I know Brennan’s been the unofficial head of the Irish for a long time and he’s used to worse shit than this, but there’s fatigue around his eyes, a pinched look that makes me think he hasn’t slept since she was taken.
Good.
Neither the fuck have I.
My only comfort has been Jiu-Jitsu. Annihilating a couple of my men via grappling kept me from tearing their limbs clean off.
The worst part is that her disappearance ismyfault.
Not Aidan’s, like I accused.
Ifailed her. Not him.
“He was young,” Misha describes. “Tall. All-American. You knowthe type? The kind of face you want to break. I didn’t see much but what I did, I had my girl draw.”
“You should have gone to a professional, Misha.”
“Aspen reads between the lines better and I’m less likely to snap when she asks me a million questions. She’s good, Maxim, so fuck off.”
“We’re talking about my sister-in-law, right?” Aidan inserts.
“Yeah.”
Yet another way the Russians and the Irish are entangled.
“You have a picture?” Eoghan’s gaze tracks my men as if he’s seeking his next kill.
I don’t know the guy that well, but I know he’s screwed in the head department.
Misha strides forward. “Accept the file I’m airdropping.”
Brennan holds out his phone. After the small ding, he’s looking at a decent artist’s rendition.
I gave him shit but his girl, Aspen, did a good job. It’s not like Misha’s the best at describing anything. That he did, though, forces me to realize that I’m being a cunt. A lot of effort went into the drawing—for me.
Brennan immediately sends it off to Seamus and I watch over his shoulder, as do the others, when the ticks turn blue.
Brennan: You know who this is?
Seamus: Yeah. Why? Is this to do with Victoria? Did that fucker hurt her?
Brennan: Who is it, Shay? Just give us a name
Seamus: I can only remember his last name. It’s Carver. Wait a second. He’s on the hockey team. I can find his first name.
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to go out and torture this Carverpodonokfor informationbutknowing that if I fuck this up for Victoria when this might be business as usual for the Veronians, she’ll kill me.
I rub my temple where an ache set in the moment she left me at that goddamn gala.
It’s been a nightmare—balancing the belief that all was well as hours turned into days before accepting that something had gone wrong.
I only called in the Irish once there was no sign of her the morning after we should have married.
Brennan announces, “We have a name.”
“Get it to Conor,” Aidan orders.
“I hate to play devil’s advocate,” Misha blurts, “but Victoria seems to want to do this. I’m not saying I agree, but she’s already killed for the cause.”
