Page 92 of Dublin Beast

She edges her way down the drain shaft and my anxiety doesn’t ease. They can’t beat or rape her now if they come back, but they could still shoot down the drain and kill her that way.

I hate that my mind works that way, that I can envision the horrors of all the ways someone could be killed in any situation.

An occupational hazard, I suppose.

Her foot slips below the ceiling line above where I’m standing and I surge forward, reaching up to catch her calf. “I’ve got you.”

She swears under her breath but steadies herself.

Finally, she lowers far enough for me to slide my arms around her waist and ease her down into the water beside me. Her body presses against mine, hot against the cold, and for one heartbeat—one stupid, out-of-place heartbeat—I forget we’re in a storm drain escaping capture by the Masons.

“Thanks,” she mutters, her breath brushing the side of my jaw.

I nod once. “You okay?”

“Not even a little.”

“Good. I’d be worried if you were.”

I take her hand, my fingers closing tight around hers. With my other hand braced on the curved tunnel wall, we start forward. Water sloshes with every step, slow and heavy. The ceiling dips low, forcing us to hunch.

“Can you see where you’re going?”

I squint, straining my gaze forward. “Nope. It’ll be slow going, but no matter what it takes, I’ll get you out of here.”

* * *

The first boot hits the dock with a solid thud, and just like that, I’m home. The air smells different here—salt and soot and diesel, laced with the unmistakable burn of turf smoke carried in from the outskirts.

Dublin’s heartbeat. Imperfectly perfect.

I step off the loading ramp of the cargo boat, muscles aching from the journey, Harper and Kieran trailing behind me. The wind off the Liffey bites through my jacket, but I hardly feel it.

What Idofeel are the eyes waiting for me.

Tag’s the first to move—arms crossed, face unreadable until I’m two steps from him. Then he pulls me into a crushing hug that nearly knocks the air out of me. “Welcome home, B. You’ve been missed, brother.”

“Aye, I missed home, too.”

“Well, you took your sweet-ass time getting back to where you belong.” Brenny pulls me in, slapping my back.

“Things were hot. We had to take the scenic route,” I say into his shoulder.

When he pulls back, Sean steps in, pulling me into a bear hug that nearly dislocates my ribs. It’s like he knows I nearly got dead half a dozen times across two countries. “Good to see your ugly mug, little brother.”

“I’m happy to be seen.”

And Finn—always our quietest—clasps my arm and holds tight, nodding once. “Glad to have you home.”

I chuckle. “Brendan getting on your nerves without me here to distract him?”

Finn rolls his eyes and chuckles. “You have no idea.”

“Hey,” Brenny protests. “Fuck you, assholes.”

The five of us chuckle and the familiarity of it soothes my nerves more than anything else has.

The Dublin Devils are representing, too—half a dozen rough bastards in patched leather, arms folded over chests, one or two offering nods of greeting.

---