Page 3 of Mob Bride

Yes. Finn, Sean, and Shane O’Rourke. We’re that Irish. Toss in our cousins Dillan, Cormac, and Seamus, and it comes as no surprise we aretheIrish in New York. We run the mob.

“When the doctor gets here, I’m going to get a look that tells me she’s displeased I didn’t take you to the office trailer to lie down on the couch while we wait. I won’t force you, but I guarantee you won’t resist her.”

“I’ve resisted you.”

“That’s because I’m only Irish American. She’s British.”

“What does that mean?”

“She’ll have you doing whatever she wants with one rhetorical question. Just give in before that. It’s way easier, and I won’t get more than a look.”

It’s not that Meredith was Atilla the Hun’s personal physician, but she could’ve been. She’s saltier than a middle school PE teacher. There’s no excuse she hasn’t heard, so she buys no one’s shite.

“Would you at least sit down before you keel over?”

My frustrating stranger resists agreeing, but the adrenaline is totally gone, and the agony’s setting in. She’s in so much pain she lets me help her to the floor. I say nothing to her while twenty minutes pass, and we wait for the doctor to arrive.

“Carys?”

The woman’s head snaps up as Meredith runs toward us.

“Mom?”

The fuck?

Meredith carries one of those old-fashioned doctor’s black bags that sorta folds down at the top when it’s opened. She flings it out to me, not caring that it hits my gut hard enough to make the air whoosh from it. She drops to her knees as she opens her arms to the young woman. Carys—that’s a beautiful name—why’d I just think that?—falls into her mother’s arms. Meredith’s far gentler with her daughter than she’s ever been with me or the men in my family. She rarely casts us anything but a scowl with her lips pressed flat that clearly tells us we got whatever we deserved for not being quick or attentive enough.

“What happened, lovie?” Meredith croons the question to her daughter, and I can tell the woman’s barely holding herself together.

I feel like an intruder as I watch them. I should turn away. I should mind my own business like Carys told me to. I should give them space. But rage has me wanting to hear Carys’s explanation. No one I’ve seen who looks like her hasn’t wound up unconscious and in a hospital. How she’s awake is beyond me. It makes me wonder if she’s on something.

It’s too dark to see whether her pupils are dilated. So, when Meredith flaps her hand for me to give back her bag, she pulls a tiny flashlight from it. She waves it across Carys’s eyes, and I watch the pupils contract the way they’re supposed to. When Carys practically snarls at me, I realize I’ve stepped closer. Curiosity killed the cat, and she looks like she’s ready to leave me dangling from a tree. I remind myself she’s in pain; otherwise, she’d seem ungrateful.

“Carys, what happened?”

Meredith speaks as she cups her daughter’s jaw and runs the pads of her thumbs over the younger woman’s cheeks. Carys can’t stop the wince when her mother’s thumb presses aparticularly sore bruise. She pulls back and shakes her head. She sets her face in a mulish expression I’ve seen far too many times from Meredith when she’s insisted on giving one of us a shot of pain killers that’ll knock us out.

“You can trust Shane. I’ve known him since he was a kid.”

“No. It’s none of his business.”

“Carys, please. If for no other reason than I need to know what injuries to look for and treat.”

“I’m fine.”

I can’t stop the snort that escapes me. I usually show no emotion I don’t want others to see, so that surprises even me. There’s stubbornness—which my twin has in spades—and there’s foolishness. She possesses an unhealthy dose of the latter.

“Shane, give us a minute.”

I nod, not that Meredith can see me. I’m sure she hears my footsteps retreat. I turn my back but strain to hear.

Nothing.

They’re whispering too low for me to catch anything until Meredith’s angry voice reaches me.

“You will tell me now.”

“Or you’ll ground me? Let go, Mom.”

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