Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Piper

I knock on the wide, brown door of the modest stone house overlooking the canal. Be home, Clare. Please be home. Clare Malloy has been my partner for half a dozen projects in college and is the only one I can think of that my parents might not know about.

When the door opens, I breathe again. "Hey, Clare. Sorry to drop in unannounced?—"

"Sweet mother, Piper, what happened to you?"

I tilt my head and pull my hair to cover the side of my face. I'm still sporting the remnants of a black eye and the gruesome scabbing of Vladmir's Bratva branding. "It's a bit of a long story. Can I come in? I need your help."

"Of course, come inside."

I follow her down the cramped hallway, and she blocks the entranceway to the living room. "A friend from school popped in. We'll be in my room."

"What kind of friend?" her Da asks.

"The girl kind, Da. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Hello, Mr. Malloy," I call out, to back Clare up.

"Hello, lass."

With that settled, Clare escorts me to the back of her house, where she shares a room with her younger sister. "Come in. Sit down."

I sit on her bed and before she can bombard me with questions, I tell her a watered-down version of the story that I thought up on the way here.

It's vaguely true—more like truth adjacent—but covers all the bases.

"So, I haven't talked to my Da since last week, but I want to go to Ryan's wake."

"Of course you do."

"And I thought that if I borrow a dress and you help me fix my makeup to cover most of the bruises, he might not cause a scene."

"But if this big client of his hurt you, don't you think he'll want to know?"

"I'll tell him, but tonight is about Ryan and our family. I don't want bad blood to affect the wake, and I figure having all our friends and family around will help keep things civil."

She looks me over and I can tell she's concerned, but I force my best smile. "Please?"

"Of course, I'm just worried about you."

"And I appreciate that, but this will work. It has to."

The Donnybrook Pub has been one of my father's favorite hangouts since before he was a made man. It's where he met his first wife, Aimee, when she was working as a barmaid, back in the late eighties.

It's where he and Mam used to come to play darts on Saturday nights.

It's where Declan was remembered a couple of weeks ago and now it's where Ryan will be remembered tonight.

Two brothers in one month.

I'm not sure I'll ever forgive Da for what he did to me, but there's a tiny part of me that's grateful it happened. Seeing the monster my father can be freed me from my delusion of needing his approval.

It taught me a lot about myself and how strong I am, with or without the McGuire name.

"Piper?" Rory is standing on the front step of the pub, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. "Where the fuck have you been? We've been worried sick."

He's about to wrap his arms around me when I press my hand against his chest. "I'm pretty battered up. Be gentle, please."

"Battered up? What the fuck does that mean?"

I step closer and give him a one-arm hug, turning my body so the embrace doesn't affect my bad ribs. "Later. Tonight's about Ryan."

Rory shifts the hair cascading over my bad cheek and frowns. "Who the fuck did this to you, Piper? I swear to God, I'll end them."

I grip his wrist and kiss his knuckles. "You can't end them. I'll explain everything tomorrow. For now, let's get inside. And if you want to stick close to me and run parental block, I'd appreciate it."

"Whatever you need. I've got your back."

Rory puts his cigarette back in the pack and leads the way into the pub. Seeing him shocked and outraged means more to me than he could possibly know.

At least someone in my family loves me.

Maybe it's not as bad as I imagined.

Maybe it was just Da losing his grip.

"There's my sweet lass. Piper girl, I've missed you." My grandmother is going deaf, and her announcement of my arrival is louder than I would've liked. She's drawn the attention of both of my parents and Billy Gravely.

"Hello, Maimeó ." I kiss her cheek and wonder if I can wedge myself between my brother and my grandmother all night and avoid the fight storming toward me.

Judging by the look in Da's eye and the speed at which he's cutting through the crowd, that seems unlikely. But right before he gets to me, Mam grabs his arm and stops him. She leans close to his ear and my father's fire seems to extinguish.

Billy Gravely is another story altogether.

"What the fuck did I miss?" Rory whispers in my ear.

"If I'm still breathing at the end of the night, I'll tell you the whole horrible story."

"Were you high when this happened?"

I take in Rory's disbelieving expression and roll my eyes. "Please don't joke. Not one bit of what happened is funny."

