Page 89 of The Chief
Shifting into a more comfortable position, I stretched out my legs. “Molly will want to keep her close.”
“You know I can’t have women around here without a purpose. This isn’t some fucking country club.”
“We can set her up in the kitchen,” I offered. “In exchange for our protection, she can cook.”
“And Molly?”
“She’s a nursing student. She can join Fallon.”
A ghost of a smile flexed Finnan’s mouth. “We’d be the only clan with two medics.”
I nodded.
“Fine. What about the Russian-American bitch?”
Now, that was something I didn’t know. “She was sold to the Fiach Clan in exchange for a foothold in Ireland. Now that she’s gone, I can’t imagine her father will hold up his end of the bargain. We may have signed Gannon’s death warrant by bringing her here.”
“Exactly. We can’t keep her, and I have no interest in sharing a bed with the Bratva. Ireland should belong to the Irish Clans.”
“What are you proposing?”
“The girl either leaves of her own volition, or she disappears.”
“You’d get rid of her?”
“I’d do what’s best for the clan. She’s a fucking neon sign to both her father and our enemies that we’ve fucked up. I won’t risk the clan for her.”
I nodded, knowing he was right, but my gut twisted at the thought of what Molly would say about this. “What do we do with her until we figure out a plan?”
“Keep her here. Keep her locked down. No leaving the compound.”
“A prisoner, then?”
Finnan drained the rest of the bottle. “Aye. A prisoner.”
I could deal with that. It was better than being held in a warehouse somewhere. Being held here afforded her some freedom, even if in reality everywhere will have bars.
“Get Fallon to treat your fucking hands and send in your woman. I need to speak to her.”
Chapter 28
Molly
Air hissed between my teeth as Fallon dabbed at the wound on my head.
“Sorry! Sorry,” she muttered, dumping the used gauze into the trash and grabbing up another sterile bundle. We were in the compound’s kitchen, Orla seated beside me, while Mila poked through the fridge like she already felt at home. I wondered how the woman didn’t wilt at Orin’s intense glare, which was aimed at the back of her head. He was standing guard over his woman, but not intruding on her work.
“It’s okay,” I told Fallon.
“Once I’m done with your head, I can take care of your hands.”
I stared down at my palms, mentally counting the splinters that were deeply embedded into the first few layers of skin. There must’ve been at least thirty in each palm, and each flex of my fingers made them ache. While we were escaping, I hadn’t noticed the pain, but they throbbed now.
“Was Keir injured too?” Fallon asked.
“Ah, yeah. Broken hand, I think, plus his knuckles are pretty bad.”
Fallon stepped back to look at me. “What the hell happened to you guys? The only thing I know is you were here one minute, then gone for almost three days. It looks like you’d both been in a war and come back with survivors.”
