Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
No. No, she does not need to do anything that would put her anywhere in closer proximity to me.
“Rest, lass.”
She tilts her head. “Is that an order?”
I let myself look at her for exactly one more second.
“Aye.”
Seamus is staring at us. The song comes to an end, and I let her go, just as he gestures for me to come and talk to him.
“Stay in touch, Trouble.”
I reach Seamus a few minutes later. I don’t want him questioning anything with Bridget, so I change the subject before he can even bring it up. “Heading in to see Torin tomorrow.”
Seamus's brother, my cousin Torin, is serving a life sentence in Dublin. Wasn’t supposed to be, but right around the time he was due to be released, he was found in possession of drugs. A plant, we’re confident. Someone doesn’t want Torin out.
He nods. “Yeah? He’s worried about Da.”
“Aye.” I nod. We all are. Uncle Keenan’s been having heart issues in recent months, and it’s beginning to grow more concerning.
At least the doctors have put a name to it now. Congestive heart failure, they said, which somehow makes it worse, not better. A name means it's real. He's managing, Cavin tells whoever asks, but he’s a McCarthy, and we live forever.
At least that’s what I always thought.
I arrive the next morning at Mountjoy Prison, Dublin, where Torin’s been for years. We were close as lads, even though he’s older, and while the others visit regularly, I’m the one who’s here most often.
Torin was the one who saw me at my worst, who helped me face my demons, who held my fucking hand through rehab. The least I owe him is a goddamn visit.
Here, Torin has insight and connections the rest of us don't. Friends on the inside. Intel that comes in very handy, the kind we all hope will one day bring him out early, though no one says it quite that plainly. For now, it's information we use for the good of the family.
I know the routine. Arrive, then sign in through security. Torin is waiting in the corner, our chairs separated by bulletproof glass. My older cousin, Torin looks like a cross between his parents, with Uncle Keenan’s sharp jaw and thick build but Aunt Caitlin’s black hair and striking blue eyes.
“What’s the story, Tor?” I ask as I sit on the chair in front of him. Seamus is right. He does look antsy, which is unusual for him. “Christ, brother, the fuck happened to you? You’ve been busy.”
He's by far the biggest lad in the room. His shirt strains across his shoulders like it was designed for a different species, and when he crosses his arms, his forearms alone are enough to make you reconsider whatever you were about to say, if the McCarthy family tats didn’t warn you first. When he straightens in his chair and looks around, slowly, like he's taking inventory, every set of eyes in the place finds somewhere else to be. Inmates, visitors, it doesn't matter. Even the guard nearest the door shifts his weight and looks at his shoes.
Right, so bodybuilding as a pastime in prison was a smart move.
“Aye,” he says with a shrug, leaning forward. His biceps bulge as he leans on the table, the blunt tips of his fingers barely touching. “Turns out you get more privacy when you’re built like a brick wall.” He gives me a rueful smirk before he sobers and holds my gaze. “Got some more neighbors here.”
I sit up straighter. In prison, where anyone can hear him, he has to use code words. He knows I wouldn’t fucking care about the new inmates.
He glances sideways, just once, then back at me. “Reminds me of Donovan's crowd.”
Something goes still in my chest. Our cousin Donovan betrayed our family and paid the ultimate price. They don’t fucking remind him of Donovan’s crowd; he’s reminding me of Donovan.
I get it. He has information to tell me but can’t tell me outright. I’m paying attention.
“That right,” I say. Not a question.
His fingers tap once on the table. “Same energy, you know.” He leans back slightly, arms crossed, his voice dropping to something almost bored. Anyone watching would think we were talking about nothing. “One of them's been here three months. Got transferred in.”
“He say anything useful?”
“Enough.” Torin's jaw tightens. “Friendly crowd. Very interested in how things run back home. Who's where. Who's married to who.” He scratches the back of his neck, casual. “Funny thing is, they didn't seem surprised by much. Like they'd already heard most of it.”
He lets that sit.
“Right,” I say.
He looks at his hands. “Someone's been doing their homework for them. For a while, by the sounds of it.”
I don't move. I keep my face easy, relaxed, the way you do when someone's watching.
He smiles at me. “Remember when we were lads, and your mam and mine had friends who came to book club? And Mam would come in with her finger on her lips.” He tips his head to the side.