Page 26 of Dublin Charmer (Emerald Isle Mafia #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Nyx

T he diner is pretty much empty, with just a few locals hunched over coffee mugs, seeking refuge from the storm. I nod to the woman behind the counter and head straight toward the private room in the back. She’s seen me in here a bunch of times and doesn’t bother to try to seat me.

I’m three minutes late but I already know Billy isn’t here. His car wasn’t outside, and he loves to make me wait. It makes him feel like a big man to laud himself over others.

Yeah, well, fuck him.

The door to the private room is open and when I round the corner and step inside, a tall man with a pockmarked face and crooked nose stands. The legs of his chair scrape the vinyl flooring as he shrugs on his leather jacket.

I recognize him immediately—Donal Reese, Billy’s second-in-command.

“Don’t bother sitting,” he says, rounding the table. “There’s been a change in plans.” Donal’s Dublin accent is thicker than Billy’s, his voice gravelly from years of smoking. “Boss wants to meet elsewhere.”

My stomach tightens. “He told me to come here.”

“Well, he told me to pick you up, so now yer being told to come with me.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Problem?”

Every instinct screams danger. But protesting too much would only raise suspicion. If Billy’s testing my loyalty, I need to pass.

“No problem. I just wasn’t expecting a field trip.”

Donal stands, gesturing toward the kitchen. “The car’s out back. Closer to the door.”

I follow him through the kitchen, past the staff working the grills and fryers, and out the rear exit into the staff lot. A black SUV idles there, engine running, windows tinted almost black.

“Hackers first.” Donal opens the back door and sweeps his hand through the air to gesture me inside.

I climb in, clutching my backpack.

Donal slides in beside me. The doors lock with an ominous click as the driver pulls away from the building.

“So, where are we meeting him?” I force as much casual nonchalance into my voice as possible while my fingers drum nervously against my thigh. The leather seat beneath me feels cold and unwelcoming, and a chill races up my spine.

Silence fills the SUV like a physical presence. Donal’s profile is granite-hard in the dim light filtering through the tinted windows.

“The weather is supposed to keep getting worse. Hope we’re not going far.” Sleet pelts the windshield in increasingly frantic patterns. The wipers sweep across the glass in hypnotic arcs, doing little to improve visibility as Dublin dissolves into a gray, watery haze outside.

But still, I get nothing from either of these goons.

Not even a grunt of acknowledgment.

Is this about the McGuires? About Gravely taking over their territory? An attack on the Quinns? My betrayal? Did Billy figure out that I helped Brody and Rory? There are just too many things going wrong to venture a guess.

The tension in the back seat grows suffocating, and I cast a sideways glance at my escort. My blue hair falls across my face as I sneak a look toward him.

Donal is staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched so tight I can see a muscle twitching beneath his pockmarked skin. His hands rest on his knees, large and scarred, capable of unspeakable violence if what I’ve heard whispered about in Billy’s inner circle is true.

“Give me yer phone.”

“Why?”

“Because I fucking said so, bitch.”

Before I get a hairy-knuckled backhand to the face, I pull out my phone and hand it to him.

I sit back against the cold leather, fidgeting with my backpack strap, adjusting the anarchy pin to focus on Donal sitting beside me. Does Billy know that I’ve been with the Quinns or is this him flexing his muscles to keep me off balance?

Goodness knows he’s done that often enough.

I lift my fingers, easing my choker away from my neck so that I can breathe.

If me falling for Finn gets Gio killed, I’ll never forgive myself.

Through the window, Dublin’s streets blur past in streaks of neon and shadow, the sleet turning to snow that swirls in the headlights of passing cars. The city I’ve grown to love looks alien and threatening now.

“Put this over yer head.” Donal hands me a small black bag and the butterflies in my stomach make a valiant effort to fly up my throat. His expression doesn’t leave any room for objection, so I take the bag and pull it over my head.

The moment it’s in place my world is blacked out and I lose any chance I have at seeing an attack coming.

Dropping my gaze to my lap, I shift my arms to check the time on my Fitbit. The glowing display reads the same time I entered the diner.

What’s that about? Why isn’t the time syncing up?

The reality of that problem makes me nauseous. My watch isn’t able to sync up because Donal must have a signal jammer.

That means Finn’s little anarchy pin is of no use to me. It’s been rendered into nothing but a decorative piece of metal. It also means Finn won’t realize I was taken straight out the back of the diner.

And because I made him swear not to storm inside, he won’t know something’s wrong for at least another ten or fifteen minutes when I fail to come out. By then, I’ll be gone, vanished into whatever trap Billy has laid for me, with no digital breadcrumbs to follow.

Wherever we’re going, I’m on my own.

