Page 44 of Dublin Beast

I don’t need to pee. I think between not eating and vomiting as violently as I did, I don’t have anything left in me. “Bed sounds amazing, but I wouldn’t mind brushing my teeth. It feels like a moth spun a cocoon in my mouth and the caterpillar just rotted.”

His ebony brows arch. “That sounds unpleasant.”

Very.

He leaves me bundled up and sitting on the toilet for a moment, rushes out, and rushes back with a paper bag with a pharmacy logo on it. “Kieran grabbed a few things from downstairs to tide us over until our belongings catch up with us. We left in a bit of a rush and won’t be going back to Liverpool anytime soon.”

And for once, I’m not even curious to find out how they found me or where we are. For right now, all I want is a toothbrush and then bed.

While I work on exorcizing the death from my mouth, he settles in behind me, his fingers gentle as they comb through my damp hair. He works out the tangles, makes a loose braid and grabs an elastic from the bag to tie it.

My heart squeezes at the tenderness in his touch. I swallow, my voice barely above a whisper. “How are you so good at this?”

Bryan’s hands still for half a second before he exhales, a sound that feels heavier than it should. “Before she died, the woman I loved was sick. I took care of her.”

I turn my head slightly, glancing at him over my shoulder. His expression is unreadable, and for the first time since I met him, I see the man in that picture.

CHAPTERTWELVE

Bryan

The farmhouse isn’t what I expect.

I pictured something old and forgotten, a quiet place on the edge of nowhere where the authorities could stash a woman willing to spill her guts.

Instead, the structure standing at the end of the long dirt road is anything but abandoned.

Kieran and I crouch behind the thick line of trees that border the property, the scent of damp earth and leaves heavy in the air. From this vantage point—with the help of some high-powered binoculars—I take in the fortified building ahead. Strong brick walls, reinforced steel doors, and windows so dark I’d bet my last euro they’re bulletproof.

The place isn’t a hideout—it’s a fucking fortress.

Two armored SUVs are parked in the gravel drive, both the kind made to withstand more than just a few rounds of live fire, but to ram through whatever stands in their way.

Along the porch, three men stand in a loose formation, GPMG machine guns slung across their chests, casual but alert. And on foot patrol, there is another pair of guards walking the perimeter.

All of them trained men.

“Jesus,” Kieran mutters under his breath. “This isn’t just some safe house. This is a goddamn compound.”

My jaw tightens. “Harper said Sentinel is run by ex-military and cops. Looks like they take their reputation for security solutions seriously.”

“Unfortunately.”

Doesn’t matter. If they have Siobhan Daley in there, no army, no matter how threatening, will keep me from getting to her.

“Maybe a distance attack,” I whisper. “Do you know anyone with rocket launchers?”

Kieran looks at me and his brows arch. “It’s like that, is it, big boy?”

I chuckle. “It may be. I’m just brainstorming a way that might take her out from a distance.”

“And can you live with that? You’ve been fantasizing about snapping her neck since the moment we left home.”

“Aye, I have, but dead is dead.”

Kieran shifts his attention back to his binoculars and nods. “How do we confirm she’s here? Blowing up an international defector or something unrelated would be bad form.”

“Aye, it would.”

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