Page 101 of Dublin Beast

I do miss him. I miss him soul deep.

The silence his absence left behind is louder than anything I’ve known. Still…

“I made the right choice. Bryan is dangerous. He kills people without hesitation. He lives in a world of shadows and blood, and I can’t condone that.”

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

Drake nods slowly, pursing his lips. “I’ve known the bloke for years. I can honestly say he’s never ended anyone where it didn’t make the world a better place.”

Of course he’d say that—he’s loyal to the Quinns.

“That’s what I thought at first too—that he only hurtbadpeople—but that was me glossing over a reality I didn’t want to look at too closely.”

His gaze narrows. “Excuse me for saying so, but I think you’re selling yourself short if you think you could be that wrong about someone. And selling him short, at the same time.”

I don’t think so, yet here I am, standing in the middle of a safehouse, holding the most important discovery of my investigation… wishing he was here to celebrate.

Am I wrong about him and morally skewed or am I right about him and not listening to my instincts?

If I’m wrong about Bryan… I need to know.

If I’m right about him… I need to accept it.

I just can’t get the sight of Siobhan lying dead on that bed out of my head. Maybe I need to stop focusing on the end result and learn more about what led up to him killing her, to take my emotions out of this and look at it objectively, as a journalist.

For that, I would need a source.

Turning to Drake, I set my research on the table. “I need you to do me a favor.”

* * *

Drake is standing by the front window, arms crossed, the tilt of his head sharp and alert. When the luxury SUV pulls into the driveway, he straightens. By the time the six-foot-six blond driver opens the door to the back seat and escort’s Bryan’s older brother to the house, Drake’s on the move.

The front door swings open as the first step of the porch creaks under an expensive, polished, Italian leather shoe.

“Hey, boss.” Drake dips his chin and steps back.

I rise to my feet a little too fast, my heart kicking up a notch. Be cool. No biggie. It’s just Bryan’s brother.

Yeah, the mafia Head of Family—Tag Quinn.

My one and only interaction with Tag was the five minutes of polite conversation on the docks. A handshake. A thank you. A nod of approval. I was exhausted in that moment, but he came off like the head of a tight-knit family—a bit intense, but still approachable.

Now?

Now he feelslarger than life. Sharper. Like the silence around him stretches farther, pulls tighter.

Maybe having Drake arrange this meeting broke some unspoken mafia rule. Maybe Tag thinks I’m stepping out of line, calling him into my borrowed safehouse, asking for answers about things I don’t understand.

Or maybe… me asking him to discuss a murder his brother committed under his order puts him on edge.

Does he think I’ll talk about it? I won’t. Hell, I am complicit in the whole thing.

Tag steps inside, nodding to Drake. “Leave us.”

Drake nods again. He grabs his keys off the side table and turns to me, his frame more rigid than usual. “Congrats again on the guest lists. If you need me for anything on the research end, I’m only a text away.”

“Thank you.”

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