Page 190 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

I can feel Irish’s anger envelop me from where I’m lying on the container top. He knows who made him lose the weapon. Right now, he’ll feel even more betrayed. He’ll think I chose Eoin over him.

I didn’t. I chose neither.

I just stopped him from making the biggest mistake of his life. None of us need any more regrets.

I’m done hiding. I stand. Both sets of eyes swing toward me, but no one says anything. Only one of them knows who hides behind the disguise. The other will know imminently.

I pack my weapon away, sling the bag over my shoulder, then make my way down the metal rungs on the side of the container.

My feet hit the uneven surface of the ground. I’m nervous. I’ve interfered in something that was none of my business. I’m not in a relationship with either of them. I had no right. But if I hadn’t, then Eoin would have ended up dead.

I turn the corner and walk into the clearing. I stand in my black combats and puffer jacket with my balaclava still in place.

I’m silent. To speak, I need to be Jaine Jones. Right now, I’m not. I need to remove my mask first. My heart pounds in my chest at the thought of it. The only person I’ve ever told willingly was Delaney. He was there when The Exterminator was born.

Irish, Ace, and Duke found out during the Bratva situation. Dylan found out, as I needed intel on Lebedev. Roisin found out when she saw the engraved bullet amongst Molly’s liquified brains.

For some reason, to whip my mask off feels like a vanity in some way. Like it’s some proudta-damoment. It’s not. I’d much rather not.

“Show him.”

Irish’s alter-ego is still in place, and his authoritative tone is making me wet. I look at him as he stands in black jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt.

I walk toward Eoin, taking in his dark blue jeans and leather jacket. I stop in front of him. Can he tell it’s me under this guise?

“Take off the mask.” Irish is talking to Eoin now. Eoin turns to look at him, and Irish nods. He then turns to look at me, and I nod.

The moment he reaches out, his spicy cologne envelops me. I have to hold back the groan as our physical connection fires up.

He must know now, surely.

I close my eyes as the balaclava is yanked over my head. I’ve never felt so exposed as I do right now. I keep them closed. I can’t look at him.

What is he thinking? Is he hurt that I never told him? Angry?

“Jaine.” My name is barely a whisper. I feel the tear roll down my cheek as I swallow thickly. I’m not even sure why I’m crying.

“Jaine, look at me.”

I stand with my secret laid bare. The fact that I’m a mass murderer. The fact that I’m a serial killer. The fact that I’ve killed more people than he has.

But not as many as Irish.

I slowly open my eyes and look at him.

Betrayal. That’s the only word that can describe the look he’s wearing.

His forehead mars. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you’d treat me differently. That you’d wrap me up in even more cotton wool because you’d see me as some sort of trophy.”

“Is that what you truly think of me?” His look of betrayal changes to one of hurt.

“I don’t know what to think of you, Eoin. You’ve kept so much of yourself hidden from me that I’m not sure I know you at all.”

We stare at each other, only breaking eye contact when I turn to look at Irish. His unhinged look has gone. He’s back. I know the question he’s going to ask before he even opens his mouth.

“Why did you shoot my gun away? Why not his?”

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