Page 74

It makes no sense. Sure, that guy smelled crooked, even from across the road that fateful night when I met Lucie, but logistically, it doesn’t add up.

“Can we go home, please?” she asks quietly.

I’m about to say yes until Torin nods at me and holds up his phone. He comes over and shows me.

The message on it says, “Info at Clancy’s.”

I nod at him. “We’ll go, but first we’re getting a drink.”

Her eyes dull, the usual glimmer fizzled out, and it sends sharp slices of guilt through me.

“Where?” she asks.

“Irish pub. I’ll buy you a Dubious Joy.”

Clancy’s is quiet enough and Torin and Seamus go to meet the bartender/owner.

It’s about O’Sullivan, maybe dirt on some of the people we’ve lined up to do business with, outside of my dealing with de Rosa.

It could be about the Jamaica explosion, but unless someone knows the real deal, who set it up and why, then it’s doubtful we’ll get answers here at Clancy’s.

My brothers will find out what they can.

They always do.

Dec talks as he digs around in the backpack like he’s looking for his wallet, but I know he’s checking that all the money is in there, along with details about a shipment coming in through Mexican tunnels. This is real homegrown stuff. Just pen and paper info. It’s a good deal, a one-off of some high-grade arms I can sell back home, pieces we can’t get ourselves.

I’m not really listening to Dec, but it slowly dawns on me long after his nod that lets me know it’s a yes, that he’s not talking to me after all.

He’s talking to my fucking bride.

Flirting, actually.

Even generic flirting earns him a murderous look, one he ignores.

Usually the charming littlegobshitehas all women eating from his hand, licking his damn fingers, and begging for more.

Not my Lucie.

But still, she likes him, finds him sweet—fucking sweet—and endearing. I mean, it’s obvious from their banter.

So I start paying attention. And that’s when she excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

“Asshole,” I mutter to Dec.

“Dick,” he says back.

The other two return with the drinks.

“Well now, it seems our friend’s been asking about us,” Seamus says. “Nice to know we’re famous on both sides of the pond.” He picks up his whiskey.

I tap the table. “Any leads on where he is?”

“Clancy said he likes that trend of masked events, dance clubs, sex club parties?—”

“And engagement parties slash pop-up weddings,” Dec says over the top of Torin.

“Is he looking for us?” I look from Tor to Seamus.