Page 72 of Dublin Beast

“They’re on the move, so we’re about to find out either way.”

Kieran and I watch as the drone’s thermal imaging tracks a coordinated advance. Four teams of six men advance on the farmhouse from all sides.

Dressed in black. Guns up. Moving in a surprisingly tight formation, they creep toward the house.

This night just got a whole lot more interesting.

Gunfire erupts. It’s on.

* * *

Harper

Sitting at the table with my laptop, I work my way through the names of Windsor Catering employees that worked Eddie Mason’s sex-trafficking auctions. It boggles my mind. Having signed an NDA, I can maybe understand them not going to the police, but signing up to work another event?

A dozen of these assholes worked all four events since the beginning of the summer. Do they have no morals? The pay can’t bethatgood. Are they being coerced? Blackmailed, maybe?

The only bright spot to this screwed up mess is that the July 26th event directly coincides with the disappearance of Macie and Chantal. And the September 17th event lines up with the last time Anton heard from Zhara.

As horrible as it is—this is great news.

Now, all I need is to look into these people and find the ones most likely to tell me what I need to know. Like who attended those events and who bid on my friends?

I pick up my mug and lean back on the bench seat, sipping my peppermint tea.I’m getting closer, girls.

My mug makes a heavy sound when I set it back on the table and I make sure I don’t set it too close to Bryan’s laptop. A flash of blue foil makes me smile—a condom packet I missed.

I pull the little square from under Bryan’s laptop and let my mind wander to this afternoon’s horizontal hijinks.

It’s a wicked little highlight reel—Bryan’s possessive hands, his hungry mouth, the power behind those hips of his. Damn. It’s like he was built for the sole purpose of wrecking me in the best possible way.

I bite my lip, laughing at myself. Friends who fuck is one of the most brilliant things I ever came up with.

Because that man can fuck.

It’s not an exaggeration to say he’s likely ruined me for all other men. Not that I can imagine myself with any other men. Not really.

But like the song says, ‘We’re here for a good time. Not a long time. So have a good time. The sun don’t shine everyday.’

Well, the sun was shining on me today.

I reach for my phone to fire off a quick text to him.

How’s the surveillance?

Watching a gunfight ATM.

WTF? You okay?

We are. Another group attacking the farmhouse. Waiting for the dust to settle.

Stay sharp.

Always.

I set the phone down and let that sink in. My FWF buddy is watching a gunfight and will text me once bullets stop flying. That’s not good.

I get that I’m an adrenaline junkie and dove into investigative journalism because I’m drawn to danger, but this is not a normal situation.

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