Page 27 of The Irish Redemption

“An escort?” Hank repeats, appearing at my elbow with an ice pack. He passes it to me, and I place the cold onto my swollen knuckles, biting back a wince of pain.

“Brenden was seen with her, apparently,” I say. “At least that detective thinks so. Someone else in the motel gave that description because they bumped into Brenden and that woman in the elevator the night he died.”

Evelyn’s fingers skim over the drawing. “Her eyes are smaller and her hair is tightly curled, not wavy, but I’m pretty sure this is Peach.”

“Can you contact her?” I ask, sharper than I intend.

Evelyn lifts her head. “No. I don’t know her, I just knowofher. Seen her around. I mean, you could try my boss, but he lets sex workers in without signing in. As long as he gets a lump of cash in his hands, you can do anything you want in those rooms.”

Great. Another fucking dead end.

I press the ice harder to my swollen knuckles, ignoring Hank’s concerned gaze as it drifts over me.

“But him…” Evelyn slides the first drawing away and brings up the one of the man. “I know less about him, but I definitely saw him with your brother.”

Moving closer, I lean over Evelyn with my hip against the table. Every detail of her is sharper since I fucked her. It’s like I’m truly seeing her for the first time now that I know what her lips taste like, how tight her pussy is, and how fast her pulse races when I’m inside her.

“When?”

“Two weeks ago, maybe? I’d forgotten because…” Her cheeks suddenly flush red and her voice grows quiet. “I couldn’t remember what your brother looked like. Every time I thought about him, all I could see was his neck and the…” She waves her fingers over her own throat and then her dark eyes dart up to me. “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head once. It’s common to forget features when faced with such a brutal death. The first dead body I ever saw, I couldn’t tell anyone a single thing about them other than their split open chest and the ribs protruding from the flesh.

“So he was with Brenden?” I press on, clenching my jaw to stop me from grabbing Evelyn and demanding the truth immediately.

“Yes. I remember because Dillon, that asshole you beat up in the parking lot, was asking me out. He was going on and on about how he was the only one who could treat me right and stuff, and my mind was wandering because he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

The fucker definitely would now.

“And behind Dillon,” Evelyn continues, “I saw Brenden with that man. They were having some really intense argument in the parking lot, and I didn’t think much of it because there’s always some sort of fight going on in that place. So it didn’t stick out as important to me, but they were definitely arguing.”

“About?” I demand sharply.

Evelyn flinches slightly and withdraws her hands from the tablet, dropping them to her lap. “I don’t know. I didn’t hear anything, and then Dillon was in my face demanding I go out with him, so I said yes. The only other thing I remember was Brenden grabbed the man by the collar and I thought they were going to fight one another, but Brenden shoved him hard and then they went their separate ways.”

It’s a lot and yet nothing at the same time. If I don’t know who this fucker is, then what am I supposed to do about it?

Pushing off from the table, chunks of ice crush to dust in the bag under my tightening grip.

“Detective Gogs has some CCTV of this man,” Hank says, taking the tablet from Evelyn and tapping the screen a few times. “It’s blurry and distant, likely from across the street, but that’s where they got thesketch from. Looks like he and Brenden were arguing with each other a couple of nights ago at the motel.”

“That fucking motel,” I mutter, pacing toward the window and glaring out across the city. “So what’s the connection here? The motel? The woman?”

There are too many unanswered questions. The more I learn, the murkier the waters around Brenden’s death become and the weight of it all returns to my shoulders like the slap of a heavy arm. So many people are waiting on me to work this out, to find my brother’s killer and bring him to justice, but how am I supposed to do that with fucking breadcrumbs?

On top of that, there’s nervousness in the smaller families about my capabilities in running this family and keeping the rest of them safe and prosperous. No matter what I do or say, none of it will matter if Brenden’s killer still walks free.

“Boss?” Hank approaches me with the tablet in his hand and his eyes focus on my fist. “You really should get that looked at.”

Glancing down, blood trickles to my wrist from where my angry flexing has reopened the wounds on my knuckles. It’s nothing I haven’t had before and likely will have again. I toss him the ice pack, deeming it useless now that my rising anger is dulling the pain, and pull out my phone.

“Cian,” I say the moment he answers. “I’m sending you and Saoirse a couple of pictures. I want our best teams on tracking these fuckers down.”

“You got it,” Cian replies. “Was there nothing at the crime scene?”

“Nothing,” I say, and the sight of that bloodstained bathroom flashes in my mind. “From the amount of blood, though, I’d say he went down fighting.”

“Small mercies,” Cian mutters, then he hangs up.

---