Page 9 of Cowboy
I can’t believe this. Dylan’s gone and he’s never coming back.
I’m all alone. My family is gone.
3
COWBOY
I’m awoken by the sound of my cell ringing. Groggy and disoriented, I fumble to turn over and reach for it, my hand clumsy as I swipe my finger across the screen to answer.
"Hello?" I manage to croak out, my voice thick and heavy with sleep.
"Ciarán," comes the soft, broken sound of Caoimhe’s voice, barely more than a whisper yet laced with so much pain it sends a chill down my spine. "Dylan's dead."
A cold fist clenches around my stomach, and I inhale sharply, feeling the air catch in my throat. What the hell? "What? Caoimhe, what are you talking about?" I demand, my mind racing and heart pounding in my chest.
"The Gardaí are here," she says, her voice trembling with fear. "They found his body. Ciarán, what the hell was he involved in? What happened to my brother?"
Fuck. My thoughts spiral into a chaos of disbelief and dread. Dylan’s dead? This can't be happening.
"Jesus Christ," I whisper, the words barely escaping my lips as the enormity of the situation crashes over me. Shit, this has to be connected to the job Travis sent us to do. "Caoimhe, listen to me," I say urgently, trying to steady my voice despite the panic clawing at me. "Don't tell the Gardaí anything. Don't mention me, or any jobs, or anything unusual. Do you understand me?"
"Ciarán, please," she whispers, her voice quivering. "I need to know what happened to Dylan."
Christ, there’s no way I’d tell her, I think, as a wave of protective instinct washes over me. I won’t ever get her involved in this mess. "I can't explain everything over the phone. It's not safe," I say, my voice low and urgent. "But Dylan... he got caught up in something big. Something dangerous. We both did."
"The job you were talking about? The one that required staying low?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, but I can hear the pain and fear in her words so clearly.
"Yeah," I respond with a heavy sigh. This is too fucking much. It’s hard to believe this has happened. I wonder just how much she knows; how much she’s pieced together. "Look, Caoimhe, I promise I'll explain everything. But right now, you need to focus on staying safe. Don't tell the Gardaí anything about what Dylan might have been involved in. Just say you don't know."
"But—" she begins, her voice cracking.
"Please," I cut in, needing her to hear me. "Trust me on this. It's what Dylan would want. To keep you safe."
"Okay," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I won't say anything."
"Good," I say, relief mingling with the tension that’s still coiled in my chest. "I'll contact you soon. Stay safe, Caoimhe."
As I end the call, my mind races. Dylan's dead. How could this have happened? We were supposed to lay low and stay out of trouble. What went wrong?
I run my hands through my hair, trying to piece together the events of the last few weeks. The job at the abandoned housing estate, the package we retrieved, the men who chased us... It all seemed to have died down. We thought we were in the clear.
But clearly, we weren't.
My phone buzzes again, and I look down to see a text from Travis’ burner phone.
Travis: Meet at my apartment, ninety minutes.
He must know what happened to Dylan. Good. I need answers.
I slip out of the house, careful not to wake my ma. The streets are quiet at this hour, the city still sleeping. As I make my way to his apartment, I try to focus on everything besides Dylan. I’ve just lost my best friend and I have no fucking idea what happened.
When I arrive at his apartment, it’s pitch black. Shouldn’t he be here by now? I step inside cautiously, my hand instinctively moving to the gun tucked in my waistband.
The apartment is eerily quiet as I step inside. My eyes strain to adjust to the darkness, every sense on high alert. Something feels off.
"Travis?" I call out softly, my hand still resting on my concealed weapon.
No response.
