Page 102 of Dublin Brute

“After I cooled off, I went down to the dining room to patch the rift. We both said some hurtful things, and I felt bad aboutthat. He wasn’t in the dining room, though. He’d taken a call behind closed doors and was busy on the phone.”

The look she pegs me with is so filled with anguish and guilt, it steals my breath. “I never snooped through his files—not once in my entire life—but a picture of you caught my attention. I went over to see what it said and got sucked in.”

Fucking hell. I have no idea how bad a file on me could make me look. I’ve killed people. I’ve tortured people. Who knows what her old man and his team could’ve dredged up on me. I close my eyes, unable to meet her gaze.

“But none of what I found sat right with me. My father’s notes were biased and didn’t align with what I knew of you and your family.” She squeezes my hand. “You’ve been honest with me about who you are and what you do. I’m not the delicate flower my father thinks I am. I accept that not all good guys are good, and not all bad guys are bad. I’ve seen that more clearly than ever in the past months.”

Hope flutters in my chest. It’s in her eyes, too.

Okay, so this might not be the end for me after all.

“One of my father’s notes talked about which of you poisoned your father. He suspects Tag, because of him inheriting the family business.”

“Poisoning our father? What the fuck does that mean? Da had a heart attack. Cora saw him go down. Finn and I did CPR until the medics got there.”

“There was an autopsy report. The medical examiner found traces of a drug that mimics the effects of a heart attack.”

Her words hit me like a physical blow. I push back from the table, running my hands through my hair. “No. That can’t be right. We were at home. Nobody within our private circle would’ve poisoned him.”

“There was a statement given. A woman willing to testify against Tag in exchange for immunity and a new identity.”

I turn to Nora, my head spinning, grief and anger crashing through me. “What fucking woman?”

“I’ll show you.” She gets up from the table and rushes to where I tossed her purse last night. After turning on her phone, she flips through a few screens and then hurries back, holding the image up for me.

The moment I see the red hair, I tip back my head and scream. “That fucking bitch!”

“You know her?”

I grab my keys and am storming toward the door when I realize I’m only wearing my boxers. “Aye, I fucking know her. Siobhan Daley was Tag’s teenage ex who never got the fucking hint.”

I point to the bedroom and the two of us rush in and start getting dressed. “The bitch hung around as a Quinn informant, fucking everyone she could in our organization, hoping Tag would take her back. If she’s whispering in your father’s ear, it’s no wonder his notes seem skewed. She spouts lies for a living.”

Nora pulls my T-shirt off and tosses it back to me, which is a crying shame. “And she hates your brother?”

“With an Irish vengeance. She was a lying cheat back then, and no better now. In the spring, Tag found out she was sleeping with both his right hand and Declan McGuire, spilling secrets on both sides. Tag exposed her lies to both organizations, and she’s been a ghost ever since.”

“Then it makes perfect sense that she’d be willing to testify for a new life.”

“Aye, because if either of our organizations ever get a hold of her, she’s fucking dead.” I realize a moment too late that I just declared the woman on our hit list.

Thankfully, Nora looks more pissed than afraid. She pulls her hair out of the neck of her sweater and nods that she’s ready. “Then you need to tell your brothers.”

I take her hand and tug her toward the door. “No, angel.Weneed to tell my brothers.”

Nora

The ride to the Quinn compound feels surreal. Brendan’s grip on the steering wheel of his classic muscle car leaves his knuckles white, and I’m afraid of both what I’ve done by sharing my father’s research and what will happen next.

Because I am responsible for what happens next.

Brendan turns the car off the road and slows as we pull up behind a set of majestic iron gates. I glance across at the sprawling grounds—greenery as far as the eye can see, a winding driveway, and in the distance, the top of an old stone castle almost completely hidden by rolling hills.

It’s stunning.

Brendan rolls down his window. “Hey, Andrew.”

“Good evening, Mr. Quinn.”

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