Page 8 of Dublin Devil

“No.”

“Then here we are.” I lay her on the sofa and then stride into the little kitchen to put the kettle on. She’s shivering badly and I don’t know if it’s the chill of the night, shock, or internal bleeding. “I’ll find something dry for you to wear and call our doc to have a look at you.”

“Please don’t.” Her voice cracks on the breathy plea. “It might get back to my father.”

Something about that terrifies her. Is this the work of a piece of shit boyfriend she doesn’t want her father and brothers to go after?

I’m no fan of Mattie McGuire, but I would stand in the front row to see him flay whoever did this to his daughter. “Don’t worry. Our guy is discreet. He won’t say a word to anyone. Relax and I’ll be back in two.”

I take the stairs two at a time and check the dresser drawers for anything dry Piper could wear. Tag keeps the safe houses stocked with the basics and though there’s not a lot to pick from, I come away with a gray sweatsuit and a towel from the bathroom for her hair.

Then I grab a stack of clean cloths and a massive tackle box filled with first aid supplies.

Next, I pull out my phone, call up Doc Kelvin’s contact info, and send him a situation update and the address. Then, I copy the message and send it to Tag. My brother is a newlywed, so he’s not likely to be paying attention to his phone this late at night, but he’ll get the message and come when he can.

When I get back to the sitting room, Piper is curled up on the sofa, crying.

“Is it the pain? What can I do?”

She gasps a few unsteady sobs and accepts the towel. After wiping her tears, she looks up at me with the saddest ice-blue eyes I’ve ever seen. “I messed up. Da and my brothers will be furious with me.”

I don’t like the sound of that but can’t help but throw the girl a lifeline. “Tonight, let’s worry about patching you up. Once we know you’re okay, we’ll work on fixing things.”

She drops her head and closes her eyes. “There’s no way I can fix it.”

“Then there’s nothing that can be done about it tonight. You might as well focus on yourself for the moment.” I set the clothes on the coffee table and the first aid kit beside them.

The keening whistle of the kettle draws me into the kitchen. I drop a couple of tea bags into the Brown Betty sitting on the counter and then pour in the contents of the kettle. I save a bit of the boiling water to pour into a steel pot.

While the tea steeps, I take the pot and set it on the coffee table next to the rags. “I need to clean off some of this blood so I can assess the injuries we’re dealing with. Will you let me do that?”

She blinks, her tear-filled eyes piercing me right to the depths of my dark heart. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you’re a young lady who needs help. Regardless of your last name, you ended up in our territory and have been through something bloody and violent. I can’t ignore that and leave you to fend for yourself.”

“But our families are enemies. Surely your Quinn Laws don’t apply to me. Honestly, my father would shit a red brick if he knew I was here with you.”

I laugh. “Well, thankfully,myfather had philosophies about how business was to be run and how people are to be treated. The Quinn Laws apply to anyone within our territory and beyond, if we have any say about it.”

She frowns down at herself and the tears well once more. “I don’t understand how any of this happened.”

I take one of the cloths off the top of the pile and dip it into the boiled water. It’s still hot, but I douse it and then wring it out, so I can start tending to the dozens of scrapes and gashes on her legs. “Were you rolling in razor blades?”

“I was fighting…and we fell through a glass table and the vase of flowers shattered too. There was a struggle.”

I keep my head down and dab at the cuts. “Well, you fighting is the most important part of that story. You fought, and you made it here. You’re safe now.”

Most of the damage I can see is superficial—likely from wrestling with her attacker in the debris of a shattered glass table.

When I have her legs wiped down enough to be certain nothing vital is bleeding, I rinse the cloth and lift her leg to set her foot on my knee. “I take it you lost your shoes pretty early in the fight? It looks like you ran across the city in your bare feet.”

She hisses when I swipe the damp cloth under her foot, and I lean in to find a shard of glass. “This might hurt, but it needs to come out.”

She draws a deep breath. “Aye, I’m ready. Do it.”

With a careful pinch, I pull the shard and greet the gush of blood with the warm cloth. While I put pressure on the cut for a moment, I try again to find out what happened. “You mentioned a hotel. Was that on your side or our side of the river?”

Her gaze meets mine and I’m happy to see a little fire sparking behind her icy blue eyes. “Our side.”

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