Page 45 of Dublin Brute

And he doesn’t know.

He pulls a black T-shirt over his head, covering the stunning planes of muscled skin and the Celtic tattoo. It takes him a bit to work his muscled arms into the sleeves and several thread cracks warn the shirt doesn’t fit him any better than the pants. If I were channeling a little more of Tanya’s spirit, I’d tell him to leave it off and spare the fabric the trouble of containing him.

He sinks into the club chair set perpendicular to the couch and leans forward. “I told you I work for my family’s business and that I handled discipline and ensuring people followed protocol. That is the truth.”

I shiver and pull the blanket closer around me. “So, you’ve never killed anyone?”

“I…well, I have…but no one who wasn’t actively trying to kill me. I like to think I make the world a better place.”

Uh-huh. Well, that’s not how my father or his task force will look at it.

I yawn and slide down the couch a little to lay my head on the pillow.

“You look fucking amazing tonight, by the way.” He offers me a sad smile and points to his split lip. “You totally blew my concentration. This is actually your fault.”

I wince at the swelling, remembering the horror of watching that hit. Brendan’s gaze was locked on me when Paddy the Predator punched him so hard, Brendan’s head spun. “I don’t understand why you’d voluntarily climb into a metal cage and let someone beat you.”

He chuckles. “I enjoy it.”

“How can that appeal to you on any level?”

He takes a moment and seems to consider that. “There are a bunch of reasons: I’m good at it, people enjoy watching the show, my twin and I raise a lot of money for the kids, and, for those fifteen minutes I get a rush from the challenge of coming out on top.”

I don’t pretend to understand, because I’m too tired to think. All I want to do is curl up and push reality off until the morning. Then I can deal with Brendan and my father, and…

“Oh, I need to text my father. If I don’t come home and he doesn’t know where I am, he’ll have the entire garda force looking for me.”

Brendan frowns. “You’re twenty-six, right? Does he still keep tabs on you that closely?”

“You have no idea. Kate and Tanya named him Jordan the Warden.”

He arches an ebony brow, pulls my phone from his pocket, swipes the screen, and lifts my finger to press the unlock. “All right. What do you need me to say?”

I sigh. “You don’t trust me to do it myself?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry. It would be too easy for you to turn the tables on me. I need time to show you we’re good together and prove myself worthy of you.”

I close my eyes. “And what if you being Brendan Quinn is insurmountable?”

“It’s not. I’m going to prove that to you.”

I wish that were possible. “Fine. Just text him that I’m checking in as he asked and staying at Kate’s tonight.”

His thumbs brush over my phone, and then there’s the whooshing sound of a text being sent. “Now what? Anyone else?”

“Actually, yes. Send one to Mrs. Hackenbush. Tell her I have a stomach bug and won’t make my shift in the morning. I can’t deal with the library tomorrow.”

“Mrs. Hackenbush. Is she as matronly and library-ish as she sounds?”

“Worse. She wears beige and brown plaid skirts and those gold chains that hang down beside her wrinkled face, so she doesn’t lose her glasses. She sets the tone for our branch dynamics.”

Brendan texts something and then grins, chuckling.

“Do I want to know what you just texted her?”

“Probably not.”

All right. Now I’m afraid. Honestly, I don’t care. Maybe he’ll get me fired and I won’t have to face my father and tell him I quit.

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