Page 27 of Irish Brute
“Good girl,” Braiden says as he sets me free.
I’m not a girl. And nothing about this situation is good.
“Come on,” he says, and his voice is normal again. “Let me show you your bedroom.”
I follow him down the hall, flexing my wrist to get feeling back into my hand. My pulse pounds harder where his fingers burned me. It takes a conscious effort not to look over my shoulder at the forbidden door.
I know I’ll try it again. When my husband isn’t watching over me.
11
BRAIDEN
Ilost control. It wouldn’t have happened if I’d slept last night. If I hadn’t spent hours driving between three bombed-out clubs. If I wasn’t spending every waking second figuring out how to cut off Russo’s bollocks and feed him his own prick.
The right thing to do was shrug when Samantha asked about the door. I should have told her I keep supplies in the attic. Christmas decorations. Empty boxes from every computer I’ve ever owned.
Now, I’ve needed to train one of Declan’s tiny spy cameras on the door across the hall so the motion-activated footage will go straight to my phone.
Fuck.
Eoghan is waiting with the Bentley. “Where to, Captain?” he asks, same as every morning.
“Let’s start at the Hare,” I say.
We catch the tail end of morning rush hour, so I have plenty of time to think about how I’m a feckin’ fool.
Samantha is curious about Aiofe. What woman wouldn’t be? At least the girl won’t spoil anything, telling tales out of school. This is the first time I’ve ever been grateful for her silence. Selective mutism, the doctors say.
Grace on the other hand… Well, the woman’s never said a single unnecessary word to me. I assume she’ll be as close-mouthed with Samantha.
I’d be happy to send Grace back to Dublin tomorrow. But Aiofe’s bad enough when the woman’s gone for a week at Christmas and a week in July. The child would go on a full-blown hunger strike if I took away her nurse forever.
Not to mention the chaos in the rest of the house.
Fairfax would miss gossiping with Grace in the kitchen. And I’m not eejit enough to upset Fairfax. Not when he’s the one keeping Thornfield Hall on the rails.
Eoghan pulls up in front of the Hare and Harp and asks, “Want me to wait around the corner?”
“No. I’ll call you if I’m going out. Otherwise, I’ll head home at five.”
This hour of the morning, the bar is locked up tight. I let myself in and breathe the smell of spilled beer and old leather. It’s too early for a scoop, so I head back to my office. I know the hallway well enough I don’t have to turn on the lights.
First things first. I call my man at Pennsylvania Hospital to get an update on the four girls who were taken in yesterday. One is already out; she’s heading home to San Antonio. I make a note to send her a severance package—a stack of unmarked hundred-dollar bills to tide her over till she makes a better choice of career.
Two other girls are likely getting out today. The fourth one is the kicker—in a medically induced coma, third-degree burns onmore than half her body. I don’t say it would be a mercy for her to slip away, but I think it.
As I hang up the phone, my arm starts to itch, deep and vicious, like something evil is chewing its way out from the inside. I swear and tell myself not to scratch the scar, because I know that only makes it worse. Of course, my fingers don’t listen to my brain. I barely stop before I break the skin.
I fucked up.
I spent the past week focused on Samantha. I had my men guarding her, making sure Russo didn’t come close. I concentrated on St. Columba’s, posting lookouts to guarantee the worst the church suffered was a ruined—now replaced—roof. I sent out runners, told the boys to listen for anything to do with Dover, with the freeport, with the Canna family.
But I lost track of the real threat. I didn’t stop the murdering wolf getting at my main flock.
And now I’m scrambling for a battle plan when the war’s already begun.
I call Patrick Moran, my Warlord, my chief enforcer. I call Madden too, telling both men to be here within fifteen minutes. Patrick will make it with a couple of minutes to spare. Madden will walk in at the last possible second.
