Page 64 of Dublin Brute

I’m tackled from behind, the hit coming hard and low. I hit the pavement and scramble, lost in the anger boiling out of me. My elbow comes up and there’s a loud grunt, followed by a kidney-bruising punch to my side.

I drop to my knees and fight to catch my breath. Bryan’s arms wrap around me. “Stop, brother. You need to stop.”

I struggle against my twin’s grip, chest heaving.

Mickey has slid down the wall, his face a bloody mess.

“Jesus Christ,” Bryan mutters, still restraining me. “What the fuck was that?”

I shove him off me and stagger away, leaving Mickey groaning on the ground and my twin to deal with the cleanup.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Brendan

When Da died last October, I didn’t understand why Tag moved out and stayed at the loft. In my experience, my brothers had always been my strength and I couldn’t imagine needing space from them. The past three days, living in the loft since I lost it on Bryan, I get it.

Tag did it as much for us as for himself.

Because a Quinn in emotional turmoil is not fit company.

I back my Harley into a spot next to Bryan’s and turn off the throaty rumble of my girl’s mighty engine. There are easily forty bikes in the gated lot tonight—but it’s a Friday night, so that doesn’t mean much.

The boys love to hang out.

Many of them had shitty home lives growing up and enjoy the bonding of the brotherhood that belonging to the Dublin Devils offers.

My boots take me up the wide wooden steps and across the porch to the green doors of the clubhouse. The familiar scent of leather, whiskey, and cigarettes hits me as soon as I pushthrough the door. The main room is rocking, and I get a rousing welcome.

I raise a hand to the boys having fun with the female entertainment of the night, and head back to the private meeting room. After dropping my phone into the lockbox, I take a deep breath. There’s no avoiding this.

They’ve given me a wide berth for the past few days, but there’s news and Tag wants me looped in. If it involves Nora, I need to be here.

Tag is already seated at the head of the long ebony table, Sean to his right, spinning the handle of the gavel in his hand as the two of them shoot the shit. Bryan, Kieran, Keefer, and Hennessy are milling around and fill out the room.

“Am I late for the party?” I take my seat as the others come to the table.

Bryan drops into the chair beside me and sets two Guinness down. “No. Tag and I only got here five minutes ago. You’re fine.”

I accept the beer and meet my brother’s gaze. “Arewefine?”

Bryan tips his glass to clink mine and flashes me a crooked smile. “How are the kidneys?”

“Fucking sore. How are the ribs?”

“Same.”

With that, he takes a drink and gives me a nod. “We’re fine.”

Tag waits until the six of us are settled and then sits forward in his seat and gestures to Sean. “All right, brother. Why are we here on a Friday night?”

Sean points the gavel toward Kieran. “You have the honors, Red.”

Kieran takes his cue and opens a folder sitting in front of him. “My little army of misfits has been busy since Brenny found out about the task force. I’ve had men following the agentsinvolved on both sides of the river, and one of them came to me this afternoon with something disturbing.”

He tosses out a couple of ten-inch glossy photos and we pass them around and take a look. They’re of Niall McGuire and a brunette woman.

“Who’s the sheila with the tits?” Keefer asks.

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