"No, it's not, but you have to admit a tale where Da sells you to the Bratva and Sean Quinn rescues you and nurses you back onto your feet sounds like something that might happen in a topsy-turvy mirror universe."

"And yet it's true. Vladmir waved the contract in my face and Da's signature was right there at the bottom."

"He's fucking lost it."

"I know. And there's no way Mam didn't know about it—at least after the fact—but she didn't seem relieved to see me tonight at the wake. If anything, she seemed as angry as Da."

Rory flops backward onto my mattress and stares up at the ceiling. "What are we going to do?"

"We? You don't have to be dragged into this mess. I'm going to go to the funeral tomorrow and after we come home, I'm going to pack my things and move out."

Rory props himself up on his elbows. "No way will they let you just move out. Besides, how do you rent a place without a job or references or money?"

"I'll crash with friends for a bit while I pull that together." In truth, I have a private bank account where I've been stashing my shopping allowance and any loose cash I found lying around.

I've got almost eight grand to make a new start.

But that's not something I'll share with anyone—even Rory. I love him to death, but I've seen how Da manipulates the boys to bend to his will.

"How much are you going to tell Mam and Da?"

"All of it. If they want to pretend the Quinns are the source of all evil and the ruination of our lives, that's on them. I know better. Tag wants the truce. He has no interest in a power war. It's all Da."

"But they already killed Declan."

"That was Tag's right-hand man finding out Declan was sleeping with his girlfriend and using her to spy on them."

"But didn't they send her to spy on us ?"

"Aye, Sean said Aiden fell in love and genuinely lost his head when he realized he was being played."

Rory exhales. "And that was the curvy redhead with the tits?"

I frown at him. "All women have breasts, Rory. Maybe find another way to describe her."

"The curvy redhead with the rocking, big tits?"

I roll my eyes at him. "All right. You better get clear of me. Mam and Da may have stayed late at the pub, but I have a feeling the first thing they'll do when they get home is storm up here to grill and berate me."

Rory sits up and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, sis. This is all kinds of fucked up."

"I know, but at least I know what they're capable of and won't be caught unaware again. After the service tomorrow, I won't be here to play the part of their pawn."

Ryan lifts his fist for a knuckle bump, and I lock my door behind him when he leaves. Then I pull out my phone and rush over to my bed.

Where did he put his number?

I scroll through my contacts. He's not under Sean or Quinn, but that's smart. He wouldn't want my father gaining access to my phone and finding him in there. I start back at the top under the A listings and scan my contacts one by one.

When I get to B. Knight, I laugh and hop onto my bed.

So far so good. The wake was tense but civil.

I wait while the little dots bounce as he texts his reply.

You won't be safe until you're clear of them and back on the north side. Don't let your guard down.

I won't. I've got this.

I love that you think so, but trust me, you don't.

His lack of faith stings a little, but it's less about me and more about his perspective based on his experiences. We're all a product of our past.

Better go. Big day tomorrow. Need my beauty sleep.

There's no improving perfection.

Sweet dreams, Mr. Knight.

Sweet dreams, P. Be safe.

I don't sleep much. I lie in bed for hours, listening for the sounds of my parents returning from the pub. It's after two when they come in and then I'm on full alert.

I don't want to have our confrontation when they're upset and drunk, but like everything else—I don't have a say in that.

Despite lying awake and listening for them to come—they don't. I wake hours later, still dressed and lying on top of my covers.

I unplug my phone and check the time. It's just after eight in the morning. Deciding I want to be fully awake and prepared for what's to come, I grab some clean clothes and have my shower.

I don't put makeup on to cover the bruises. They need to see what Da's plotting came to. To that effect, I put my t-shirt away and grab a crop top.

Might as well go for maximum impact.

Before I go downstairs to face the firing squad, I send a quick text to Mr. B. Knight.

Heading into the lion's den. Wish me luck.

Call if you need help. River or not, I'm there.

It means a lot that he'd brave the hostilities of breaching rival territory to help me.

I tuck my phone into the pocket of the pants I'll wear until it's time to dress for the funeral and draw a steadying breath.

