Page 74 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

“And how do we get that?”

“You tell me. Anyway, maybe she was being honest. Maybe she did forget. Maybe our enemies are watching our every move so closely they saw an opportunity and took it.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

JAINE

The O’Connell Home, Darling, New York

“Can I have a word please, Roisin?”

Her shoulders immediately tense, and she stops what she’s doing. Is it because I’ve approached her from behind? Is it a nervous reaction after what’s happened recently?

Or has Jessie pre-warned her that I was looking to have a conversation about the girly chats she enjoyed with Sophia and Molly? Chats where I suspect I was the main topic of conversation.

I’m a biker. Roisin hates our kind. Having found herself pregnant at twenty-one, her biker baby daddy proceeded to abandon her in her time of need. In turn, she had no option but to give her newly born son up for adoption.

Fergal knows what went down, but her four boys aren’t aware that they have an older half-sibling. That’s not my secret to share.

Shit happens. You dust yourself down, and you deal. Instead, Roisin waged war against all bikers and against me in particular.

I’m not going to drag up the past. There’s little point. I just want to gauge what damage has been done. I appreciate that I staged a personal vendetta against Eoin, but that was one-on-one. Roisin involved third parties in her attack against me.

One is now dead by my hand. The other could very well be directly involved in this very deliberate attack against me and mine. If she is, she’ll meet her maker once I have proof.

Duke’s taken the children to the summer house. I explained that I needed to have a private conversation with Roisin. He didn’t ask any questions. He knows that if it’s something he needs to be made aware of that I’ll let him know in due course.

I’ve cornered her in the kitchen. She continues once more with her chopping. Having lived here a while now, I’m aware she likes to prepare Fergal’s dinner in advance and at the same time every day. It’s how I knew exactly when to make my move.

“About anything in particular?”

“Your chats with Sophia and Molly.”

She stops what she’s doing once more and slowly turns to look at me. It’s been almost a week since the intruders were dispatched. She knows what could have happened had I not gone outside when I did. What my alter-ego subsequently had to do. She also knows that Eoin terminated one of the bad guys right outside the front door.

That’s how close our enemies came to wiping out her entire family. And mine. The blood may have been washed away, but its invisible stain will forever remain. She’s visibly aged since. We all have.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

I shake my head and watch as she prepares one for herself.

“Sophia knows.”

She’s aware of what I’m referring to—Sophia’s comments on how Fin is more like Irish than Eoin.

“I suspect she does.”

“You suspect?” My tone contains just a hint of sarcasm.

“Okay, I know that she does!” she snaps, her worry now evident. I ignore it. Worrying won’t add a day to any of our lives.

“Were she and Molly friends?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” I can’t miss the defensiveness lacing her voice. It’s a clear sign of guilt.

She turns around to face me once more. She’s wearing a beige lounge suit today that coordinates with her sheepskin slippers. She looks just like any other old grandma, but she’s not.

“They must have been close enough for Molly to have told Sophia the news.”

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