Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Christ.
“What's your name?” I ask her.
She opens her mouth, then closes it, her lips trembling. She doesn't trust me.
Right, then.
“It's alright,” I say, gentle now, even though it feels strange and unnatural, and I’m not sure I’m very convincing. “You're safe. They're not going to hurt you.”
Then I realize what this could look like—me, with a young woman, alone in an alley, hovering over her. Everybody knows who I am. I can’t be seen like this.
Jesus, the rumors.
I leap up as if she's lit me on fire.
“Go,” I bark this time, angrier, sterner. “You've got no goddamn business being here alone!” I reach for my wallet and toss a fistful at her. “Get a fucking cab and get the hell out of here!”
Finally, she grabs the money, jolts into motion, and leaps to her feet, backpedaling.
Good. Good girl.
“And don't you fucking go out here alone again!” I scream after her retreating figure.
I watch her disappear around the corner, her footsteps echoing in the alley. I blow out a breath when I look around the corner and see her flag down a cab. Something in my chest twists when she glances back once, just before she shuts the door.
Then she's gone.
The air's too quiet after everything that went down tonight.
She could have been one of my younger cousins. Something terrible could have happened right here in Ballyhock.
And once again… I'm alone.
It should feel better than this to be a savior, but it’s only a reminder of who I couldn’t save.
I shove my hands in my pockets and head home. It's too quiet after what just happened.
I think about telling my family what I did, what I saw. But something stops me, something I don't want to name.
We're not in the business of saving people.
I'm Ashland fucking McCarthy. Feared across Ireland.
I'm no hero.
But I can't shake the image of her backed against that wall. Her wide, terrified eyes. The way she looked at me as if I was the monster instead of them.
Little does she know… I am.
Chapter Two
The next day…
Ashland
I sit up in bed, my heart pounding, adrenaline firing through my veins. It takes a minute to reorient myself.
I'm not in the alley. I didn't just fucking witness a kidnapping I couldn't prevent.
I'm… home.
And I saved her.
I fucking saved her.
I lie back on my bed of pillows and draw in a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I can still see her, small and helpless. The worst part about being who I am and knowing what I know is that I can't retreat into a world of ignorance. I know exactly what those men were gonna do to her.
But she isn't your sister, or your cousin, or your friend. You're not related. You don't even know who the fuck she is.
I stare at the window, the blue light of early morning filtering through the sliver beneath the shade, and roll over. I need to get back to sleep. I punch the pillow and close my eyes, but as soon as I do, I see her struggling, their filthy paws on her, their…
I try to will it all away, but it's useless.
Why the fuck do I care?
I don't. I fucking don't.
I draw in a breath and try to calm down again. I don't know how or why, but for some reason, I can't. I'm fully awake now.
I don't really sleep anyway.
I reach for my phone on the bedside table to check in with Seamus and the lot, and I find myself pulling up the name of the taxi company that took her home. Scrubbing a hand across my brow, I stare at the number.
Makes sense. I want to make sure she got home safe, though, doesn't it?
Aye.
Ten minutes later, I've got her address.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm in the car, driving to her house.
I don't want to stalk the girl… I just want to make sure she's safe.
I sit in the shadows beneath a low-hanging maple as I watch her get into the car and head to what I'm guessing is school. But before she does, I see an older woman from next door call out to her, waving a handful of mail that must've been delivered to the wrong address.
“Bianca! Dear, this came to my house by mistake.”
Bianca.
Something in my chest locks into place. Her name fits her. Delicate. Beautiful. Real.
She's not just the girl anymore. She's… Bianca.
Fuck.
I should stay away. She deserves to forget last night. But I don't, not straight away. I head home and focus on my work, the kind that requires putting my fist through things that deserve it. I make calls, pull strings, and track down every lead I can on those two bastards from the alley.
By evening, I've got names. Dead ends, both of them—low-level muscle, the kind you hire when you want something done quietly and don't care much if it gets done right. No family connections. No known affiliations. Just two arseholes who took a job and picked the wrong fucking alley.