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“A couple on a date night?” the old man asked, tapping his pen against a ledger. “Charge them for their meal, then alter the bill. Add a lobster and dessert. If it’s a busy night, maybe even tack on an appetizer or an extra steak. Then, we funnel the dirty money through. Simple as that.”
Over the past few months, I’d wished to be more involved in Jack’s work. This was an opportunity to prove myself. I ignored the illegality of it. It wasn’t like I was dealing drugs—the O’Connells stayed out of the drug trade. This was behind-the-scenes stuff. I wanted to help where I could, so I shoved my morality down and powered through. With working late nights at Roisin’s, I didn’t bother going home. I kept a bag packed with essentials and slept at the Shannon’s penthouse.
Later in the week, I called Eoghan and asked to have a chat. I wanted to make sure he was copacetic after our discussion. He sounded distracted, so I offered to go to him. He reminded me not to use the subway, but I assured him I’d use one of the O’Connells’ drivers.
When he sent me his location pin, I was confused. Kieran owned a high-rise in Soho and lived on the top floor. I’d been there on multiple occasions but hadn’t realized Eoghan lived in the building as well. Right when I was about to ask him for details, he sent another text.
Fifth floor.
* * * *
An hour later, I exited the back of the hired car and approached the building. A well-built man in street clothes was leaning against the iron door, smoking a cigarette. He appeared inconspicuous, but I’d been around Jack too long not to recognize an armed guard. The man dipped his cap at me and slid a key into the door, holding it open. I smiled a thank you and crossed the empty warehouse. It was never in use, but the adjoining room was often utilized for underground street fighting.
As I neared the service elevator, another guard looked me over with a nod, handing me a heavy metal keycard. I’d only ever been to Kieran’s loft, which was on the top floor. The keycard I now held had a bold ‘5’ etched onto it. Thanking the man, I entered the elevator and inserted the key into the slot.
I gnawed on my bottom lip, watching the panel light up with each passing floor. As usual, when I had a moment to myself, I thought of Jack. I opened our text chain, seeing a disconcerting message he’d sent a few days ago. It was a quote from East of Eden. He’d stolen and read many of my books, but this one was his favorite.
“Monsters are variations from the accepted normal to a greater or lesser degree. As a child may be born without an arm, so one may be born without kindness or the potential of conscience.”
I’d yet to reply, not knowing what to say. It’d been radio silence for days, then one of Steinbeck’s most morbid quotes. Jack thought he was a monster, but evil didn’t recognize the darkness in itself. It simply festered in it.
When the doors slid open, I was blinded by the sudden intrusion of light. I tucked my phone into my back pocket, then held my hand in front of my face, squinting.
“Eoghan?” I hedged, stepping off the elevator.
“You must be Emma Marshall.”
I blinked a few times, adjusting my eyes.
A tall, curvaceous form appeared before me. She looked to be in her late twenties, had platinum blonde hair and wore an impossibly white dress that ended just beneath her knees. Her skin was flawless, and her blue eyes danced with the impression of a smile. I’d never met her before. I was positive I’d remember someone so striking.
Much like the blonde bombshell, the waiting room-foyer hybrid was impeccable with white walls, a matching marble floor and a receptionist’s desk. The rear of the room was a solid barrier of frosted glass, concealing whatever was beyond. The door behind the sleek desk was shut. Compared to the dusty warehouse below, this room looked like the entrance to a space-age heaven.
Had I stepped into an alternate reality?
“I’m Zara,” the woman continued, unphased by my frozen state. “Eoghan is expecting you. Just beyond the door you will find his lab.”
Lab? What exactly did Eoghan do when he wasn’t driving me around? When he said he liked to tinker, I thought he meant on old cars or something. I couldn’t imagine finding a ’70 Chevelle behind the glass door.
And I didn’t.
When I entered the room behind reception, I halted, taking in the massive space in front of me. Vaulted ceilings, large picture windows and white lab tables. Dozens and dozens of lab tables—all covered in what looked like tech equipment. Really, really high-end tech equipment. Computers, motherboards, RAM chips. Wires dangling, lights blinking, various metals and glass pieces awaiting assembly. The back wall was lined with large monitors, all blank at the moment. I didn’t dare think of how much money I was gaping at.
“Oh my God,” I whispered to myself. “He’s like Bruce Wayne.”
“I prefer to think of myself as more of an Alfred.” Eoghan sidled up next to me. “But even that’s a stretch.”
He was in his usual grungy form, which I found laughable. I’d been expecting a white coat and goggles, but his worn jeans and T-shirt were a welcome sight. His hair, however, was uncapped, revealing a charming mess.
“What is all this?” I asked, walking farther into the room. He’d said he was a hacker, but this was in a different stratosphere.
Eoghan chucked. “Tinkering.”
“This is more than tinkering. Does the mob fund it?”
“Partly.”
Eoghan followed me into his pristine lab, watching as I neared table after table. I had no idea what any of this stuff did. I knew how to use a computer and I owned the latest model smartphone and all that, but this was out of my league.
