Page 86 of Dublin Brute

“Hey, gorgeous, when do you get off?” A drunk guy in a button-down reaches for my waist. I sidestep him smoothly, protecting my tray. The surface of the three beers slosh a little up the inside of the glass, but I don’t spill a drop.

“Sorry, I’m not on the menu.” The response is automatic now.

Wow, a month at this and I’m getting good—even with my mind still spinning out about what I saw and did this morning at home.

The beers are delivered, and I pause at the service bar, leaning against the polished wood. ‘Not on the menu’ was what Alexis told us to say when patrons get big ideas.

And for their sakes, it’s safer for them to be warned off.

Brendan owns me, body and soul—those intense eyes, the gentle way he cares for me despite all that raw power, the way hefills and shatters me, like he knows exactly what I need and how I need it.

He won’t appreciate drunk guys copping a feel. In truth, he’ll pound them into pulp. The thought of that shouldn’t be so sexy. Having a brute of a man so utterly obsessed with me that he would take down anyone who dared to touch me…

That should scare me.

Images of that mugger lying in a heap of blood in that alley fill my mind. There must be something seriously wrong with me that I love that Brendan went primal to protect me.

That’s not normal—is it?

I wouldn’t feel that way if he hurt my father, and if I told him what I heard and saw this afternoon… The thought makes my stomach turn.

“Earth to Nora!” Jay snaps his fingers near my face. “Table twelve needs their bill.”

“On it.” I grab a leather folder from the stack at the end of the bar and cash table twelve out. While I wait for the bill to print, my mind wanders.

Da’s notes seemed subjective, at best. Freaked out as I was, I haven’t taken a good look yet. There were locations of Quinn properties, suspected connections, but nothing that changes my mind about Brendan.

Still, the conclusions scribbled in the margins worry me. When Da gets fixated on a target, his determination is intense. He’s worse than a dog on a bone. He’s a starved Rottweiler seizing a juicy steak.

Would he really fabricate evidence to take down his opponent?

The music switches to something with a harder edge as I drop off the check at table twelve and clear the empty glasses.

I glance across the club. Kate’s working the live band crowd on the next club floor. She’s so upset that I backed out of ourapartment, she won’t even look at me. If I told her everything, she might understand—but I can’t do that.

Life is dangerous and complicated enough without drawing her into things.

It’s good we didn’t move in together. Keeping her away from battles with the organized crime world is more important than my happiness.

If Tanya was still alive, she’d know what I should do.

Brendan

The girls file out of the change room and head toward where Mr. O’Toole is waiting for them by the door. Seven of them are chattering and riding the high of a good workout. One is shuffling along at the rear.

Bryan and I feel good about how the first self-defense class went. What we’re not happy about is the situation that’s hanging over the little tiger cat’s head.

“Ruby.” I call out to the girl with black spiky hair. “Hang back a minute?”

She freezes, her shoulders tensing. “Why?”

“We just want to talk.” Bryan leans against the wall, working to look casual and non-threatening. He’s the beast that everyone knows he is and fails miserably.

Her gaze darts between us as her fingers clench into fists. “I have to go. Mr. O’Toole is waiting.”

“We talked to Mr. O’Toole and asked him to leave you here with us. We’re going to give you a ride home.”

Panic flares in her gaze, and she turns to look at the door, ready to bolt. “Look, I appreciate the defense lesson, but if you expect some kind of pervy gratitude?—”

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