Page 13 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

Liam shuts his eyes and sucks in air sharply. “You should have told me. I’d have killed him the day it happened.”

“Why did you do it?” I ask.

Liam’s body language shifts, his eyes lift toward the ceiling.

“I was sick of living in his shadow.”

That sentence is a lie. Liam and I both know that he was sick of his dad’s abuse. It was well known in the criminal circuit that his da had made him kill his mum by placing a car bomb in her Peugeot. A shiver traces down my spine as I wonder who else he’d made him kill.

“I’m glad you are finally at peace,” I say.

“I’m not,” he answers quickly, his eyes boring into mine.

“Oh?” I ask.

“You know what would give me peace?

“And you know I can’t date customers from the club?”

“I’ll stop being a customer. If you have dinner with me. Any restaurant, any time, just tell me.”

He stares at me so seriously. I actually feel sorry for him, pining for a stripper. What a cliché, but one he seemed to believe was actually driven from his heart and soul, if he had either.

“If you’re really serious, then you’ll find a way to show me you are.”

He smiles at me and nods as I open the door.

“Your dance is over.” I get up from the sofa, the music winds down, Liam defeated, remains seated, staring into my back. I reach for the door handle and turn on my heel.

Chapter Five

Ichange back into my leggings and black strappy top and leathers, but somehow my legs don’t want to mount my motorbike gleaming under the streetlamp.

My feet propel me away from the bike towards the high-rise parking lot I knew Liam’s henchmen always parked in.

The thunder would lead to rain and the rain would give me the perfect opportunity to wait strategically for an Uber I had no intention of ordering.

He’d be sure to drive by. The sight of me drenched in rain would be enough to make him insist that they take me home. And if he didn’t try to kidnap me, I could be sure he didn’t suspect anything. And if he did, well, CCTV would show me getting in his car.

There are only taxis cursing along the rain splattered tarmac. I pace, looking down at my phone, pretending to be exasperated, waiting for my Uber to arrive. The rain starts running down my back and neck, streaming off my leathers and soaking my hair.

I hear the roar of Liam’s engine approach. He wasn’t driving. Two men are sat in the front of his Rolls-Royce. I pray to the heavens above that he sees me. I pull my chin up towards the sky.

The sky crackles with veins of white lightning. They spread through the charcoal clouds, as if granting some magic spell.

The gleaming black car studded with rain drops rolls to a stop, and the back window slides down.

“What’s wrong with your bike?” He asks.

“I haven’t got the right tyres on to ride on tarmac in the rain. And I’m feeling a bit dizzy after work, so I’m waiting for an Uber.” I say, flashing him my phone, barely smiling. Keeping my elbows in to give the impression I wanted to take up as little space as possible. That I didn’t consider myself worth of riding in his car.

He opens the door. Rain splashing on his immaculate navy suit. His white shirt, sealed with a waistcoat made of the same material and a dark navy silk tie are instantly darkened by the rain.

“Get in the car Ciara. Who knows what could happen to you, waiting here alone, all wet,” he says with a predatory smirk.

Upon hearing my name, the two men in the front turn to each other and then to me.

“Who knows what could happen to me in the car with you?” I say.

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