Page 21 of Dublin Brute

He chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mean this to sound gauche, but money isn’t an issue in my life.”

I can’t even imagine being able to say that. Da makes good money and we’ve always been comfortable, but with my sights set on building a life of my own, money is very much a determining factor. “I’m still not sure I can accept.”

“Nora, to me, money means choices. It means I can do what I want and spend it in ways that make me happy. Today it made me happy to do something nice for you. I’ve lost friends and know the emotional weight you’re carrying. And add to that, feeling physically bruised as well. So please, enjoy what I sent you and take care of you.”

I swallow, the sting of tears making me blink quickly to keep from crying. “That is incredibly kind of you, Brendan. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. Now, snag a cookie, have a bath, and soak away some of the pain of the day. It’ll make my day to know you’re a bit better than you were. And if you ever need to talk, now you have my number.”

The call ends and I stare at the screen as it goes blank. How crazy is it that a stranger cares so much about my mental wellbeing when my father didn’t?

The simple thoughtfulness of his gift makes my chest tight.

Who is this man?

In my bathroom, I light the candles and drop one of the citrus bath bombs into the steaming water, watching it fizz and spread ribbons of pink and champagne swirls across the surface. While the tub fills, I flip through one of the vampire romance novels.

The dark-haired hero on the inside cover is bulky and protective and embracing his blonde lover as if he wants to possess her. Is that a coincidence or is it supposed to remind me of someone?

Either way, it’ll be perfect escape-reading.

I sink into the hot water and breathe the citrus bliss deep into my lungs. If Brendan wants me to indulge and take care of myself, I will. And if reading this book has me wanting to take care of myself in more intimate ways…I’ll think of Brendan as I do.

Brendan

I need to get my ass in gear.

After dropping Bryan and Petey at the safe house, I made my way to the docks to take care of something Tag needs handled. But before I headed inside, I got the message that my delivery for Nora had been signed for.

I couldn’t resist calling her.

As I expected, she loved her basket. And also, as I expected, she balked at accepting the phone. Doesn’t matter. I had my answer ready and sweet-talked her into keeping it.

She deserves it. She deserves all the things.

And now she has my phone number.

And is likely naked and soaking in a tub.

I close my eyes and tilt my head back, wishing I could’ve given her the basket in person. Then maybe I could’ve been soaking in that tub with her instead of sporting a granite-hard cock halfway across the city.

But that’s where I am.

Exhaling a breath of regret, I kill the engine and pull the keys of the ignition. Normally I’d be driving my ‘69 Dodge Charger or my bike, but with our hospital pick up, Tag told me to take one of the family SUVs so the kid would be comfortable.

My phone pings and I frown down at the screen. Speaking of Tag…

Are you there, yet? What have you got?

Aye, I’m here. Going in now.

Tag wants answers and needs me to extract them. It doesn’t matter if I’d rather spend some time alone with my hand on my cock and Nora’s luscious tits in my mind. All that matters is that I get my head in the fucking game and focus on the McGuire bastard waiting for me inside the warehouse.

The Quinn warehouses stretch over several docks in several ports. Da didn’t believe in putting all our eggs in one basket and that has served us well enough over the decades our family has run north Dublin that there’s no reason to change things now.

The door slams shut behind me, and I tuck the keys into the pocket of my leather jacket. Frenchie and Drake stand outside the massive structure, leaning against the wall like they’re holding the place up. The two of them are a solid pairing, and Sean keeps them together when there’s work to be done. Frick and Frack…just with leather and guns.

The funny thing is that Frenchie isn’t French. He’s a big black man from the Netherlands with an incredibly thick Dutch accent. When Sean first brought him to the club, some eejit pledge commented about not understanding him because he didn’t speak French.

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