Admittedly, he’d known for some time that ruining the Musketeers’ relationships wouldn’t... couldn’t, sustain his needs long term. This was just the end of his first volley. The still picture of Bran’s eye, looking straight at him through the camera, he would admit, startled him. Like a horror movie jump scare scene. Over.
So, there was no mad dash to throw everything in a duffel bag and run for the hills. No. He had planned too well for such amateurish behavior. Instead of the plebian totes, tubs, and bins, Sam used a highly efficient packing system for all of his belongings to easily fit into suitcases. His personal belongings, fake IDs, passports, bank account information,ready cash, weapons, drugs, computer and video equipment, burner phones, and of course, memorabilia of his father— all of it either easily stored in suitcases or already in them.
He drove to a local U-Haul facility and rented a van, leaving his car in the lot. It wasn’t in his name. And he, of course, wore a disguise. A woman this time, in case the police tracked him there and looked at U-Haul’s camera surveillance.
Within an hour of returning home, he was packed and on his way to a motorhome dealership. Three hours after that, Tina Burner, a riff on one of his dad’s favorite singers and his alias for the day, bought a fully loaded Class A motorhome. His belongings from the U-Haul were on board, and he was pulling out of the lot.
He was untraceable. Untrackable. Unbeatable. Yes, his first game was over. But it had only been a game.
Samuel Delton was invigorated. He had a new purpose. And he had all the time in the world to make those pieces of shit pay.
For now, he might simply enjoy the open road, so to speak. Perhaps try out his new bedroom setup on a few ‘willing women.’
He had enough money, even with this last large purchase. Still, he did so enjoy selling some of his homemade videos to his dark web enthusiasts. He was an artist at heart, after all.
Yes, he would definitely take some time for himself. He deserved it. Time enough to deal with the O’Faolains and the O’Connors. He hadn’t even begun with James’ sister and admitted to a small crush on the youngest Byrne, Rowan. Life was looking up.
Just the open road and new adventures.
29
Raven didn’t call, text, or email. Every muscle in Bran’s body was hot and tight. Miserable. Worse, his eyes were burning. He wasn’t losing it. He’d lost it. He considered calling Bébhinn. He’d considered and discarded a hundred things in the past several hours.
He’d hoped yesterday was the day. He still had hope for today. Wherever she was, he was packed. He had their pilot on standby. If she consented to see him, he was there.
He was standing in his father’s study, whiskey for lunch in hand, just staring at the fire. He heard footsteps behind him but didn’t turn around. It was his dad or brother or both.
“How long will you wait before you take the choice from her?”
Dad then. “I drove her away once, Dad. I don’t think showing up, wherever she is, would endear my cause to her.” As Bran hadn’t turned around, he got a face full of newspaper. Snatching it from his father’s clenched fist, he whirled around, ready to fight— anyone for any reason.
“What are you fucking doing?” He looked from his dad to his brother’s raised brows. His father’s special type of irritatingsilence answered. Looking at the paper in his hand, he saw a woman smiling at him. The most beautiful woman in the world. Setting his glass on the bar, he began to smooth out the edition ofThe Irish Times.
“Where did you get this paper?”
“Mom gave it to me when I met her for lunch last week.”
“Last fucking week! Are you kidding me?”
“Mrs. Byrne gave you a time. That time wasn’t up. It is now.”
He clenched his teeth together so he wouldn’t lash out. His father meant well. He read the article three times. Stopping and staring at the picture of the sisters each time.
“They are opening a new design studio. In Ireland.”
“Opened by now.”
Bran looked at his brother, who had remained silent. “Did you know anything about this?”
“Nothing.” Patrick looked floored. “I thought... assumed, I guess... River never said she was never moving back to Oklahoma.”
Bran spread his hands over the pages again. Smoothing the creases where he’d ripped it out of his dad’s hands.
“I called Bobby. He told me you’ve had him on standby for two days. I told him we’d be there in less than two hours.”
Bran looked at him, he was sure, with a blank expression. “Dad. She hasn’t called me yet.”
“Turns out I don’t give a fuck. You want to see Raven, and Pat wants to see River. I also know that Josephine flew to Dublin this morning. She must have been waiting for Triskelion to be up and running. O’Connor’s pilot and ours are buddies, it turns out. The same pilot also mentioned flying the Byrne sisters to Switzerland about four months ago.”
