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Smoke rises from the barrel of the gun. He points it at me. "Get up. Now. We're going."
"Da, ya can't—"
"Ya want me to shoot ya too?"
I stare at him, paralyzed, unable to comprehend that this man in front of me is my da. How could he point a gun at me?
A low whine comes from Brogan, reminding me of a dog in pain. I glance at him, but the sound stops. I can't tell if he's breathing or not. And the pool of blood grows wider around him.
"Move. Now," Da orders and grabs the bottle off the table.
Shaking, I slide out of the booth, barely able to stand due to my wobbling knees.
He grabs my arm and points at the barmaid and the drunk. "Ya didn't see anything."
The barmaid has her hands in the air. "No. I didn't."
The drunk takes another sip of his drink and turns back to the television screen.
Da shoves me out of the pub, demanding, "Where's your car?"
I point to the Bugatti.
He freezes, mumbling, "Ya got to be kidding me."
I don't say anything.
"Well, get in, ya rich girl. It must be nice. And ya couldn't even help your poor da out."
"I did help ya! Tynan got ya out of your last debt. I don't know why you're saying this."
Da says, "He took me to London to die."
I freeze, gaping, then shake my head, claiming, "No, he wouldn't have. He didn't know where ya were. Everyone was looking for ya."
"And ya believe that? Tell me I didn't raise a stupid lass," Da states.
I don't know what to do. My inside's quiver. I'm confused, scared, and regretting leaving the house.
"Get in," Da demands again.
I slide into the driver's seat, and he enters the passenger side. He points. "Ya better drive, and ya better drive fast."
"Where?"
"Dublin."
"Dublin? Why are we going to Dublin?"
"I told ya. There's a contract. We're going to fulfill this contract."
"What contract? Please tell me."
"Drive. Stop asking questions," he barks.
I do as he says, pulling out into traffic. Occasionally, he tells me to take a turn, then his phone rings.
"Who's that?" I question, hoping it's Tynan and realizing I left my phone on the table in the pub.
