Page 116 of Savage Promises

I think back and wonder if there was something I could have said to fix us.

Now? I don’t even know where to start.

I can’t talk to Griffin or Ewan about it. Hell, I already know what they’d say.

‘What did you expect? She’s a Donnelly. They can’t be trusted.’

Maybe they’re right. But I don’t want them to be.

When my phone buzzes with Garrett’s name flashing across the screen, my first instinct is to ignore it. But curiosity, or maybe desperation wins.

“What?” I ask, my tone flat.

“Shane! How you doing, buddy?” Garrett says, sounding almost cordial.

“What do you want?”

He grumbles, sensing I’m not in the mood to gab. “Okay. Let’s clear the air. It’s time, Shane.”

I lean back in my home office chair. I don’t trust him, but what the hell do I have to lose? “Where and when?”

“Let’s have a few drinks. Come to my club tomorrow night. Lennox is working. She’s always working, right? You deserve a fun night out.” He clears his throat. “Like...old times.”

That has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. What the hell does hereallywant? He’s up to something and as usual, I have to keep an eye on him.

Like old times.

Fuck...

“Fine. I’ll be there at eight,” I say and hang up.

The following night, after Lennox leaves for work at her usual seven p.m., again not saying very much to me over a great dinner Liz cooked, I dress in a nice suit. Club Echelon has dwindled in popularity and class, but I’d rather stand out than blend in with the riff-raff.

Leaving the house, I wave off my guard and drive my Corvette. Alone.

After a slog across the bridge, I reach Club Echelon and park across the street. Opening the door to the club, the place reeks of cheap cologne over stale sweat. Flashing lights pulse in time with bass-heavy music. Scantily-clad waitresses move between tables carrying unrecognizable bottles of beer.

A pretty hostess with a tight smile greets me. “Just one tonight?”

“I’m here to see Garrett. Shane Quinlan.”

Her nostrils flare hearing my name. “Oh yes, Mr. Quinlan. Come with me.”

She brings me down a carpeted hallway with mirrored walls andnotthe back-of-house corridor to the office.

I stop. “Where the fuck are you taking me?”

“To Mr. Donnelly’s private lounge. He left instructions to make sure you’re comfortable,” she says, sounding nervous.

“And where isMr. Donnelly?”

“Mr. Donnelly is finishing a meeting. He instructed me to have you wait in here.” She opens the door to a VIP lounge.

For a second, I wonder if this is some kind of ambush. Garrett can’t be that stupid. He’ll be gunned down in a matter of hours. I step inside the room where the air is thick and musty.

Something feels off, but I’m armed, I can protect myself. I sit on the stiff velvet sofa and start scrolling through my phone to check for a message from Lennox. It’s always the same. And I’m always disappointed. Nothing.

The door opens a moment later, and a woman strides inside wearing a silver cocktail dress that leaves little to the imagination.

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