Page 73 of Dublin Brute

He arches a brow. “So, you delivered the envelope and got laid?”

“I believe the term wild jungle monkey sex was used.”

Bryan shakes his head. “And is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“In context, aye, it was.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” My twin sucks in a long pull, the orange glow of the heater burning brightly before he grinds the cigarette out under his boot. Knowing Ginny will kick his ass if he leaves it there, he picks it up and sets it into the ‘Butt Out’ station.

Bryan and I step through the double doors together and are immediately hit by a wall of familiarity. The air in the Jimmy Francis Pub is heavy with Celtic rhythms and the scents of pub fare and beer.

“Well, if it isn’t trouble times two.” Jimmy’s gravelly voice carries across the bar. The old enforcer’s weathered face breaks into a grin.

“Who you calling trouble, ole man?” Bryan shoots back with a smile. “I’ll have you know, Brenny and I are perfect angels.”

Ginny snorts from behind the bar where she’s pulling a pint for Aiden. “Angels of death, maybe.”

“Now that’s just hurtful.” I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. “You wound me.”

She slides the Guinness to Aiden and laughs. “I’m sure.”

Bryan knuckle bumps Aiden. “Is the boss around?”

“In his office.”

Ginny nods toward the back hallway. “Want me to bring back a pint for you, boys?”

I hold up my hand. “Let’s see how our chat with Tag goes first.”

“Aye, well, let me know.”

Bryan and I climb the six steps to the staff hallway, our boots echoing on the worn floorboards. I rap my knuckles against Tag’s door, waiting for the electronic buzz before pushing it open.

Tag glances up from his laptop, an expectant glint in his eyes. “What’s the word, Brenny? Is your girl on board?”

I drop into a chair across from his desk. “She’ll make sure her father gets the envelope.”

“Good.” Tag runs a rough hand over his stubbled jaw. “At least something is going our way tonight.”

Bryan sinks into the chair beside me and crosses his arms over his chest. “What’snotgoing our way?”

“Seamus Peterson called me about an hour ago.”

It’s never great when a constable from the station of Garda Síochána calls us—even if he is one of our guys.

“Why? What did he want?”

Tag turns his laptop around, showing a series of missing person reports: all young women, all of them missing from Dublin within the past month.

“All from McGuire territory?” I venture a guess.

He shakes his head. “That’s why Seamus called. All five women disappeared from north of the river. He wanted to inquire if we’d suddenly added trafficking to our CV.”

“Was he serious?” Bryan snaps.

“He was rightly confused.” Tag closes the laptop and leans forward. “We’ve either got a predator in our streets or the McGuires are drawing unwanted attention to us by doing their dirty work in our backyard.”

My stomach turns. “You think they’re behind it?”

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