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“Don’tcha think ’bout rippin’ me off now. Otherwise, I’ll return the favor. But I’ll be rippin’ out yer spleen.”
Ronan smiles, but it’s strained, for he knows he’s walking a thin line. However, if what he says is true, then he’ll prove to be one of our biggest allies. Lucky, we didn’t kill him, after all.
Ronan’s quotes are very reasonable, but I’m pretty sure he gave me a discount, fearing for his life if I wasn’t happy with the price.
Cian reminded me every chance he got what a stupid idea trusting Ronan is—in case I had forgotten—but this is happening. I have no other way to get to Sean, and even if this is a setup, at least it’ll get me in the same room as him.
He is too much of a narcissist not to end me himself. He wants it to be his face I see when he finishes what he started ten years ago. That’s how I can be so certain that he will be there. He wouldn’t allow anyone else to kill his son.
Reaching for my whiskey, I gulp it down, needing to wash away the reality that Sean Kelly is my dad. It’s still a hard pill to swallow. Father hunting son. Son hunting father. Ironically, I never called Connor my da, and I will never call Sean that either. But looking back, I realize Connor will always be more of a father than Sean ever will.
My phone rings, thankfully interrupting this pity party for one.
It’s a private number, which raises suspicions. So I decide to let it go to voicemail. Once the screen lights up, alerting me I have one voice message, I go through the prompts to listen.
At first, all I hear is background noise, like the caller is at a pub with a rowdy crowd, but through that, there is no mistaking a voice I’d recognize even in the pits of hell.
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” Babydoll slurs before the line goes dead.
I listen to the message three more times, in case I missed anything, and when I hear the faint tolling of a bell tower, I know where she is. I have no idea what her message means, but I’m not about to wait around to find out.
The sensible thing to do would be to call Rory, but if Babydoll called me without him knowing, then I don’t want to upset either of them. Grabbing the truck keys off the wooden dining table Hannah surprised me with today, I quickly sprint to Cian’s truck.
I don’t have a current license, but I don’t care. I have a sinking feeling in my guts that something is wrong. All that matters is getting to Babydoll. I don’t think twice as I slip the key into the ignition, put the truck into gear, and rake down the drive.
The tolling bell hints that Babydoll is somewhere near Queen’s Square. There are many pubs around there, but I will search every one until I find her. I could message Hannah and ask for Babydoll’s number. But I don’t want anyone involved in this.
I try my best to keep to the speed limit, but the farther I travel, the more anxious I become to find Babydoll. The drive takes me half the amount of time it would if I drove legally, and I park in the first space I find.
Locking the car, I quickly use the map on my phone to locate the nearest pubs as things have changed in ten years. There are places I can remember, and others that I can’t.
I start at the first pub I can find and work my way through a dozen or so, coming up empty. But that doesn’t deter me as I continue searching for Babydoll. She’s got to be here.
I notice a lot of places I used to know are closed down. I wonder what happened as some businesses have been here for decades.
One place which still stands is Bull and Crow, an Irish pub that has been around for generations. The place is jammers—just as I remember it being. Cian, Rory, and I frequented this pub, and when I scan the room and see her sitting in a red booth alone, it seems Babydoll does as well.
Half a dozen empty pint glasses litter the table, and I wonder if she’s alone. Maybe she’s here with friends? I decide to wait just in case.
I sit at the bar, discreetly watching Babydoll, who nurses a pint as she stares blankly ahead. It appears she’s lost in another world.
“Puck Kelly?” a familiar voice says in awe.
Peering up, I see Ollie Molony, the owner of Bull and Crow standing behind the bar.
Ollie was a good friend of Connor’s, but he never once outed us when we came in here, drinking underage. For that, we respected him.
“Ollie.” I smile, extending my hand and shaking his over the bar. “Good to see ya again.”
“I don’t believe my eyes. Look at ya,” he says, his brown eyes taking in ten years’ worth of change. “Let me get ye a pint.”
But I wave my hand. “Naw, I’m here to pick up my friend.”
He arches a brow, and when I turn my attention to Babydoll, he sighs. “The wee lass has been ’ere for hours. I thought Rory would be comin’, but she’s been drinkin’ alone…which is never a good thing.”
“That’s the truth, so it is,” I agree, looking at her. “It was good seein’ ye, Ollie.”
I go to stand, but he reaches across the bar and grips my wrist. I peer down, confused. There is a desperation beneath his touch.
