Page 31 of The Irish Redemption

“I’m not lying!” I beg while tears spring into my eyes. Warmth trickles down my cheek from my eyebrow and my gaze blurs. “I witnessed a crime at the motel and they were asking me about it, that’s all!” Each word is punched out of me with a desperate gasp for air.

“You’re lying!”

“No!” I weep as the sobs come. “Check the news—please, I need you, Harry. I wouldn’t report you, you know I wouldn’t!”

Harry strikes me again, and this time, he releases his grip on me so that the blow sends me crashing down to the floor with a yelp. He crouches down in front of me and grips my chin, then he tilts my head up to meet his eyes.

“You'd better not,” Harry says, his voice back to an eerie calmness. “Because you don’t want to find out what I do to rats, do you? A pretty thing like you? Credit card debt will be the least of your worries.”

“I’ll get your money,” I gasp. A full-body tremble takes over me, and I dig my fingertips into my thigh to try and control myself. “I just need more time?—”

“No. I don’t trust you with the cops sniffing around. I’ve given you grace these past months, Evelyn, because I felt sorry for you.” Harry pats my bruised cheek and smiles coldly.

“You’ve got forty-eight hours to get my money. Either you pay me when I come back here, or I’ll kill you. Got it?”

13

CORMAC

Imiss her.

She was only here for a few short days and we didn’t exactly get to spend any kind of real time together, but her sudden absence in my apartment feels like something has been ripped away from me. As the days pass, I tell myself that it’s just the lingering loss of my brother trying to settle into someone who’s still alive.

I don’t have time for romance. There’s too much I have to do to get things in order with my Family and the world Brenden left me, and yet, through it all, I just can’t get Evelyn out of my mind.

It’s late one evening when Saoirse appears with coffee in hand. She sets it down on my desk in front of me, right on top of the latest contract I’m mulling over. Sighing, I pluck the paper cup off the desk and grumble slightly as a slightly damp ring is left behind.

“You know, putting coffee on my important shit isn’t going to put me in a good mood if you have something to ask me,” I say, setting the coffee aside.

“Cian says you’re not sleeping,” Saoirse replies, lounging in the leather seat on the other side of the desk. “So drink the coffee and shut up.”

“I don’t need coffee.”

“Do too.”

“Saoirse.”

“Cormac.” She narrows her dark-lined eyes at me, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “You think you’re any use to any of us if you end up burnt out? Or worse, dead because you fell asleep at the wheel?”

“Hank drives.”

“I mean figuratively.” She tosses her head back and forth, shaking her auburn hair from her shoulders. “Killing yourself helps no one.”

“Just as well that isn’t what I’m doing.” I don’t look up at her. Instead, I try to find the sentence I was reading before she interrupted. “If that’s all?”

“I’m worried about you.” Her voice is softer. “Everything has gone to shit. Brenden is dead. Ma can’t even handle a phone call without breaking down. The Italians are pressuring for answers and the Russians have their own bloodbath in the streets. Now, more than ever, we need to put on a strong front.”

“You think I don’t know what?” I snap, finally lifting my head. “I know exactly how restless the smaller families are. How no one sees a leader when they look at me. They all followed Brenden and I was happy being the underboss and getting my hands dirty. Now I have every single expectation on my shoulders to hold this family together, to hold the entire strength of the Irish together on top of making sure all of Brenden’s hard work doesn’t go to waste.”

Saoirse, unfazed by my snapping, rolls her eyes. “So sleeping should be one of your priorities but instead, it’s your second day in a row where you’re just in here poring over paper.”

“I can’t sleep,” I admit stiffly. “Feels… wrong.”

“Why?” She leans forward, resting her forearms on her knees.

I stumble through a handful of thoughts, searching for the right words to explain this pit inside me. This grief that’s swelling like a balloon with each passing hour that Brenden’s killer walks free and the aching desire to see Evelyn again. As if her presence can make that balloon deflate even an inch. But no words come. I only stare at Saoirse until she finally looks away.

“Do you see him?” she asks softly, pressing her fingertips together. “I do. Every time I close my eyes, all I see are the crime scene photos. He was the best of us and he died like some dog in some disgusting motel, and we don’t even know why.”

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