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I can’t let Ollie know about Sean.
“Now we’re suckin’ diesel!” Ollie hollers, his eyes wild with excitement.
“A’ll be in touch soon. There are a few things I need to arrange. But don’tcha be worryin’ ’bout anythin’. Brody Doyle’s days are numbered.”
I shake Ollie’s hand, as this conversation is over for now. When we talk next, it’ll be away from prying ears.
I leave Ollie smiling, the man I knew returning because I’ve just given him something we’ve all been robbed of, thanks to Brody Doyle—hope.
Someone who isn’t smiling, however, is Babydoll, who still hasn’t noticed I’m here. She simply sits like a statue, occasionally sipping her pint.
Taking a seat opposite her, I lean back in the booth. “Drinkin’ alone is minus craic, Babydoll. And from the looks of it, I think y’ve had enough alone time.”
She snaps from her daze, her glassy eyes attempting to focus on me. She is completely blootered. “What makes you think I’m alone? And I’ll be the judge of when I’ve had enough.”
She draws the glass to her lips, spilling most of the pint down the front of her dress as she attempts to act like she’s in control.
“All right.” I reach over the table and lower her hand. “That’s enough. I’m takin’ ye home.”
She recoils violently, her drink sloshing all over her and the table. She’s a mess—both inside and out.
“Why are you even here?” she slurs angrily, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
“’Cause ya called me,” I retort softly.
“I did not,” she argues, but we both know that’s not true. “I don’t even know your number.”
“Fine then, ya didn’t call me and yer not absolutely hammered. Let’s go.”
I go to stand, but Babydoll leans back, folding her arms across her chest in defiance. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I hate your stupid face.”
“Aye, I hate my stupid face too,” I agree, wishing for this conversation to be over with. “So the sooner we leave, the sooner ya can stop lookin’ at it.”
She merely turns her cheek, refusing to budge.
Leaning across the table slowly, I grip her chin and turn her face so our lips are inches apart. A breathless whimper escapes her. Every part of me wants to eat her alive.
“You can either come willingly…”
“Or?” she challenges, her sweet breath tempting me to lean forward and steal it from her.
“Or I’ll throw ya over my shoulder and carry ye out, kickin’ and screamin’.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she snarls, eyes narrowed.
A smirk spreads from cheek to cheek, as this dare is one I will take great pleasure in seeing through.
When I lunge for her, she yelps and scoots across the booth. “Don’t touch me you fucking savage.”
The moment she stands, she almost falls on her arse. I reach out and grip her forearm, ignoring the way my body responds to her because right now, all I need to focus on is getting her out of here. We’ve caused enough of a scene.
She thankfully lets me help her through the crowd as we walk toward the exit. The moment we’re outside, she shrugs from my hold and commences a stagger. I stand back, shaking my head in amusement at the spectacle.
She groans in annoyance and leans against the wall as she fumbles, attempting to take off her high heels. All she manages to do is sway from side to side.
“Ach, let me help.”
Before she can protest, I drop to a squat and roughly take off one shoe. She has no choice but to place a hand on my shoulder for balance. I repeat the action with the other shoe, but when I look up, I’m left speechless because the look in her eyes sets me on fire.
