“Nothing from the two in the city, no, but I have a call scheduled with the big boss, Anton Volkov, later tonight.”
“Have you figured out how to satisfy their expectations and keep them out of Dublin?”