After everything I've faced this week, why am I so afraid to face my parents? Whatever they say can't be as bad as what was done to me.

Outside my bedroom, I stand in the upstairs hall and listen to the mumbled voices and clinking sounds of my family in the kitchen.

How can they be down there having breakfast as usual? Were they like this while I was gone for the past week? Did life just carry on?

Oh, our daughter was almost raped and murdered by the Russians, pass the sausage.

And the more I envision it, the more likely it seems.

Did I ever matter to them, or was I simply the end of the lucky streak of Da making boys? Looking back on my life and viewing it through that lens clears up so many moments in my childhood.

They always said I was na?ve. They were right.

Only my na?veté wasn't about the business and the workings of the world, it was about my value within the world they created.

I descend the stairs with a fire in my heart and the knowledge that this is a ‘them' problem. My arrival into the kitchen brings a rush of silence.

My parents are sitting in their usual seats, looking disdainful and cold. Rory and Brody are eating and keeping their heads down. Darcy is standing at the counter in front of the toaster. And Niall is blessedly absent.

"Good morning, everyone."

My mother looks up from where she's worshipping her coffee mug at the table. "What's so good about it?"

"Nothing at all." I reach into the cupboard to get a glass. "I was simply trying to be civil."

"Och, now you try. You could've used some of that civility last week when you were sent to charm the Russians. Do you understand how important that was to our family?"

I'm ready for the comment, so I don't even flinch. Point to me . "You mean while those hairy brutes pinned me down and to rape me? I'm sorry Da's plan didn't work out, but I wasn't expecting to be gifted to strangers like a party favor. I'm a McGuire—I fought back."

"You're no McGuire," Da snaps. "McGuires know what it means to sacrifice for the business that keeps us in power—a business that keeps a fancy roof over your head and a bank account full of money so you can go shopping every ten minutes."

I pour myself a glass of juice and lean on the center island, facing them. With a subtle finger swiping over my ear, I move my hair, so they get a good look at the black eye and the raw flesh of my cheek.

"You asked me to entertain them through dinner and then show them to their suite. You asked me to be charming and ensure they had a good time. I did that. What you didn't ask me about was an arranged marriage, or being whored out, or being shipped to Russia as a trophy for a bunch of rapists and killers."

Da's gaze narrows. "Watch your mouth, young lady. You don't know enough about things to stand there and judge me."

"Maybe not, but I saw the contract. Vladmir shoved it in my face as he blackened my eye and ripped up my cheek with his Bratva ring. My eyes may have been watering at the time, but I saw you offered your virgin daughter as a signing bonus, and I saw your signature making it official."

"Marital alliances are made between powerful families all the time, little girl. You know this."

"I know it happens and maybe something could've been worked out if I was consulted and had a say about who it would be and where I would live, but you can't just give me away to secure a gun deal."

"I can and I did."

Rory's spoon falls into his bowl and he pushes away from his place at the table. "Seriously? I've been sitting here waiting for you to explain to Piper that she misunderstood, or that the Russians made it up. Are you honestly saying you sold her virginity to secure weapons? That's cold, Da."

Thank the stars for Rory.

At least one person in my family truly loves me.

Da throws Rory a hard stare. "Enough from you, boy. I am the head of this family and don't answer to any of you. Securing an alliance with the Russians is tactically necessary to push out the Quinns and claim what should've been ours from the beginning."

"Why should it be, Da?" My glass clanks on the granite countertop and orange juice swishes over the rim. "The Quinns live by a code. They were committed to the truce you signed with Cormack decades ago."

"Cormack Quinn is dead, as is the truce. And with him gone, we have our opening to rule all of Dublin."

"Why does that matter?" I ask. "We have millions of dollars, houses, and a thriving business. You're a powerful and feared man. Why do we need more? What was so wrong with coexisting with the Quinns? Going after them is going to start an all-out war."

Da shakes his head. "You disgust me."

"Then we finally have something in common."

He's out of his seat and storming toward the island in the next heartbeat. I grab a knife out of the butcher block and my fingers tighten around the handle with a death grip. As strong as the urge is to back away and shrink in the surge of his anger, I hold my ground.

