Page 1 of Cowboy (Fury Vipers MC: Dublin Chapter #4)

COWBOY

FIVE YEARS AGO

“T ell me again: why the hell are we doing this?” Dylan asks, his gaze moving around the dark, quiet housing estate. This was once assigned to become the biggest housing estate in Dublin. Five years later, half-built houses that are never going to see the light of day are scattered along the land.

“You’re the one who wanted to come with me,” I remind him. “This isn’t our first job for The Agency, Dylan. I’m capable of doing what Travis needs without backup.”

He shakes his head. “You need an alibi when shit hits the fan, Ciarán, and yes, we’ve been working for the agency for the past year, but it’s always better to have two of us incase shit hits the fan.”

He’s right, he has. Dylan and I have been best friends since we were kids.

He’s always been at my side. No matter what shit I get myself into, he’s always there with me.

Including me owing Travis James over five thousand euros because I stole from him over a year ago, some stupid, signed memorabilia card that was worth over five grand.

It was a stupid mistake that's led me to become a killer for The Agency. Travis gave me three jobs to do, and the moment they were done, I thought I was done, but it turns out I’m damned good at what I do and I quite enjoy it.

So I stayed on. Now, whenever Travis needs someone, he calls me.

Dylan's also part of The Agency. Whenever we have jobs, we always go with one another.

"Fine," I mutter, pulling my hood tighter around my face. "Let's just get this over with."

We creep toward the nearest half-finished house. The smell of damp and mold hits us as we step inside. Our footsteps echo on the bare concrete floors.

"What, exactly, are we looking for?" Dylan whispers.

"There's a package hidden in one of these houses. We need to find it. From the intel The Agency has, there's a trafficking ring starting to emerge between London and Dublin. The Agency needs this package as it could lead them to whoever is behind the ring."

We move from room to room, our flashlights sweeping across empty spaces and debris. After clearing the third house, I begin to wonder if this is a wild goose chase.

Thankfully, not even ten minutes later, Dylan discovers a loose brick in the fireplace of the fourth house.

We carefully nudge the brick loose, and once we have it free, we see a hidden compartment behind it.

Nestled within the dusty alcove is the package we’ve been looking for.

The worn edges of the parcel make it seem like it’s been here since the builders abandoned the estate five years ago.

It’s time to make our swift exit and rendezvous with Travis, who’s currently on a job here in Dublin too.

I slide the parcel into my pocket, making sure it’s secure before we leave.

Suddenly, Dylan grabs my arm. "Did you hear that?"

I freeze, straining my ears. A faint scraping sound comes from outside, followed by hushed voices.

"Shit," I hiss. "We're not alone."

We duck behind a partially constructed wall, my heart pounding. I listen close, hearing their footsteps and their voices growing louder, which means they’re getting closer.

"Who the hell could that be?" Dylan whispers, his eyes wide with panic.

I press a finger to my lips, urging him to stay quiet. The voices are getting closer, and I can make out at least three men moving toward the house we're currently in. Fear grips me as I realize how dangerous this is. Could they be the traffickers themselves?

"We need to move," I breathe, barely audible. "Now."

We crouch low as we inch our way toward the back of the house. The floorboards creak beneath our feet, and I wince at each sound. The voices outside pause, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think we've been discovered.

Then, a gruff voice calls out, "Check the basement. They said it'd be there."

My blood runs cold. The package. They're after the same thing we are.

I grab Dylan's sleeve and pull him toward a half-finished staircase leading to the upper floor. We ascend as quietly as possible, our backs pressed against the wall. From our new vantage point, we can see shadowy figures moving through the ground floor.

"What now?" Dylan mouths, his face pale in the dim light. I have no doubt that mine looks exactly the same.

I scan the room, looking for any possible escape route. The window. It's our only chance. I point to it, and Dylan nods in understanding.

As we make our way to the window, I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure they can hear it. We reach the window, and I struggle to pry it open. It's stuck; probably from years of disuse and exposure to the elements.

The footsteps are getting closer. Dylan joins me in trying to force the window open. With a final, desperate push, it gives way with a loud screech.

"Hey!" a voice shouts from behind us. "Stop right there!"

