Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sean

I 'm sitting in the back room of the Dublin Devils' headquarters, the air thick with the smell of oil and leather. My phone lies on the table in front of me, its screen too dark for my liking.

I'm waiting for a text from Piper, hoping she's safe, especially since it's been over an hour since she said she was off to confront her father.

She's tough—I know that—but she's also innocent and very breakable.

I tip my tumbler back in a greedy gulp, the images of her beaten and bleeding forever etched into my mind's eye. Never again.

I will gut anyone who ever lays a fucking hand on her.

Piper doesn't understand the lengths I will take to keep her safe. I will slaughter anyone in my fucking path to get to her.

I'm already counting the days until I can hunt down Vladmir Volkov and Arkady Sidorov and string them up from the nearest bridge with their cocks cut off and shoved down their throats.

Mattie McGuire deserves the same fate.

But as angry as Piper is at her father, I doubt it would earn me any favors in the romance department if I emasculate her father like that.

How about a good ‘ole 9mm round through the skull?

That might go over better.

I stare at the clock on the opposite wall. With Ryan's funeral in a few hours, it feels like the city is holding its breath, waiting for a spark that will ignite the chaos.

The phone vibrates, and I'm quick to grab it, but it's not Piper. "Hey, Tag. What's the craic?"

"That's my question, brother. First off, how are you?"

He's not asking about my mental state. There's no reason why he would be worried about that. He has no idea I've fallen for the enemy and am about to be sick knowing she's out of my reach.

No. He's talking about the hole in my side.

"I'm sound as a pound. How are things on your end?"

"Quiet. Maybe too quiet. I don't like it."

I glance around the dimly lit room, the maps of Dublin on the walls marked with our territory and notable incidents over the past weeks. "Calm isn't a bad thing, but I hear what you're saying. Maybe the McGuires are taking the day off to mourn, or maybe they'll strike out."

"Exactly. There have been no fires, and no attacks. It's making me jumpy."

"What are you thinking?"

"I want twice the normal number of riders patrolling along the river and watching over the Quinn properties."

My fingers tap against the wooden table as I watch the arms of the clock stretch around their circle again and again. "Aye, I'll get it done. Anything else? Have you heard anything more from the Russians?"

"Nothing from the two in the city, no, but I have a call scheduled with the big boss, Anton Volkov, later tonight."

"Have you figured out how to satisfy their expectations and keep them out of Dublin?"

"Not yet." Tag sighs on the other end of the line. "We can't handle the volume of product Mattie negotiated for without tipping the balance of our entire operation. I want more legitimate businesses in the future, not less."

"You'll think of something—you always do."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but if you get any big ideas, throw them into the ring. The hours are ticking down, brother. We need a plan."

"All right. I'll give it some thought today, and we can talk over dinner."

"You're coming for dinner? I figured once you were back on your bike and Piper was gone, you'd be back to your flat."

"Aye, well, maybe I'm not ready to give up Cora's cooking just yet."

Tag laughs. "Whatever it takes. You know she loves it when we're all under one roof."

"Aye, she does at that."

I end the call and stare at my phone again, willing it to light up with Piper's name. Today, of all days, I need to be focused, but I can't help but worry.

Mattie McGuire is a venomous snake.

If Piper's not careful, she'll get a nasty bite.

The silence of the headquarters feels more oppressive than ever, each tick of the clock hands taunting me.

I stand to rally my army, to throw myself into the work. It's the only way to keep the worry at bay, focusing on what I can control. Not waiting for a text that may not come or for the night to unfold.

We're in the eye of the storm. All I can do is prepare myself in the silence and wait for the chaos to unleash.

I step onto the front porch of the clubhouse, pulling the door shut behind me with a solid thud. The air is crisp, carrying a sharp chill that's uncommon for Dublin at this time of year. Where has the summer gone?

I fish a cigarette from my jacket and light up, taking a long, slow drag. The nicotine hits, but it doesn't do much to ease the knot of worry that's locked in my chest.

Flicking ash off the end, I pull out my cell and dial Kieran, my sergeant at arms. He picks up on the second ring. "Have you got an update from the south side?"

"Yeah, boss," Kieran's voice is steady, reliable. "My guy's on it. He watched over Piper at the wake last night, made sure she got home okay. He's stationed outside her house now. Says three black limos just pulled up. He'll tail them to the funeral and keep me posted."

That information helps settle some of the restlessness stirring inside me. "Good. Keep me updated. And make sure your guy stays sharp. If anyone moves on Piper, I want to know immediately."

"Got it. Anything else?"

"Aye, Tag wants to double up on patrols. He's not sure if the funeral will inspire Mattie to take the day off or come at us. He wants to be prepared. Where are you now?"

"Frenchie, Tig, and I are at the staging warehouse, replacing the loading bay door."

"Okay, you three stay on that, I'll get Keefer and we'll work the patrols."

"Let me know if anything fun starts. We'll be there."

I chuckle. "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll all get our fill of bloody battles in the days to come."

"Promises, promises."

I end the call and slide the phone back into the side pocket of my leather vest. I take another drag of my cigarette and scan the lines of bikes in the yard.

It's a fucking beautiful sight.

I wonder if Piper would ride. I could get her a Low Rider or maybe a Nightster, and have Kieran paint it up all sexy and spank. Thinking about Piper in leathers does powerful things to me.

I groan as my cock hardens and I realize I have no right to fantasize about a future where the two of us can break the sound barrier together.

She's not for me.

She's a McGuire.

Still, she's packing it in with her family and that gives the little ember of warmth kindling in my cold, dark heart an ounce of hope.

Her plan to live on the north side with friends means I can at least see her and know that she's doing okay.

Looking out across the yard, I allow myself a moment to breathe. I exhale and watch as the smoke curls up into the gray afternoon sky.

Before heading back inside, I pull out my phone again and type out a quick text to Piper.

Thinking of you today.

It's not much, but it's generic enough that if anyone questions it, the context is easily explained on the day of her brother's funeral.

I hit send, hoping it offers her a sliver of comfort on a day that's bound to be filled with grief and tension.

Crushing the cigarette under my boot, I decide there's not much more I can do here for now. I open the door and lean inside. "Saddle up, boys. We're on the move."

While boots and chairs shuffle against the wood floor inside, I walk over to where my bike is parked. The familiar weight of the keys in my hand grounds me, and though my side hurts when I swing a leg over, I settle onto the seat and wait for the pain to ease.

When my boys are present and accounted for, I fire up the engine, the throaty roar rumbling through the quiet, echoing in the fenced property around us.

I can't do anything more for Piper right now, so I might as well keep Tag happy. The road is a sanctuary for me anyway, the rhythm of the ride a meditation.

Mickey rides to the gate and opens our way and the boys roll out. As my tires take hold, I shift gears and fall into the stream of bikes spilling onto the street like a river of steel and leather.

"Keep it tight, Devils. Today, more than ever, we need to watch each other's backs."