Page 43 of Dublin Brute

Maybe I’m just not worthy of her.

Nora

What the hell is happening? Leather creaks as I flop onto the expensive couch. It faces a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the river, and I wonder how much a view like this would cost. Not that the price tag would put a dent in the Quinn piggy bank—or the vault is more accurate. I’m sure the Quinns could buy up the entire riverfront and not bat an eye.

And why is my brain stuck on the cost of riverfront property?

I’m losing it, that’s why.

I’m still shaking like a nervous puppy after the big Brendan Quinn revelation, then being chased through the backstreets, then kidnapped by Brendan. A shiver wracks through me. I grab a gray throw off the back of the couch and pull it over me. Are the shivers a result of the night wind or shock? When will my mind catch up with my reality? Can this even be called reality?

Brendan is a Quinn. He saved me twice and then kidnapped me…

Only, it doesn’t really feel like kidnapping.

One look into those haunted emerald eyes told me Brendan was in a full-scale panic when he grabbed me. The man who worried about me and went out of his way to make me smile is still there…under all that blood.

I push that thought out of my mind and decide to step back from the violence of the night and not panic. He was protecting me.

Would my father have done things any differently?

He might’ve thrown a few less brutal blows before dragging him into one of his task force interrogation rooms. Which, I’ve learned, isn’t that much safer than a darkened alley for the wrong sort of person.

And that guy was definitely the wrong sort of person.

I’ve seen enough of my father’s work photos to recognize prison ink. But what would an ex-con want with me? Was it random or was it tied to my association with Brendan, and by extension, the Quinns?

Was I was just an unlucky lady walking alone at night? Kate said the Quinn event is well known. A newly released prisoner might think mugging one of Dublin’s rich and powerful could lead to a big payout.

He picked the wrong girl. Sucks to be him.

I groan and pull the fabric against my eyes. Da will lose his mind when he hears I was walking alone at night.

Stupid.I must be smarter than that if I have any chance of convincing him I’m ready to live on my own. As the adrenaline of the night drains away, exhaustion takes its place.

It’s been a sad and shitty week and has taken its toll.

I believe Brendan when he says I’m safe here. How can I not be? This loft is a freaking fortress. At first glance, this space is all granite and chrome, sleek and masculine, like a man who knows how to handle his shit.

The kitchen island stretches out in front of a leather seating area, perfect for some serious meal prep or late-night drinks with friends. Everything here screams power and control—modern furniture, minimalist art on the walls, and the best part? The view.

But that isn’t what makes me sure this place is a fortress.

When Brendan hit a button on the control panel inside the door, there was a cascade of clicks and snaps and high-pitchedwhines throughout the space that seemed to signal that this place is now in lockdown.

And with Brendan confiscating my phone—I’m going nowhere fast.

For now, I’m at the mercy of Brendan Quinn.

I slide sideways on the couch, yawn, and stare out the window. Dublin at night is beautiful, the waters of the River Liffey shimmering under the city lights. Can I make this city my home now that Tanya is gone and my sweet protector turned out to be one of the men my father intends to destroy? I doubt it.

Even the thought of that squeezes my heart.

I may be as naïve as my father accuses me of being, but I know a bit about the landscape of the Dublin organized crime scene. The McGuires lead with a physical force while the Quinns have their code of conduct—The Quinn Laws.

No killing in the streets.

Don’t impact the innocent.

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