Page 43 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

I feel Eoin’s fury radiate across the table. If that fucker wants to take this to the containers, bring it on. There’s a key difference between me and him. I was born the way I am. He was made the way he is.

Paddy, the emotional sibling. Happy-go-lucky Paddy. Paddy, the life and soul.

I’m all of those things until I’m pushed. And right now, I’ve been pushed so fucking far I’m worried I’ll never find my way back.

I smile at him. He knows it’s a silent offer. An offer he won’t accept unless he has a death wish.

Jaine puts her hand on his arm, and he turns his head in her direction. I don’t want him calmed down, and definitely not by her. I don’t want him fucking touching her. She’s mine. Not his.

Self-pity infuses with jealousy.

Right now, sibling or not, I want to kill the fucker with my bare hands.

He turns his attention back to me. We both know this is unfinished business. Everyone around the table realizes that.

“Don’t speak to Jaine like that ever again.”

I stare at him before turning to look at her once more. “I apologize, Jaine. I should have paid more attention. I’ll be sure to listen in to my wife and brother-in-law’s private conversations more closely moving forward.”

I don’t let on that it will be nigh on impossible for me to do so, given Sophia and I don’t even live together.

Jaine stares at me, her expression unreadable.

The tension in the room is now so thick you could cut it with a knife. I take that as my cue to leave.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

JAINE

The O’Connell Home, Darling, New York

Irish has avoidedme since his return a week ago. I realize he’s been licking the wounds of betrayal. Even though he’s moved on, he still feels let down by Eoin and me.

He’s also been spending time with his folks, trying to salvage a relationship that was fractured when the welcome they showed him was lukewarm at best.

I didn’t take offense to what he said in the Duster meeting. How could I, when I completely understood the reason behind his cutting comeback?

In just under two months, the truth will be revealed to him. We’ll unearth what we can in that timeframe, and if we’re no further forward, then all bets are off. There will be no extension of time. I refuse to lie to Irish beyond that. I refuse to keep the knowledge from him that he has a son.

I appreciate the risks to my boys and me if Sophia and Luc are involved, but the way I see it, there will always be threats in this life. Maybe not so big, blatant, or directed quite so personally at me and my family, but they’ll always be there all the same, covert or otherwise.

When all is revealed, Irish will then know that I never cheated on him, like I know now that he never cheated on me.

So, no, I wasn’t offended by his adverse reaction. I was surprised more than anything. Irish has always been easygoing, everything always with a joke and a smile.

It took me back to three years ago.

When I first saw glimpses of his Duster side. He displayed even more of that at the meeting. With one silent look, he threw down the gauntlet at his eldest brother. A man who I know has Death himself at his right-hand side. A man Irish showed no fear of.

It has me wondering what Irish is like once he’s flicked his internal switch to Duster mode. I’ve seen him kill. I watched him cut the throat of Sokolov. But I’ve never witnessed him do so on his own terms and on his own turf.

And I want to.

I can hear the sound of laughter the moment I enter the house. It’s Fin. The sound so childlike and perfect it always makes me smile. It’s met with a grown-up’s laughter, and I recognize it straight away.

Irish.

Father and son.

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