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She has one more year left until she graduates with her master’s, and I plan to use her to her full capabilities. The only problem is, she’s vowed never to cross the line into the dirty world of the Irish mob. She knows Da is the head of the crime world, but she turns a blind eye to it, refusing to even hold a gun. Saoirse is a rebel in any way that Da allows. She is even a vegan to stick it to large corporation farmers. I wonder how it’ll work, buying meat to pack in your hotel restaurant. I smile at the idea.
″Hopefully she agrees,” I say. “You know she wants nothing to do with the family business.”
Paddy snorts, waving a dismissive hand. “She’s always been a rebel because Da allows it. If he forces her, she’ll be in the business.”
″I wouldn’t be so sure. She’s the youngest of us and the only girl. I think she’s got more of a pull with having a say than we think.”
″She is Da’s favorite,” Paddy says in agreement.
″Aye.”
Paddy’s phone goes off and he lets out a curse as he reads his message. He finishes his drink, then stands to leave. “Sean’s finished deleting the security footage from tonight. I’m headed to The Royale. You coming?”
I always end a rough night at the club a few blocks away. It’s also the easiest way to find a good piece of ass with little effort. Everyone there sees us in the VIP lounge and will do anything to gain access to us. But tonight, I just don’t feel up to it.
″Nah. I’m calling it a night, Paddy.”
He huffs a laugh, almost in disbelief, as he shakes his head. “What’s the matter? The doctor got you by the dick?”
I glare at him.
″Stay away from her, Cal. I mean it. She’s got some serious issues with men.”
″What kind of issues?”
″Griff would kill me if I said.”
I shoot him a wink as i bring my glass to my lips. “And I’ll kill you if you don’t.” I let my threat linger in the air, waiting for him to make the right decision.
″You’ll learn it soon enough from her,” is all he says as he leaves me alone in our private room.
The walls feel like they’re caving in, as I sit in silence. So, I finish another glass of whiskey and head to my apartment down the street.
Chapter eight
Headspinningfromthevodka I drank after my shift, I hit snooze on my phone and slither out of bed onto the floor. Twenty-four hours of work is brutal, even if I got a few hours of sleep in the on-call bunk and my eye still hurts from the combative elderly last night.
I keep my eyes closed because I know when I open them, the light will make me shrivel up like the drunk I am. I had no intention of coming home and drinking when my shift ended at six in the morning. It just happened, like it did yesterday.
Sometimes, I can’t stop it. It has nothing to do with the type of day I have, either. Last night was a good shift, regardless of the fact I treated a bullet wound illegally and got smacked in the eye by an extremely strong yet elderly man.
It was a fantastic night because I also got to treat a nasty infected wound that had maggots crawling out of a homeless guy’s knee. It was disgusting, and I loved it. The smell of rotting flesh can really fuck with you. It’s like rotten cabbage makes your stomach turn if you’re not used to it but Iamused to it.
Without warning, Jason floods my mind. Work keeps thoughts of him away, but when I am alone, he eats at me. My brain feels like that homeless guy’s knee, and Jason the maggots.
I press my cheek against the hard floor, the cold refreshing. The sensation helps bring my mind out of a state of grogginess.
The snooze alarm on my phone rings again, and I let out a groan of frustration. I’m not ready.
I huff as I reach my hand above my head and pull my phone from the nightstand. I squint with one eye open to read the time. Four in the afternoon. The restaurant is less than a twenty-minute walk from here, so I have about an hour and a half to get ready to meet Drake.
The shower is cold and helps with my headache. I only take a quick one to help wake me, and when I’m out, I wrap a towel around my torso as I glance in the large, golden-framed mirror hanging over my sink. My puffy eyes make me look older. No wrinkles really, except a line on my forehead when I raise my eyebrows. I just look… tired.
I bet Callum doesn’t have any wrinkles when he raises his eyebrows. Ew, why am I thinking of him? I shake him free of my thoughts, patting my skin dry.
Google tells me that The Oceanaire has a God damned dress code. That puts a shit on my plan to wear an old sweatshirt and leggings, now I will have to dig out one of my dresses.
At least the walk to the restaurant will be therapeutic. I’ve been listening to a book that is all about meditation and clearing your mind, and I hope that gets me into the mindset to deal with Drake. The sounds of birds chirping in the book’s background helps ease any anxiety I have while listening, but whenever it stops playing and I’m alone, the crippling sensation of being trapped always resurfaces.
