“Jesus fucking Christ.” Griffin runs a hand through his light auburn hair.
“There are enough Quinlans here,” I say. “You don’t need me for this. You need me on the streets, keeping your reign intact.”
Before Griffin can argue, I step away, but notice Rhys doesn’t follow. Rarely are my brothers and I not in agreement. I just challenged Rhys’s loyalty.
His brother Trace joins us, feeling the tension from several feet away. With more details gathered by our trackers, Trace agrees we should get over to that club and help Tahiri.
Griffin looks for Shane, who’s sitting with Lennoxandour mother. Shane is our fixer, our mastermind. But today, he’s Ma’s strength.
“Be fucking careful,” Griffin grits out through clenched teeth and stalks off to be with his wife.
Rhys and I pull off a perfect Irish exit, leaving without any goodbyes. We just dip out of the gathering and disappear into the sweltering August heat.
CHAPTER THREE
Connor
“Griffin is annoyed,” Rhys says, leading us to his Audi.
“I’ll kiss the ring and his arse later,” I mutter, giving a subtle nod to Blade and Jett, our trackers parked in an old Denali across the street.
Hitmen hanging around my Da’s memorial service would have pissed off Griffin even more than us leaving early to deal with a rival crime lord.
But where I go, the trackers go.
I don’t keep my apartment surrounded 24/7. I live in one of those rare tucked-away enclaves here in Manhattan. It needs to remain a secret. Guards and hitmen hanging around non-stop will finger my location.
The place is secure, but it also means very little to me. It’s a place to crash. Since I fucked that lovely complication there, it’s felt extra empty and stale.
Sitting next to Rhys in his Audi, I feel the urge to talk about the woman I can’t get out of my mind. Thoughts of her are cresting like a wave after the day I spent listening about love and legacy. Asking for advice sits on the tip of my tongue. I’m worried my cousin will look at me like I have ten heads. I’m not a relationship guy.
But that one fantastic night has me climbing the walls to find her.
I open my mouth to confess my sinful thoughts, but I’m cut off when Rhys parks across the street from a seedy club with chipped bricks for a façade. We get out and approach the entrance with Blade and Jett on our six.
Inside, the joint reeks of sweat and more of that crap whiskey. The dense crowd keeps the four of us shieldedand off the radar. I only wish Rhys and I could have changed out of our suits.
“That’s him,” Rhys says in my ear. “Tahiri. Ten o’clock.”
I take in the dark-haired man in black pants, a black shirt, and worn-out shoes, sitting on a velvet wing-back chair. Tahiri has a woman draped across his lap while others wait in line for their turn with him. He’s probably selling them hits of X with his tongue.
Drugs, especially one mixture called white thunder, and human trafficking have been the Albanians’ signature and primary form of income, and the reason they need so many weapons. Only, they prefer to steal them from other crime families. The sin that quickly made them everyone’s top enemy.
“Let’s get ahead of this raid.” I can’t stand to be in this disgusting club one second longer. Not when all I can think about is her. “Find the damn stockroom.”
Rhys hikes over to a hallway manned by a mountain with a goatee. “I’d like to use a private bathroom.” He palms some cash and hands it to the bouncer.
“No can do,” he says with a head shake that releases the stench of days-old aftershave.
“Let me rephrase my request.” Rhys teases the guy to come closer and then punches him in the throat.
The guy collapses back, gasping for air. The force of the hit shakes a few strands of Rhys’s long hair from his man bun.
Looking wild with those dark locks around his sharp-angled face, he shoves wads of cash into the bouncer’s jacket over a heaving chest. “For your medical bills.”
Blade and Jett drag the loser further down the hall before the attack gets Tahiri’s attention.
The narrow hallway is covered with the worst wallpaper I’ve ever seen. A door in the middle gives mepause.