Page 53 of The Celtic Resolution
Do I… hate him? She raises an interesting point. I’ve spent a long time trying to get on his good side but whydidI have to do all the work?
“Bruno?” Clarke, the night guard, waves me through. “Bay sixteen for you!”
“Gotcha. Thanks.” Driving onward, I mull over Mary’s question while she hums softly. “I guess I never really thought about it.”
“Really? Even with all that time in prison.”
“Yeah. I was pretty preoccupied there.”
“Yeah.” She yawns loudly and groans. “Well, I just wanted to ask about Dad. I’m tired. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Mary.”
“Love ya!” She hangs up before I can say it back and the cabin falls into darkness as I pull up alongside bay sixteen.
It takes twenty minutes to transfer all the paperwork and sign off on the containers I’ve delivered. The guys on the night shift seem half asleep, but I’m not in the mood to come down on them. My wounds are still tender, and it’s a slow night. So what if they take their time? After signing everywhere I need to sign to make this shit look official, I walk slowly back through bay sixteen while dialing Clarke’s number. He needs to call me a cab since I don’t have a ride back to the city.
Just as I’m about to hit the dial, a soft, muffled thump catches my attention. Stopping dead in the bay, I squint and scan through the darkness at the piled high shipping containers all ready to be dragged onto the next ship and sent overseas.
Nothing catches my eye amongst the shadows but just as I’m about to move on, it happens again. A soft thump, repeated this time in an incoherent pattern and then something that resembles the wounded squeal of an animal.
Did a dog get into the yard? Wouldn’t be the first time. Abandoning the call, I turn my phone flashlight on and head toward the containers I just dropped off. The noise gets louder but it’s not until I’m passing by the door of one that it hits me.
The noise isn’t coming from an animal stuck in one of the gaps. It’s coming from inside.
My father was clear with his instructions. Drive, deliver, and leave. That’s it.
Nothing more.
But if an animal has somehow snuck inside one of these then I can’t leave it. The poor thing would waste away in the middle of the ocean. Grabbing onto the metal lock at the bottom of the door, I slide it upward and use my limited strength due to my healing wounds to haul open the door a few inches. I half expect a dog to come bolting out as soon as the door opens but nothing does.
The thumping continues now, much louder than before.
Shining my phone inside, I peer around the door expecting to see crates upon crates of weapons, but the crates are only stacked on one side of the container.
On the other, barely visible at the back of the container, is a woman with blood running down her face from a wound she’s created on her forehead from repeated smacking against the container wall.
A woman with rose tattoos down one arm.
24
SAOIRSE
“Saoirse?” Cian’s knuckles tap lightly against the door, then he leans on the handle and opens it enough to allow a crack of light to streak across the room. “You awake?”
I glance at the clock. It’s after ten.
I should have been up hours ago but it’s getting harder and harder to face the world. Cormac is angry with me. The Italians and Irish continue to lock horns, and I accidentally shot Bruno. An accident that’s turned into fuel against us even though I took him to the hospital and did everything I could to make sure he got the best treatment.
“Careful,” I mutter into my pillow. “You don’t wanna be near me. I’m bad luck.”
“Ah, fuck that.” Cian opens the door fully and strides in. I track his heavy footsteps crossing the room until he drops down onto my legs at the end of the bed. “C’mon, Saoirse. This isn’t like you. I’ve never seen you wallow, not once.”
“This is different.”
“Is it?” His hand lands on the duvet just above my knee. “Talk to me. I’m worried.”
“Why?” Opening one eye, I peer through the dull light where the sun fights to get through the gaps in my blackout curtains. “Shouldn’t you be busy with Cormac?”
