Page 50 of It Will Always Be You
“The man who had me, Kyle, would invite visitors. There was one, Benedict, who had my sister. I’m pretty sure Benedict’s ties to the rat ran deep,” I confess, looking up at him. Confusion darts across his face before he clears his throat and sits forward, closing the gap between us. “What makes you say that?”
“Little things he would say—comments about how he vouched for them, how he had pull over them. Saying it out loud, it doesn’t sound like a lot; it’s more like a gut feeling, I guess.” I frown. Putting my finger on why I think Benedict and the rat were tightly connected has been driving me crazy.
Letting out a breath, he holds eye contact. “If I’m honest, that would explain a lot. It feels like everywhere we look is a dead end, but if we turn our gaze inwards, well…”
“I’m sorry.”
I watch him across the table. The weight of the betrayal, the secrets, the uncertainty—it’s all carved into his expression. His handsomeface is drawn tight with frown lines, and the spark that once lived in his eyes is gone, replaced by something harder.
Someone’s pissed all over the core values of the Points—family and honour above everything—and now he’s left to pick up the pieces.
Someone is carrying tales to the worst kind of people, and the fallout’s going to be ugly.
I can already hear the outrage. The demands for blood.
Chapter 45
The days blur together as I hit dead end after dead end. After Helen confided suspicions that our rat problem might be internal, I compiled a list of who it could be, of people who raise my hackles and those who are a tad too innocent. Perhaps now is the time to follow Logan’s lead and give the whole organisation a shakeup. Just because we’re family doesn’t mean anyone’s spot in the Points is guaranteed—if you fuck around and find out, that one’s on you.
I can already picture my brothers’ reactions. Seamus will no doubt be pulling out his hair as he comes up with a plan of action. Meanwhile, Declan will do little more than grind his teeth as he stews in the corner. Jack will likely start drafting his own list of names with Brennan’s help—who will do little more than push his glasses up his nose and sigh at the inconvenience, leaving Ciaran to be the one to blow his fuse and turn as red as his hair. It’s a shit storm waiting to happen.
“Fucking hell,” I grunt to myself as I stare at the list of names glaring back at me. The second I hit send and ask the twins to start looking into these fuckers, there’s no taking it back. Once the seedof suspicion is planted, it can’t be undone. Even if we’re wrong, the damage—the broken trust—will be irreversible. Picking up my phone with a sigh, I bite the bullet.
“Yeah?” Brennan answers, sounding less than impressed at being interrupted. God knows what the fucker is up to at this time of night—probably hacking his way through the government’s security systems for the fun of it.
“I’m about to send you a list of names to look into for me. This little rat problem might be a bit closer to home, so we need to keep this on the down low for now, yeah?” The silence on the other end of the line does little to reassure me that this is the right move, but I forge ahead. “There’s every chance I’m wrong, but we can never be too careful. If anyone gives you pause, work with Ciaran to bring them in, yeah?”
“Christ, Johnny. This shit is nuclear.”
“You can say that again. Have any luck across the water?”
“No, Logan and Owen turned this place over pretty thoroughly. It looks like whoever killed the fucker knew what they we’re doing. No signs of a struggle, but the place has been raided, either by the kids or the murderer,” he muses, frustration bleeding into his tone at the wasted trip.
“Or both. Get the runners to dig up the back yard. All signs point to that fucker being the last to see Freya alive…”
“You think she might be buried here…” he fills in the blanks.
“Maybe. Either way, we should check.” Helen’s sister—Cora’s aunt and Logan’s mother—deserves more than being forgotten about in some garden in Belfast. If she’s still there, she needs to be brought home where she can rest in peace. It’s the least she deserves.
“Roger that.” As he hangs up, I send across the list with a pit in my stomach. Shaking it off, I switch gears to deal with the next thing on tonight’s agenda. Ever since Logan and Abigail’s wedding and the subsequent merger, we’ve been trying to get the Clan cleaned up while also working out who exactly is behind the sick and twisted sextrafficking ring. But much like me, Logan has had his fair few setbacks and dead ends. Pouring myself a whiskey, I log onto Zoom and wait for him to join.
“Jonathan, good to see you. How’re things?” he greets me, and even through the computer screen, I can see the way his eyes dart to the sides.
“She’s not here,” I mutter with a roll of my eyes. “If you want to get to know your aunt that bad, there are these things called phones. Ever heard of them?”
“And just how do you propose I get her number? Not all of us have IT geniuses on the take, and I don’t see you handing it out.”
“Bloody right, you don’t. But that doesn’t mean you can’t ask around—I’m sure someone would be willing to play messenger for you. Now, back to business: any news?” As fun as it is to wind him up, I steer us back on track. The sooner we get this shit worked out, the sooner I can focus on the important things. My woman. My family. Our future.
Chapter 46
The next few weeks blur together as I slowly but surely get caught up on everything I missed. Our lunch that day only served to remind me of everything I missed, everything stolen from me, which I was determined to rectify. One phone call later, and Donna and Cora were enroute, ready to give me a crash course on the last few years, with receipts to back them up in the form of camera rolls.
Seeing videos of Jonathan walking Cora down the aisle, of their father daughter dance, knowing I should have been there to witness it, relights the need for revenge inside me. Yes, Kyle and Benedict may have been dealt with, but the fact remains—there are still more monsters like them out there, preying on the vulnerable. Clinging to that rage and using it to bolster my strength, I’ve shared as many details as I can with Jonathan without laying myself bare and picking at the barely scabbed over wounds.
I’m sure he’s worked it out for himself, but the thought of putting those horrors into words isn’t something I can stomach just yet. Getting the all clear from the clinic was a miracle that nearly brought meto my knees with relief. They might have tarnished me in a hundred different ways, but at least they didn’t give me something that would linger forever.
“What’s going through that pretty head of yours?” Looking up at Jonathan, I bite back a whimper. The man wears the hell out of a suit, but seeing him in a tight tee and sweatpants? Lord have mercy.
