Page 94 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

Usually.

When she left, none of us ever saw her again. Daddy boasts she got her just desserts when she died some years later. He boasts, but on the inside, it destroyed him, as with her died the only woman he ever loved.

I open one eye and take in my twenty-four-year-old sibling. Unlike me, Tadgh, and Bee, who are all blue-eyed and blonde-haired, Conor’s coloring is exactly like his mom’s. Unruly black hair teamed with eyes the color of chocolate molasses. He’s handsome, being all tall and lean, with his tanned, inked skin. He’ll be breaking the hearts of young girls all the way across the state, that’s for sure.

My smile fades slightly. He used to get up to those sorts of shenanigans with Rafael. His best friend. It’s hard to believe it’s been almost a year since he lost his life when my baby sister staged a rescue attempt to save Paul Delaney.

“Jay.”

Well, if it isn’t the devil himself. I open both eyes and take in all three male O’Briens.

“Daddy. Tadgh.”

I stare at my daddy with his long, light blonde hair and pale blue eyes. He’s going grey now. He’s getting older. My daddy’s handsome in his own unique way with his angular features and a well-kept beard to finish off the look. He’s a Dubliner. He was born on the Emerald Isle and moved to Nevada when he was sixteen. I never met my grandparents. Both died in a car wreck when my daddy was eighteen. He was embraced by the local MC, then made his way through the ranks to become prez at the age of twenty-two. He’s held that position ever since, so almost thirty-four years now.

His real name is Liam. His road name is Lucifer. It’s fitting. He’s the devil, alright.

He walks over to me, pulling me to him and wrapping his arms around me. His familiar woodsy cologne embraces me almost like a second fatherly hug. He’s a mountain of a man. Not fat. Every inch is toned, deadly muscle. He’s never let himself go.

“You had a falling out with those Irish boys you been working for?” His voice is dark and deadly. It’s a voice you don’t disobey. Not if you know what’s good for you. Not many do, and those who do seldom live to tell the tale.

“Nope.”

“You sure about that, Jay?”

“As sure as eggs are eggs, Daddy-O. And please don’t talk to me like I’m Little Bee. I’m a grown-ass woman. I’ve looked after myself since I was eighteen years old. If there was anything you needed to be made aware of, I’d tell you. You know that.”

I walk away from the SUV and head for the house, winking at Tadgh on the way past. He’s the carbon copy of my daddy, just some twenty-plus years younger.

For some reason, neither of my brothers ever took a road name. Or at least I don’t think they did. Not that I ever associated myself with the MC or frequented the clubhouse, so I don’t know for sure.

“Not found yourself an old lady yet?”

“Nope.”

“Been looking?”

“Nope.”

“You put the coffee on?”

“Yup.”

“Nice to know you still have the ability to prioritize, big brother. Oh, and can you bring my bags in for me?”

“What did your last servant die of?”

“Same thing you will if you don’t hurry along.” I snicker.

“Welcome back, Jay.”

“Thank you, Tadgh. It’s mighty good to be back.”

CHAPTERFORTY

ROISIN

The O’Connell Home, Darling, New York

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