Page 11 of Dublin Brute

I can almost hear Tanya’s laughter riding on the wind.

Almost.

The impact of the cobblestone knocks the air from my lungs. Brendan’s weight crushes me into the ground, his arms a protective cage. Gunfire pops and echoes off the buildings.

“Stay still. We’re safe. Everything is going to be fine.”

As Brendan speaks the words, his deep voice changes, softens. The weight pressing me down shifts. The scent of gunpowder fades to lavender and vanilla.

Mum?

The cobblestones beneath me transform into plush carpet. I’m thirteen again, crouched beside my bed while Mum grips my shoulders. “Slide under and no matter what happens, don’t come out.”

Her blue eyes are wide with terror, her hands shaking as she urges me to hurry. “Promise me, Nora. Promise you’ll stay under the bed.”

“I promise.”

She kisses my head and then gives me a gentle shove. Footsteps thunder up the stairs. Mom’s feet hurry to the hallway.

There’s the sound of a struggle.

A horrifying crack.

Mum drops to the floor of the hallway, her vacant gaze stares at me beneath the bed.

I scream…

I scream at what I’ve seen.

I scream because I know I’ve given myself away.

I bolt upright in bed, a scream tearing from my throat. I clasp my hands over my mouth as quickly as I shut down the shrill cry. My heart pounds inside my chest like it’s trying to escape the cage of my ribs. Sweat plasters my tank top to my skin.

My bedroom. I’m in my bedroom.

I clutch my chest, willing my racing pulse to slow. The nightmare clings to me, sticky and suffocating. The images blur and merge—Brendan tackling me, Mum falling to the floor, Tanya’s blood on the sidewalk.

It’s the shooting. My mind is processing the loss.

I collapse back onto my pillow, burying my face in the cool cotton. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes as quiet sobs wrack my body.

It was just a nightmare.

CHAPTER FOUR

Brendan

Morning comes too soon and I’m dragging my heels as I stroll toward the dining room, drawn by the mouthwatering aroma of Cora’s cooking. My stomach growls in anticipation. Whoever coined the saying that the way to win over a man was through his stomach knew what the fuck they were talking about.

“Morning, family.” I give the room a quick smile and head over to the sideboard buffet where the tureens are set out, like always.

Grabbing a plate, I heap my selections: freshly baked scones, eggs done three ways, sausages sizzling with that perfect crunch, brown beans, and grilled tomatoes glistening with olive oil and Cora’s special blend of spices.

It’s enough to make a guy forget he’s training for a big fight this weekend.

Luckily, my status as a cage fighter is firmly locked in as an amateur hobbiest, which means I don’t give up the things I love.Besides, my enforcer duties with the family business keep me in fighting form.

“Grab me two more scones.” Bryan’s bark of command is even more testy than usual.

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