Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“What the hell are you talking about, brother? Listen, you have a head injury, you’re not right in the head just now.”
“No. Listen to me,” I say, each word deliberate. “Get Bronwyn. Get her now. Have her brought to the safe house. Do you understand me?”
Someone on the inside.
“Yes, I do. What are you doing, brother?”
“I'm going to rescue my wife. Meet me at the warehouse east of the safe house.”
I disconnect and toss the phone into the passenger seat. The warehouse district rises up ahead, all crumbling brick and rusted chain link. I know these streets. I grew up running in them, fighting in them, bleeding in them.
Tonight, I might die in them.
But my wife fucking won't.
The thought is weirdly calming.
This is where I pay the tribute tonight. I know that’s where she’s gone to.
I pull up outside the warehouse I’ve been instructed to come to, and kill the engine. Tonight, I don't have the damn tribute.
Tonight, the tribute is me.
I sit for a second, trying to breathe through the nausea, trying to steady the way the world keeps lurching sideways. The door opens.
“What are you doing here?” Declan's there, stepping out of the shadows. “I don't know what you and Erin are up to, but—”
“I need to find her.”
“You look like death, brother.”
“Feel worse.” I try to stand, but my legs nearly give out. Declan catches my elbow.
“You shouldn't be—”
“Don't.” I shake him off and plant my feet. The ground's rolling, but I stay upright through sheer bloody-mindedness. I grab him by the front of his shirt. “You'll fucking get it when it's you. Where is she?”
“Don’t bloody know,” he says. “We tracked her movements. Ciarán says she left her phone at the house. She went back to your house, got something out of the safe.”
Fucking hell. She got the money, likely her money from the investments. She's giving it all to them.
“Is she in there?”
“Don’t bloody know.”
Cars pull up—no lights, no sound. And then I see them. A handful of our best lads, all armed and ready: Seamus, Daire, Ashland, and Colm. Even Da’s come. Our best men, tooled up and ready for war.
And there, on the ground at the warehouse entrance, I see a quilted bag. Erin's bag.
I walk over, nearly fall twice, but I make it. I crouch down, and when I do, the world spins faster. Bad fucking idea. I unzip the bag—it’s empty.
“Cavin,” Seamus says carefully, like he's talking to a man on a ledge. “What's this about?”
I can’t hold it back anymore. I need my family to help.
“When Malachy died, he told me I had a tribute to pay,” I say, my eyes closed, trying to stop the world from spinning. It doesn't work. “I'm supposed to pay this money every month. I've been paying it. Malachy swore me to secrecy—said if I told you, they’d find out, and we’d have war.”
I turn to face the rest of them. “Looks like she's taken her money to pay it—she's the only one I told about it. Malachy said if I told you lads, I'd be fucked. That we all would.” I shake my head. “But we are now anyway. If I don't pay it, we’re fucked. You see?”
“When do you have to pay it?” Seamus grits out.
“And who are we paying?” Da asks.
“Good fucking question,” I tell him. “That's exactly what I've been trying to find out. And while I haven't told you lads before, it's time. It's time for me to bring my family in.”
Declan frowns as I turn to the warehouse. “I'm going in.” I take a step toward the warehouse and stagger. Declan catches me this time, holding me steady.
“Are you sure you're bloody up for this, brother? Jesus—”
I think about Erin. About how she looked when I kissed her the last time—soft and warm and mine. The way her eyes met mine in the darkness, full of trust.
“I've had worse,” I say. “Worse than a knock on the head, you gobshite.” I straighten and push him off me, then check my gun. “Let's go get my wife.”
The warehouse looms ahead, dark and waiting. Someone's dying tonight.
And it sure as hell won't be my wife.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Erin
Behind my back, zip ties cut into my wrists. I can feel blood trickling down my fingers where the plastic digs in.
“You have the money,” I say, my voice echoing off the metal walls. The money sits at the masked man’s feet like a trophy before he pulls off the damn mask.
Donovan. Of course it was fucking Donovan. I knew it was an inside job, and that smarmy smile of his and those lifeless eyes—
“You're the spy,” I say, when the realization hits me like ice water.
“Clever girl.” He winks at me like I'm a child who's finally solved a puzzle. “Guess you did well in school, didn't you? Took you long enough.”