Finn

I check my watch for the tenth time in three minutes, the second hand mocking me with its deliberate crawl around the dial. The moment Nyx stepped inside, I lost transmission from the anarchy pin. And though I promised her I wouldn’t hit the panic button and send a team in there, I can’t take it.

She’s been inside too long. She said these meetings last fifteen to twenty minutes. It’s been twenty-seven minutes, to be exact.

Not that I’m clock-watching obsessively or anything.

“Something’s wrong. I’ve got a bad feeling.” I drum my fingers against the leather arm rest in a nervous rhythm that matches the erratic pounding in my chest.

The persistent rain pelts the windshield in waves, transforming the diner’s cheerful neon sign into watery streaks of color that bleed together like a watercolor left out in a storm.

Through the blurry glass, the diner looks deceptively normal—just another late-night refuge from Dublin’s perpetual dampness.

My gut twists with that familiar Quinn instinct for trouble. We’re born with it, Da always said. The same instinct that’s kept my brothers alive through countless situations where the odds said otherwise.

I grab my phone, my thumb already finding Kieran’s contact before my brain fully commits to the decision. The screen illuminates the interior of the darkened car as I press call. It rings exactly twice before he picks up.

“Yeah, boss?”

“I need eyes inside that diner.” I’m proud that my voice remains steady despite the anxiety churning in my gut.

“Send Petey. Tell the kid to play it cool. The private room is down the back hall past the jacks. All I need to know is that she’s safe without showing my face or exposing our connection. ”

“On it.” No questions asked—that’s what I love about Kieran.

Through the rain-streaked window, I watch a lanky teenager in a puffy coat bail out of the other vehicle. He pulls the hood up over his head and hustles toward the diner, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He looks like any other kid seeking shelter from the storm.

“Come on, Petey. Don’t let me down.” The kid’s been running errands for the Dublin Devils since he was fifteen.

He’s small enough to go unnoticed, smart enough to remember everything he sees.

He took a bullet meant for Nora back in the fall, so we set him and his buddy up in one of our exposed safe houses.

A few minutes pass and the kid is back and climbing into Kieran’s vehicle. That was fast. Too fast. My adrenaline starts pumping in my veins.

My phone buzzes. “Tell me.”

“Petey says she’s gone. Escorted out the back the minute she arrived. Big guy, scarred face.”

My stomach drops. “Donal Reese.”

“That’s the one.”

I slam my fist sideways against the door. “Fuck!”

Was last night just a play? All those whispered confessions between the sheets…the things she shared…was she feeding me exactly what I wanted to hear or is she in trouble?

“That vehicle is long gone by now. What do you want us to do?” Kieran asks.

“Stay put. I need to make a call.” I hang up and dial Sean.

He answers on the first ring.

“Do we have a location for that guard? Ansler?”

“Aye, we do. He fucked around on some errands on the way to work but eventually pulled up to a warehouse near the docks. I was just about to text you the address. Tag mentioned you’re out in the field and would want to know ASAP.”

“Aye, I do.” My mind races. If Nyx was telling the truth about her brother being held there, and if I can get to him first... “Text me the address. I need to check it out.”

“Finn, what’s happening?”

“Nyx is gone. She left with Donal Reese. Either she played me or Gravely’s got her. Either way, I need to know if her brother is really there.”

Sean’s silent for a moment. “Do you think this is a trap?”

“Maybe. But if her brother is there, I promised we would get him out. And if we get him out...”

“She’ll have no reason to work with and protect Gravely anymore,” Sean finishes my thought.

“Exactly.”

“I’ll send backup?—”

“No,” I cut him off. “If it’s a trap, I’m not risking anyone else. Just send the address.”

“Not going to happen, little brother. Trap or not, we go in with the full force of a Quinn attack. I’ll assemble the boys, and we’ll meet you there.”

“I can handle this, Sean. Really.”

“No, you fucking can’t. Finny, me sending reinforcements has nothing to do with me not thinking you’ve got the stones for this. An attack like this, in the territory of a volatile enemy, isn’t a four-man incursion. That’s just not the way this is going down.”

I let that sink in. “Fine. I hear you. And it’s really not four men. It’s three plus Petey.”

Sean snorts. “Even more reason why you need help. Now, hang back until it’s all arranged. If Nyx’s brother is in that warehouse, we’ll get him. I promise you, brother.”

I hang up and sit back, watching the windshield wipers fighting a losing battle against the sleet. My heart pounds with equal parts anger and fear. Was I just another mark to her? Another man thinking with his cock instead of his brain?

Or is she in trouble, facing Gravely alone because I let her walk into that diner?

Either way, I need answers.

And I’ll find at least some of them at that warehouse.