Page 35 of Dirty Eoin

The doors open. She steps inside. They close.

And then she’s gone.

* * *

“I’m sorry, boys.”

Dylan is now sitting on the chair Jaine was bound to, his head in his hands.

“What the fuck happened, Da?” He runs his hand through his too-long black hair as he looks up at him.

“We saw her trying to leave the church. Or at least Sophia did. She mentioned she’d seen the girl skulking around and looking suspicious. After what had just happened, I immediately saw red.”

“Sophia. I should have fucking known,” I grouse.

“She wanted this reaction.” He frowns at me.

“She did, Da. She must have recognized Jaine and then decided to use the fact that you’d never met her to her advantage. She’d have been quite happy for you to take her life so she could never tempt our Paddy again. So, you clattered her over the head and dragged her here kicking and screaming.”

“The first part is correct, Eoin. I’m ashamed to say I did clatter her. But there was no kicking or screaming on her part. The girl gave nothing away. There were no reactions from her whatsoever. She remained deadpan throughout. Even when I cut into her flesh, she didn’t flinch.”

Something akin to pride races through me. That even facing certain death, Jaine Jones still maintained that defiance of hers.

“Did you not ask her who she was?”

“Aye, but she wouldn’t say. She likely thought it was too little too late for all of that. And she was probably right. The only words she uttered werefuck you,and she used them twice.”

There’s a silent pause before Dylan starts to snicker, the sound lightening the dark mood.

“That’s Jaine Jones for you, Da. She backs down from nothing and can always be relied on to turn the air blue.”

He looks at me as he speaks, and I start snickering too, while Da just continues to stare at us.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

JAINE

The Hudson Dusters’ HQ, Manhattan, New York

Closing my eyes,I exhale the last of Rising from my lungs before inhaling the familiar trash and exhaust-fume-filled air of the concrete jungle that represents my second home.

I’ve missed New York.

With a small smile, I listen to the symphony of the yellow cab drivers as they honk their horns and cuss at each other, the sound of their camaraderie only drowned out by the ever-present wail of sirens.

I haven’t told anyone where I’m going or what I’m doing. That way, no one can either encourage me or tell me I’m making a mistake. It doesn’t matter what they think. It doesn’t matter what I think either. All that matters is that it’s time. I can’t delay the inevitable forever.

It’s also what Ace wanted. His living wish and also his dying one. My beautiful boy, selfless until the end.

I stand on the sidewalk and gaze up at the imposing skyscraper, the sun reflecting off its glass-covered exterior.

Duster HQ.

Irish surrounds me the moment I step through the revolving entrance doors. I’m sure I can smell his cologne, Old Spice. Or is it just wishful thinking?

It’s most likely ingrained in the foundations of this over-the-top pretentious environment with its marble flooring, white walls, and putrid pieces of art.

Not that it really matters. Our connection is one-sided these days. Which is perhaps just as well given he’s now happily married.

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