Page 5 of Royal Beast
Once it’s decided, Rory sets the plan in motion while I get to work on some business deals.
Though I try to focus on the task at hand, my thoughts keep playing back to the events of the day, and by five o’clock, I’m sick of stewing in my own thoughts. I head for Black Sheep Tavern, needing a drink to clear my head.
As I settle onto a barstool, Seamus, the bartender, gives me a wave from where he’s cleaning a glass. “Pint of Blackrock,” I tell him, and he nods, reaching for a glass and heading over to the tap.
Fuck. What the hell happened today? I still have no answers, but I know we’re not letting the situation lie. No one undermines us and gets away with it.
The place starts getting louder as more people pile in, conversation settling to a dull roar in the background. I’m sittingat a small table in the corner, trying to lie low and hoping to go unnoticed. Seamus brings me my pint. I take the first sip, the bitter taste doing little to quell my racing thoughts. Everything is too much, too loud.
Leaning back in my chair, I close my eyes, trying to breathe through the noise. Suddenly, a voice cuts through the clamor, low but clear enough to pull me out of my reverie.
“… can’t believe you let Flynn’s debts get that high.”
I open my eyes and sit up a little, my interest piqued. Are they talking about Max Flynn?
“Well, he was good for it, until he wasn’t,” comes the reply, a voice much older, gruffer.
My attention sharpens. The bastard is always good for it until he isn’t. I lean in, trying to make out more over the din of the crowd.
“How was I supposed to know the idiot sold his house and now has no money left?” The voice becomes familiar. Niall “The Fixer” snorts as he takes a drink.
My body goes rigid. Did Max really sell their house? Shit. How much debt does the man owe? Irritation surges again as I realize I missed Max falling back into the gambling hole this time.
Fuck.
My mind reels, flashing back to a cold, rainy night four years ago. Max had shown up at the Black Sheep along with his daughter, Darcy. I’d been instantly intrigued by the beautiful, curvy girl with dark hair. One look at her icy blue eyes and I was utterly captivated. We talked all night and then found ourselves falling into bed together before she took off in the wee hours of the morning.
I’d tried to see her again after that night, but she blew me off. I knew it was because of who I was and the world I lived in, soI tried to forget about her. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get Darcy out of my head.
I lean in, straining to catch their words over the noise of the crowd, hoping to catch more of their conversation just to make sure I wasn’t hearing things incorrectly.
“So, yeah, the bastard sold the house and is broke,’ Niall mutters, voice thick with disdain. “Can you believe it?” My jaw tightens. Fucking Max, always in debt. Niall’s next words make my blood run cold. ‘We’re going after the daughter now.”
The words hang in the air, triggering something primal inside me. I try to breathe through the rage. Finn would tell me to wait, to think. But knowing Darcy could be in danger makes it impossible.
I’m standing up before I even register the movement, enraged that he’d even consider hurting Darcy like that. Those aren’t Brannagan family values.
“Since when do we go after women and children?” I demand, sneering at Niall. He rolls his eyes.
“Relax, Boss, we’re just gonna pay her a friendly visit,” he replies, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “But if she gets mouthy with us, that’s when we’ll have to get rough,” he adds.
The smirk he’s wearing pushes my buttons and my fist flies out, connecting with Niall’s jaw. “You’re a twisted bastard, Gallagher! We don’t fuckin’ do shit like that and you damn well know it!”
I don’t know if I’m more angry at Niall or Max. They’re both assholes, as far as I’m concerned, but right now, Max is on my shit-list. He’s put Darcy’s life in danger and I’m not going to stand for it.
I’m about to deck Niall again just to vent my anger when my phone buzzes. I reach for it, wondering if it’s Rory with news about the Russians.
“Brannagan.” My tone is clipped, irritation still surging, but the voice on the other end stops me short.
“Kellan, it’s Darcy Flynn.”
Her voice is wispy, like a ghost from the past I thought I’d buried.
“Can we meet to talk?”
My breath catches for a second, the fight already forgotten.
3
