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He shakes his head in disgust. "I taught ya better than to be on the O'Connor's side."
I stay quiet, forcing myself not to blurt out again that he put me there. Instead, I lower my voice and say, "Please, don't do this. I know ya love me. Ya just made a mistake."
He grunts. "Aye, that's why I'm taking ya to the O'Learys. That's where ya belong. And there's a price to pay."
"A price? Please tell me how much ya owe them. I'll get money. I have access to it. I'll pay it off, I swear," I vow.
"I told ya, there's no amount of money. A debt is a debt. A contract is a contract. Ya know that as well as I do."
"What contract?" I ask again, still trying to understand why he keeps talking about a contract and wondering what's in it. He's somehow promised me, but I'm already married to Tynan. And there's no way my husband is going to divorce me.
Da takes another large mouthful of whiskey. Some of it spills down his chin. He wipes his face on his sleeve and grips the bottle tighter, claiming, "Your fate is with the O'Learys. It's always been. Now stop arguing. I don't want to hear another word." He pulls out his gun and points it at my head. "And I mean it, one more word, and I'll shoot ya too."
25
Tynan
The rain pounds harder, and traffic moves at a snail's pace. There's no way to maneuver around the cars. No other options exist to get to the pub either.
I rotate between calling Brogan's, Maeve's, and Malachy's phone, but no one answers. My panic intensifies to the point I feel nauseous.
Why isn't Brogan picking up?
It takes almost an hour and a half to arrive at the pub. When I turn the corner, lights flash everywhere. An ambulance and several police vehicles line the road.
My gut drops. I park in traffic, jump out of the car, and shove past a cop and a drunk man.
The pub's empty, aside from the crying bartender and paramedics. Brogan's on a stretcher, covered in blood. There's a huge, wet, red stain on the floor. I glance around for Maeve but don't see her anywhere.
"What happened?" I question.
"Sir, ya can't be in here," a cop states.
I snarl, "I'm Tynan O'Connor. I want to know where my wife is!"
His eyes widen. He puts his hands in the air. "I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't recognize ya."
"Where's my wife?" I repeat.
The bartender blurts out, "She left with an old man. He tried to stop them, but the old guy shot him!" She points at Brogan.
I process her statement, glancing at my friend.
Malachy shot Brogan.
How the fuck did that happen?
Brogan's eyes are closed, and my gut dives. I question, "Is he alive?"
The paramedic answers, "For now. We've got to go and get him into surgery."
"What's his chance of survival?" I ask, staring at the blood all over Brogan's shirt.
"Can't say. But time is ticking," the paramedic asserts as he wheels the gurney past me.
I turn back toward the bartender. "Did the old man mention where he was taking my wife?"
She shakes her head. "No. H-he kept talking about a c-contract. She seemed confused."
