Page 30 of Dirty Eoin

“What if she can’t use it?”

“Who would have taken her? She was dressed as a wedding guest.”

“I have no idea… Actually, wait.”

My cold blood now turns to fucking ice. “I have no idea where my da is either.” I whisper my thoughts aloud.

“Dylan…” he growls. I hear the threat behind it. A threat that’s letting me know that if my da so much as harms one hair on Jaine Jones’s head there will be outlaw war. That the bloodbath witnessed today will be nothing in comparison.

“Leave it with me, Razr. I’ll keep you posted.” I hang up before he can threaten to cut out my throat.

Spinning around, I jog back inside. “Eoin.” The others look at me as I beckon him over, likely wondering why I’m being secretive.

“What is it, Dyl?” He frowns at me.

“Jaine was here today,” I murmur.

His look turns to one of confusion. “What the fuck do you mean?” he hisses.

“She came to watch, I think.”

There’s no way I’m spilling her secret. As a result, I’m well aware I’m making her sound like some sort of crazed stalker.

“Why would she want to bear witness to something that would have been painful for her?”

“Who knows? It’s a question we’ll need to ask her.” I shrug in an attempt to appear clueless.

“So, she came all the way to Manhattan to watch Paddy get married. And where is she now? On her way back to California?”

“Rumor has it she’s moved back to Manhattan. That she’s back living at her old apartment. And right now, no one knows where she is. Trouble is, I don’t think anyone knows where Da is either.”

“Shite.”

CHAPTERTWELVE

JAINE

Play Gentlemen’s Club, Manhattan, New York

It’sthe sound of dripping water that wakes me in the end. There’s only a second or two’s respite before the pain in the side of my head makes itself known. I feel like I’ve been hit by a goddamn baseball bat. Maybe I have.

Memories come flooding back. Manhattan. Irish’s wedding. The two snipers. Being caught.

Being. Caught.

I open my eyes and he’s staring straight at me.

Fergal O’Connell. Da Duster himself. My abductor.

I blink to clear my blurry vision and the movement causes the pain in my head to ratchet up a couple of notches to borderline intolerable levels. It’s a pain that makes me feel sick. Faint. But I show no outward sign of either.

I will not give this fucker the satisfaction of seeing me react to anything he’s going to throw at me today.

By doing what he’s done, he’s already decided I’m guilty without trial. He’s moving straight on to my execution with no clear evidence of any wrongdoing on my part aside from being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I save his life and, in turn, he ends mine.

I try to move, but I’m tied to a plastic chair. Looking down, I take in the dirt and blood that’s now covering my cream pantsuit. Most likely my blood from the wound on my head. I glance around. I know where we are. It’s where the Dusters extinguish the lives of those who would dare disrespect them, save for the ones who are deemed important enough to be worthy of one of my very expensive engraved bullets.

---