Page 7 of Stolen Rival
But first, I need to cry. I wish my bestie was here to hold the fractured pieces of me together, but I can’t call her. Not until I’m somewhere safe. I know Eabha. She’ll race round here with her hair on fire, not a single thought for her safety. I refuse to put anyone else in danger. When I reach Uncle Barry’s place, I’ll call her then.
When my five-minute timer goes off, it’s not nearly enough. But it has to be.
I find my backpack and giveit a once-over. With my cards not working, I grab the extra cash from my family’s bags and swipe the passports from my brothers—we look similar enough that I can cut my hair and pass for them in a pinch.
That’s a hundred and fifty thousand euros. It’ll keep me going for long enough to figure out how to get my cards replaced. Hopefully Da wasn’t so vengeful against Cathal that he refused to provide for him in case of an emergency like this, but I can’t count on that right now. I need to figure out a way to access the cash in his accounts and front-load Cathal’s care, too.
I tuck some money into my bra, and my shoe, in case I somehow get separated from my bag.
Be prepared for anything. Only pack what you can carry.Da’s voice is as clear in my mind as the bells pealing on a Sunday morning at the parish church. There’s a temptation to pack a suitcase, to go upstairs and take all my earthly belongings, but I can’t.
One, that would take precious time I might not have. I need to lie down, and soon, which means getting the hell out of this haunted house of horrors.
Two, if whoever killed my family hunts me down, traveling lighter is better.
And three, my body hurts so bad, I’m not sure even sheer determination could pull that damn shoe collection behind me in a suitcase. Instead, I grab Tiernan’s gun and some extra ammo even though I have no fucking clue how to use it. I hope it’s a point-and-shoot kind of deal or I’m screwed.
If I’m trying to stay under the radar, there’s no use in driving something flashy. According to Tiernan, Mammy made sure Da’s midlife crisis didn’t take over the family’s car collection entirely before she died. Apparently, his taste went a little off the wall after shepassed.
I try Uncle Barry’s phone while I stew over the remaining car keys on the hooks next to the door.
When he doesn’t answer, a warning pings deep in my brain, but I push it down. It’s a coincidence, not correlation. He’s busy, or sleeping, or eating, or doing thirteen million other things that means he can’t come to the phone right now. Hell, maybe he left the phone he loves-to-hate out in the pig pen again.
Aunt Hazel’s phone rings off as well, and I leave her a message telling her I’ll be leaving Leixlip shortly and heading their way as soon as I can. It’s a five-hour drive to their house, so I grab a second bag full of snacks and drinks from the kitchen, settle on a comfortable, fully fueled Audi A4, snatch the key, and take one last look around my childhood home.
Tears threaten again, but I shake my head. I don’t have time for grief. I don’t have time for anything but getting to safety, regrouping, and exacting revenge.
I have plenty of time for that.
Steeling my spine, I loosen my shoulders and slip the backpack strap on my shoulder before picking up the grocery bag of food. I refuse to make two trips to the car, even when I’m injured.
With one last, shaky breath, I pull open the door. The snack supply drops to my feet on a gasp.
A man stands on my porch. He has a face like thunder, and he’s clearly not here for a social call. His arm is outstretched and steady, his eyes cold, hard and fixed on me.
His hand is wrapped around the grip of a gun.
And it’s pointed right at me.
Chapter 4
PATRICK
It’sa good thing I’m fucking thorough.
After shooting every scumbag McCarthy, and their guards, I’d taken off up the hill that overlooks the house and waited for the Garda to arrive. I considered we had a live one when three ambulances screamed through the gates, sirens blaring, and several paramedics rushed inside the house. Sure enough, a few minutes later, they’d brought out McCarthy’s only daughter on a stretcher and loaded her into an ambulance.
A simple phone call told me which hospital they were taking her to, and a second phone call assured me she’d be under watch, and I’d be the first to know when, or if, she was released.
I’d stayed behind, watching with growing pleasure as paramedics brought out body bag after body bag. News regarding Brendan McCarthy’s brothers reached me. Gone. Good.
Once the emergency services had left, and the Garda secured the house, I’d headed home, satisfied that I only had one loose end to tie up. As soon as Sorcha McCarthyreturned to her house, I’d end this feud once and for all. And emerge the fucking victor.
Despite a deal struck decades ago with the three most powerful families on the island to end a violent war, it appears the McCarthys just couldn’t stand the idea of losing equal power after my family merged with Niamh’s. Brendan McCarthy always was a fucking idiot. Now with Niamh’s family gone, and the McCarthys wiped out, the Mahoneys are the only ones left. It’s not how I’d have chosen things to pan out, but since the opportunity has landed at my feet, I intend to take full advantage.
O’Sullivan’s organization will fall into line without any problem, and given we’re the last family standing in Ireland, the extra resources will come in handy.
The McCarthy’s organization on the other hand… I’ll need to come down hard.
