Page 77 of The Irish Redemption

“I hear you,” Saoirse says, watching me intently. “You really do love her.”

“I—” The thought catches in my mind. I’d blurted it out earlier without thinking, but now that thought sits heavily with me. It’s a comforting weight, like the warmth of a cat sitting in your lap or the first warm drink after a day spent in the cold. “I do,” I say tightly. “I really do.”

“Shit,” Cian murmurs. “Brenden always said we’d be screwed when you finally fell in love. I thought he meant we’d have to deal with your becoming a sappy bastard.”

“No,” Saoirse says, her eyes on me. “He knew the world would burn the second Cormac found love. We just hoped it would burn in our favor.”

I roll my eyes, curling my hand into a fist against my leg. Sitting around unable to go looking for Evelyn is killing me. Waking to learn that my kidney ruptured in the crash was one thing, but nothing hurt as much as learning Evelyn handed herself over to save Saoirse. I don’t know what prompted such a thing, but I’ll never be able to repay her for her selflessness.

But I’ll try the moment I get her back.

If I get her back.

Because I love her, and I’ll tear down the entire city to find her if I have to.

Saoirse and Cian remain in my room for a few hours, quietly discussing our next course of action. Cian’s pretty set on making sure we both stay in hospital, but when Saoirse gets up to leave, we exchange a look. She knows I won’t stay here, and she won’t stop me. She plays up her injury and gets Cian to escort her back to her room, giving me the window I need.

Slipping into the bathroom, I tear off the paper gown and dig my clothes out of the bag. The bloodstains don’t faze me. I’d walk out of here stark naked if I needed to. I have no idea where to start looking, but breaking some Italian skulls feels like a good place to begin. Dressed, I quickly wash my face, scarcely feeling the pain of the minor bruises and scratches from the crash. As I walk back into my room, the entrance door closes softly as if someone just left. I’m about to follow when I spot a folder sitting on the tray table with a Post-It note attached.

This is better in your hands than mine.

Opening the file, I’m met with the medical and personal information of a man I don’t recognize. It’s not until I read further down at the listed injuries that I realize this is the driver from the car crash, the man who vanished from the hospital. According to the report, his injuries are minimal, and he signed himself out against medical advice concerning his dislocated shoulder.

That fucker.

If he were still here, I’d be inclined to think the crash was an accident, but he ran like a fucking rat.

I’ve found my first face to break.

“Please!” the man gasps under the weight of my fist around his throat. “Please!”

He squawks like a gull as I haul him off the wall and lift him in the air, then I throw him down onto the nearby table in his shitty living room. Wood splinters and breaks under the force. I don’t release my grip. His squawks turn to agonized yells when I press my other hand down onto his injured shoulder—it was easy to tell which one he was favoring due to the way he defended himself when I kicked down his front door.

“Please isn’t what I want to hear,” I snarl, bringing my face close to his. Tracking him down from the hospital was easy, and finding a gun in his hand answered my questions about whether the driver who hit me was a regular pedestrian or not.

This fucker has some skill. I know a contract killer when I see one.

“Please, I—” The man gargles and chokes around my fist, drowning in the blood streaming from his smashed-in face. The moment he tried to run, my anger overcame me and I poured all my rage into attacking him until he was ready to talk.

He caved disappointingly quickly.

“I want a name,” I snarl. “I want to know who the fuck hired you to hit me!”

“I… don’t… have a—name!”

“Why the fuck not?”

“No names,” he squeaks out, clawing at my arm. “Part–Part of the deal!”

“What was the deal?”

He tries and fails to talk, and it’s not until his face turns purple that I realize I’m strangling him a bit too well. Forcing myself to relax my grip around his throat, I glare down as he gasps desperately for air.

“What. Deal.”

“It was anonymous,” he chokes out through bloodied teeth. “A simple hit. I met with the guy, he gave me a picture and told me to kill her. I failed the first time. She had protection, so I bolted.”

“The girl, did you get her name?” I know the answer but I need to hear him say it.

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