Without hesitation, I shove Dylan through the open window. He tumbles onto the scaffolding outside, and I follow right behind him. Bullets whiz past us as we scramble down the metal framework.

As soon as our feet hit the ground, we're running. Heavy footsteps follow us as we dash for the exit, but we know this area like the back of our hand. When we were younger, we’d always roam around trying to stay out of trouble.

We weave through the maze of unfinished houses, our lungs burning and hearts racing.

Finally, after what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, we reach the edge of the estate. We don't stop running until we're several blocks away, hidden in the shadows of a narrow alley.

Gasping for breath, I turn to Dylan. "You okay?"

He nods, bent over with his hands on his knees. "Yeah," he pants. "But what the hell was that, Ciarán? Who were those guys?"

I shake my head, my mind still reeling from our close call. "I don't know. But one thing's for sure, this job just got a lot more complicated."

He scoffs. “You think?”

"We need to contact Travis," I say, pulling out the burner phone Travis handed me only hours ago. “This changes everything."

Dylan nods, still catching his breath. "What about the package?"

I pat my jacket pocket, feeling the bulk of the package against my chest. "Still got it. But now we know we're not the only ones after it."

I dial Travis' number and he picks up on the third ring. "Report," he barks, his voice tense.

"We've got the package," I say quickly, "but we ran into complications. There were others at the site, armed. They were looking for the same thing we were."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. When Travis speaks again, his voice is low and urgent. "Get to my apartment immediately. Do not stop for anything. I'll meet you there in an hour."

The line goes dead. I look at Dylan. His face is pale and his eyes wide. "We're heading to his apartment," I tell him.

We stick to back streets and alleyways, constantly checking over our shoulders. The adrenaline from our escape is still pumping through my veins, and I feel as though I’m being watched; as if every shadow could possibly be the men back at the estate.

As we near the apartment, in a quiet neighbourhood, I can't shake the feeling that we're being watched. I glance at Dylan and see the same unease in his eyes.

"Something's not right," he mutters as we approach the building.

I nod, my hand instinctively moving to the concealed weapon at my hip. "Stay alert."

We climb the stairs to the third floor, our footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell. I pause at the door to Travis' apartment, listening intently. Silence.

With a deep breath, I unlock the door and push it open, my other hand ready on my weapon.

The apartment is dark and still. I flick on the lights, revealing the sparse furnishings of Travis' apartment.

He's rarely here. He lives in London, where his children live, but occasionally he's here to do jobs and to deal with those of us who work for The Agency and live in Ireland.

"Clear," I say after a quick sweep of the rooms.

Dylan closes and locks the door behind us, then draws the curtains. "Now what?"

I place the package on the coffee table, eyeing it warily. "Now, we wait for Travis. And hope he has some answers about who else is involved in this mess."

As we settle in for a tense wait, I can't help but wonder: have we stumbled into something much bigger than a simple trafficking ring? And more importantly: are we prepared for what comes next?

* * *

The front door of the apartment opens and in walks Travis. His eyes scan me from head to toe before turning to Dylan and doing the same. “You’re both in one piece, which is good. Now, tell me what happened.”

"We were ambushed," I explain, my voice tight. "There were at least three of them, maybe more. They knew exactly what they were looking for."

Travis' eyes narrow. "Did they see you? Recognize you?"

I shake my head. "I don't think so. We managed to slip away before they got a good look at us."

"Good." Travis nods, his gaze shifting to the package on the coffee table. "You got what we came for, at least."

He reaches for the package, but I stop him. "Wait. Before we open that, I want to know what's really going on here. Who were those people? And why are they after the same thing we are?"

Travis sighs and runs a hand through his graying hair. "It's complicated, Ciarán. The trafficking ring... it's bigger than we initially thought. There are powerful people involved, people who don't want their secrets exposed."

Dylan leans forward, his brow furrowed. "What kind of powerful people are we talking about here?"

"Politicians, business tycoons, even some law enforcement," Travis says grimly. "This package could blow the whole operation wide open. That's why they're so desperate to get their hands on it."

I feel a chill run down my spine. "So what's our next move?"