“A warning about what?”
“Keep her safe,” he growls. “Otherwise, the next time we talk, it’ll be in person. I don’t care who gets pissy, I’m back in town.”
Fuck. If Briar comes back, the city will erupt.
Pinching my brow, I exhale slowly. “I know, kid. I’ve got her. I’ll keep her safe.”
“You fuckingbetter.”
The line goes dead, and I growl, tossing the phone aside. All the O’Briens are working my last fucking nerve. Instead of calling him back—and making his day worse—I throw the car in drive. I have a messenger to kill.
27
KILLIAN
Walking into the bar, I let my eyes adjust to the dark environment. With large black stairs leading to the second story, and a black-and-white tile under a dark bar, it reminds me of an old tavern from Ireland. A few patrons sit at the bar, and at the far corner, Murray’s blazing copper hair sticks out against the shadows.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Princess: Where are you?
I can’t help my smirk.
Why? Miss me?
I can see her eye roll before the text comes in.
Princess: No.
Liar.
Glancing up at Murray again, I send a final text.
I’ll be home soon. And I’m bringing you a gift.
Dropping a hand onto Murray’s shoulder, I watch the beer spew from his mouth and across the bar top. The bartender gives me a dirty look, but once I lift my jacket and let him see my Glock, his attitude changes. In fact, most of the bar does, choosing to avoid my gaze.
Glancing around, I lower my lips to his pudgy face.
“Hi, Murray.”
He swallows thickly. “Reaper.”
“We need to have a chat.”
His jowls quake. “I’m under the Board’s protection?—”
“And last time I checked,” I say, digging my nails into his shoulder. He gasps, body caving toward me. “I’m not a part of the clan. Never was initiated.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” he amends. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend?—”
“It’s not me whom you have to apologize to.” Tugging him from the stool, he falls to the ground, a fallen turtle with no way of getting upright. “There’s a little devil who wants a talk.”
His face grows ashen, fear flashing in those dull eyes. “No. I can’t?—”
“C’mon, Murray,” I cajole, grabbing his arm. Pulling so hard, he rolls to his feet, panting heavily from exertion. “Where’s your sense of adventure? You’re being rude, making someone wait.”
He shakes his head, holding up his hands. “She’ll kill?—”
