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It takes over fifteen hours to get to London. We make a few stops for gas and some food while driving south. When we finally arrive, I pull up to one of the apartments my brothers and I stay in when we're here. I order, "Get out. Ya can stay here for a week. After that, ya can find your own place and get the fuck out."
Malachy's eyes turn to slits. "You're not going to pay for my housing?"
"No, I'm not going to pay for your housing. I'm giving ya ninety thousand fucking euros, ya selfish bastard. Try not to gamble it away, and you'll be fine," I advise, then get out of the car.
Malachy gets out as well.
We go into the apartment, and I hand him a key. "When you've overstayed your welcome, my guy will be here to take the key. I'll hunt ya down if you're not here to give it to him. Do ya understand?"
He looks at me like a lost puppy.
"Don't think ya can get away with anything. I have eyes watching ya at all times. Everywhere ya go. It's no different here than back in Belfast or Dublin."
His face falls, and he looks around the apartment. "Kind of a dump, isn't it?"
I scoff. "It's better than the fucking shithole you've been living in."
He continues looking around.
"This is it, Malachy. Ya better never show your face in Belfast or anywhere in Ireland again. If I find out you've tried to contact Maeve, I'll bury ya. And it'll happen faster than ya know."
He gives me another look of hatred.
I walk out and get back into the car. I'm exhausted from the drive, but part of me is filled with adrenaline. He's out of Ireland. Knowing Malachy, he'll gamble the money away in a matter of days. And he won't have any way to return to Ireland. The bookies in England will kill him and I'll be nothing but relieved.
I drive through the night. It's early the next morning when I return to the hotel. I nod at Brogan, dismiss him, and open the door.
Maeve jumps out of the chair. "Where have ya been?"
"Out," I tell her.
She glares darts at me. "Out? That's all you're going to say?"
"I don't answer to you."
"You don't answer to me? I'm your wife," she seethes.
I shrug. "And I don't answer to you."
She crosses her arms over her chest. "What am I now, your prisoner?"
"No."
"Then why did ya have your thug guarding the door?"
"It's for your safety. And Brogan's not a thug."
"My safety? What are ya talking about?"
"You're my wife. There will always be threats against ya. I will always know where you're at, to ensure you're safe. You understand?"
She continues glaring at me.
"Get dressed."
"Why?"
I point at her robe. "Because ya won't be happy if I make ya leave the hotel in that."
