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“I’ll go up and see her,” the older man says, and then all I hear are the crunching footfalls of his shoes. I wonder what would happen if I were to try and escape now. I’m pretty sure Declan is downstairs. If I could slip out of the bedroom and try the window in another room, perhaps I can climb down somehow. This balcony doesn’t offer any assistance since it leads right down to the front of the house.
In the distance, I can hear the rumble of more engines, but this time, not cars. No, these are deep, vibrating rumbles. They’re motorbikes. As they near, I turn to find Father Donahue at the door of my bedroom.
“Miren,” he says my name with reverence. “It’s so lovely to meet you. I’m Father Donahue. I’ve known yer parents for a long while.” He offers me a kind smile, and I relax.
“It’s nice to meet you too. My mother has never mentioned you.” My words seem to have an effect on the older man. There’s a sadness in his gaze, and then he nods.
“I’m sorry it has come to this, Miren.” Guilt flickers in his gaze for a short moment, and then it’s as if the world tilts on its axis. An explosion from below the house shakes the walls, and the floor of my bedroom seems to vibrate with it. Windows shatter, and I’m on the floor, crawling to the exit as the priest races for me. He pulls me to my feet, and we rush from the crumbling home I was kept a prisoner in. Another eruption comes from the ground floor, and as we exit through the front door, I’m slammed to the ground. Just outside the house, the heat of the fire warms me, and when I glance over my shoulder, I notice how it wreaks havoc on the house I considered a cage. We crawl away, needing to escape.
I glance back to see the walls come down.
“Say nothing,” Father Donahue hisses at me as he drags me to my feet, and we run as fast as we can and as far away from the house as possible until we collapse on the grass. “Say nothing about who you are,” he tells me. “Do you hear me, girl?”
“What?” Confusion clouds my mind, and I’m not sure what he’s talking about.
“When I introduce ye, ye will say nothing about being a Bragan or who yer da is. You are a new woman from this day forward.” He stands, then offers me a hand. Blood drips from his wrinkled flesh, and I realise he’s hurt himself.
I take his proffered hand, and he pulls me up. “But—”
The old man glances over his shoulder, and that’s when I notice the myriad of chrome and leather. He looks to me again. “Yer name is Miren Doyle.”
“But—” I don’t have time to say anything more, because the moment I open my mouth, the heavy footsteps interrupt me. And Father Donahue’s eyes widen when he looks behind me. As I turn, I find a man who looks like he can crush me with one hand staring back at us.
He’s tall. His broad shoulders are strong under the white T-shirt and the leather cut. Dark eyes land on me for a second, then he lifts them to the priest behind me. And I’m not ready for the voice that comes from his perfectly full lips.
“Donahue,” he greets the priest.
SIX
MONSTER
The closer weget to the house, the more my muscles tense. My hands grip the bars tighter with every mile. Soon, I’ll come face-to-face with the bastard who killed my mother. I smile when I take the last corner, but it falls when I see the destruction before me. I didn’t expect to see the house in tatters. Some of the windows have blown out, and the second floor reminds me of the ruins of a castle.
There are sirens in the distance, and I know without a doubt, there won’t be much privacy when the peelers arrive. I spot Donahue standin’ with a young girl. Or woman. At least, that’s what I think when she tilts her head towards him.
Her long, dark hair hangs to just above her arse. I can’t help but notice the curve of her jeans is rounded perfectly. Feck. I’m getting distracted. Killing the engine, I head over to where they’re stood and force myself not to look at the pretty young thing.
“Donahue,” I greet the man I’ve known all my life. I should be focused on askin’ him about what happened, but the wee girl that’s stood beside him has captured my attention. At first, I thought it was Bragan’s daughter, but I don’t know if he had any wee ones. If he did, he kept them well hidden. But this girl with her chocolate brown hair and blue-grey eyes can’t be the daughter of the mob boss. At least, that’s what I try to convince myself of as I close the distance between us. “Who’s this?”
“Miren Doyle. She was captured by Bragan for questioning.” His words send ice through my veins. The girl has dried scars on her shoulder and arms. Her lip is swollen on the left, and her one eye has a bruise just below it.
“What happened here?” I look away from the girl because, even under all the scars and bruising, she’s gorgeous. I can’t deny it.
“Two explosions went off,” Donahue tells me. “Your man is inside.” We turn to look at the wreckage, and I know there’s no way he’s going to walk out of there. I told Scout not to do it, but the wee bastard didn’t listen to me. I don’t like losing men, and because he was only a prospect, my gut churns with anger and frustration.
He wanted to prove himself to me, but all he did was get himself killed. “Where is Bragan?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the brothers pulling the mob’s soldiers from the rubble. “I want him.”
“He’s dead,” Donahue tells me, which causes me to look over at the old man. “He went into the basement with Scout and the rest of his guards.”
From what I can see, I doubt anyone who was under the house is coming out with all their limbs attached, let alone breathing. I wanted so much to kill the bastard who shot my mother. Revenge isn’t complete until I have his blood on my hands. But it seems fate, the fickle bitch, has taken that from me.
“I want to see the body,” I tell Donahue before leaving him with the girl. I don’t know who she is, and I don’t particularly care right now.
I make my way to the crumbling house and find Rebel and Rogue carrying out remains on a stretcher. The van we brought, which drove behind all the bikes, is parked up closer now, and as they take the charred pieces of whoever the feck they’re carrying to the vehicle, I take in the property.
I wanted to find closure on my own. It’s been taken away from me, just like my ma was all those years ago. Rebel steps up beside me and watches the men working. With the firemen doing their job getting the blaze under control, I wonder briefly if this was all planned. There’s no body, and I know Bragan is a feckin’ arsehole when it comes to escaping. I’ve heard the rumours of him evading death numerous times.
“I don’t like this,” I tell Rebel without looking at my VP.