The surprise in Da's eyes is only a flash before it's replaced by fury. "You dare raise a knife against me?"

"To defend my life? Aye, I dare."

His gaze grows dark, and I feel Darcy moving into position behind me.

"Don't fucking try it, D. I've been manhandled enough this week that I'm liable to forget you're my brother and add another McGuire boy to the funeral listings."

"Piper!" Mam gasps. "How dare you speak of our dead with such disrespect?"

Da lifts his chin, makes eye-contact with my brother, and tilts his head to wave him off. When he meets my gaze, there's nothing left of the man I once considered my father. "You're the reason Ryan's dead, Piper. If he hadn't been sent to find you, he'd be alive and maybe you'd be dead."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Da."

My father glares at me. "Ryan is dead because you let yourself be taken by a Quinn. Where was your fight and survival instinct then?"

I scoff. "Sean scraped me off the sidewalk bloody and beaten. The Quinns were kind to me. They got me a doctor and when I felt ready to leave, they wished me well. They value the truce. They don't want war. They don't want to see innocents killed in their streets."

Da shakes his head. "You're as stupid as you are useless."

There it is. "That's what I'm used to—just with a little more venom because you stopped hiding your true colors."

"You're lucky I'm a forgiving man, Piper." Da takes another step forward and then glances at the knife and stops. "Billy told me you'd be brainwashed by the Quinns, so I'll let you live despite your disrespect. Get upstairs. Consider yourself confined to your room until I decide what is to be done with you."

I blink. Does he actually think I'm still his approval-seeking little girl? "Sorry, Da. I came home to pay my respects in the wake of Ryan's death and to look you in the eye to tell you I know what you did with the Russians. I won't be confined in my room, and you won't decide what's being done with me. I'm leaving after the service, and I won't be back."

I cast a glance at my mother. Her expression is unreadable, but she's not talking me out of leaving, so that says something.

"So insolent." Da's gaze narrows on the blade of the knife. "How long do you think you'll survive in the world without the McGuire name to protect you? Where will you go? How will you feed yourself?"

"None of that is your concern anymore. You lost the right to be my father the moment you traded my virginity for guns. The funniest part is I'm not a virgin, so I'm not sure if I even qualify as your party favor."

Da's expression blanches. It's the most emotion I've seen in him since this confrontation began. His gaze shifts to my mother. "What is she saying? You assured me she was a virgin."

"She is . She's lying."

I laugh. "I'm not lying. Why would you think you know better than me? I'm not a virgin. Despite your hovering, I've had amazing sex and countless orgasms, and there's nothing you can do to change that. Does that make your contract fraudulent? I wonder what the Russians will think about that. I'm sure they won't appreciate you lying to them."

Da looks like he's about to have an aneurysm, and I take that as a win.

My mother is standing now, and she looks like she might faint. "Shut up, Piper. Get upstairs to your room."

Apparently, I've struck a nerve.

In my head, I hoped that my mother might still side with me once she found out what was done to me.

Now I'm more certain than ever that she knew the plan and went along with it. The pain of that realization is numbing to the point of dizziness.

Mam points at the stairs, and I consider that my cue to take my leave. I don't rush. I take my time climbing to the top of the stairs, go into my room, and close the door quietly behind me.

When the lock clicks into place, I take my first deep breath in the past ten minutes. The knife is still clutched in my hand, and I make a concerted effort to release my fingers and allow the circulation to begin again.

I did it.

I didn't plan to draw such an aggressive line in the sand, but when he came at me, I grabbed the blade purely on instinct.

A few deep breaths with my back against my bedroom door and the shakes settle. I'm fine. I stood my ground and had my say.

I'm on the other side of it.

All I need to do now is to attend the funeral and then walk away. I scan the room that has been my personal space for two decades. Everything looks exactly the way I left it last week, but nothing is the same.

This will be the last time I set foot in this room.

With my bridges burnt to a crisp, it's time to plan for the next phase of my life.

I head to my closet to grab my suitcase, but it isn't there. Fine. They can't stop me from leaving just by taking away a suitcase. I stride across the hall to Rory's room and grab one of his sports duffle bags from under his bed.

Once I'm back in my room, I start to pack.