Page 4 of Dublin Charmer (Emerald Isle Mafia #5)
CHAPTER FOUR
Nyx
I watch through the security feeds as the Quinn brothers methodically clear the castle of Gravely’s men. My fingers hover over the keyboard, but there’s nothing for me to do. The attack is over, and it failed spectacularly.
A groan escapes my lips as my phone lights up with the happy face emoji with a dagger in its skulls. At least he’s texting instead of calling. The guy is so paranoid about being overheard, it’s ridiculous.
I open the text window, acid churning in my stomach.
You stupid bitch. You had one job. Ensure my forces take the Quinns down.
What the fuck happened?
I grip my phone and let my thumbs fly.
I relayed to you exactly what I saw. I got you the building plans, the catering information, and gave you eyes inside. Everything that was available, you had.
Not good enough. Good men died because you didn’t dig deeper. Your incompetence cost me. What will it cost you?
This is bullshit. My nails dig into my palm.
Did you know they had half the MC there? I told you they’d have backup measures I couldn’t see from the outside. There are always unknowns. You know that.
Watch your tone. Have you forgotten what’s at stake?
My heart stops, and my gaze flips over to where Gio is sleeping on the ratty little cot in his cell.
No, I absolutely haven’t.
Maybe you need a reminder of why you need to take this seriously.
No, please!
As my heart rate triples, one of Gravely’s thugs enters the frame, cracking his knuckles as he walks toward Gio’s cell.
Please don’t hurt him. I honestly, genuinely, understand the power you hold over me. I’m with you. Gio doesn’t need to suffer for my mistake.
Although I didn’t freaking make any mistakes.
The guard in the video feed stops, checks his phone, and then turns around to leave the cell room. My whole body sags with relief as the door to the corridor closes.
I own you, bitch. Your brother’s survival depends entirely on your dedication to my cause and your cooperation in getting me what I want. The next time I trust you with the logistics of something important, ensure my plans succeed without incident. Do we understand each other?
Bile rises in my throat.
Yes, sir.
Good. Now clean up any footage of my team. There’s nothing I can do about the downed men on scene, but erase all traces of what happened from the security cameras at the venue.
Consider it done.
The call ends, and I slam my phone down. I may have cracked the screen, but I can’t bring myself to care. My hands shake as I wipe video surveillance logs and cover the digital tracks of Gravely’s team and my presence in the system.
The Quinns are good. Their security top-notch. But I’m better.
For Gio’s sake, I have to be.
Billy Gravely thinks he has me under his thumb, but he’s about to learn what happens when you back a Farina into a corner.
“Hold on, fratellino ,” I whisper to the screen. “I’m going to get you out of there.”
I minimize Gio’s feed and get back to work. Billy Gravely is a power-hungry, greedy, narcissistic asshole. He’s mean as a mad dog in a cage fight, but everyone has weaknesses to exploit. I just have to find them.
And when I do, I won’t be working for Gravely—I’ll be working against him.
Finn
I grip the steering wheel with blood-crusted knuckles, tailing the ambulance carrying my brother through Dublin’s Christmas-decorated streets. Red and green lights blur against the rain-streaked windshield, festive decorations transformed into smears of color as I push the SUV to keep pace.
Next to me, Nora’s breathing comes in shallow gasps. Her hands twist in her lap, Brendan’s blood still staining her fingers and smudged across her evening gown.
“He’ll be fine.” I follow the ambulance through a red light and stay close. “Brenny’s had his nut cracked more than a few times. With all the cage fights and training he does, he practically knows half the nursing staff by name.”
Nora lets out a soft chuckle, but continues to stare at the flashing lights of the ambulance. “There was so much blood. And when I couldn’t wake him up….”
“Och, I know, luv, but the paramedics have him now and they’ll take good care of him.” I reach over and squeeze her hand. “Trust me, it takes more than a crack to the cranium and a little lead to put a Quinn down.”
The ambulance’s sirens wail as we take a hard right. Christmas shoppers on the sidewalks turn to stare, their faces lit by storefront displays and wrapped-present decorations that seem obscene against our current reality.
“After my father…” she sighs. “Brenny’s all I have left.”
“Och, don’t talk like that, lovely. And you’re wrong. The Quinn family is a package deal. You may have only signed up for one, but you got us all.”
She brightens and swipes a hand under her eyes. “Thanks Finn.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m only telling you the God’s honest truth.”
The hospital entrance appears ahead, bright against the night. I swing into one of the few parking spots out front while the ambulance stops right in front of the glass double doors.
I take it as a good sign that nobody rushes out to help work on him.
That is a good sign, isn’t it?
By the time I jog around the truck to help Nora, the paramedics are unloading Brendan and setting the stretcher onto the concrete of the walk. His face is pale, an oxygen mask covering his mouth, but his eyes are open.
“Hey, Brenny. You woke up from your little nap.” But even as I’m talking to my brother, I can see he isn’t tracking much. “Nora’s here. She’s worried, so get your hamster back in that wheel of yours and give her a smile, will you?”
He spots Nora rushing beside the stretcher, and something in his expression eases.
Good. That’s good. At least he hasn’t got amnesia or some damned thing.
Nora hurries alongside the stretcher as they wheel him through the automatic doors. I follow close behind, the antiseptic hospital smell hitting as we enter. The bright fluorescent lights make the blood on our dress clothes look garish and theatrical, drawing stares from the waiting room patients.
“GSW to the right thigh, contusion to the head from the fall, patient responsive but altered,” the lead paramedic continues to rhyme off his report to the doctor who meets us in the corridor. “BP is 110 over 70, pulse 92.”
“Miss, you need to wait outside,” the paramedic says as we race past the waiting patients and through another set of double doors.
“I’m his wife,” she lies smoothly.
“And I’m his brother,” I add.
That seems to be enough to gain passage, and we continue on until they wheel Brendan into an exam room. When the trauma team rushes in, I gently pull Nora back to give the medical team room to work.
One nurse immediately begins cutting away the leg of Brenny’s tuxedo pants while another inserts an IV line, and a third moves straight to clean and examine his head wound.
“And you’re his family?” the doctor asks, glancing between us.
“We are,” I answer.
“When did this happen?” The doctor asks as he examines the gunshot wound.
“About thirty-five minutes ago.”
“Any allergies to medications?”
“No, none.”
“He hit his head when he fell,” Nora adds, her voice steadier now. “First on the edge of a stage, then on the marble dance floor.”
The nurse checking Brendan’s pupils nods. “Pupils equal and reactive, but there’s a significant hematoma forming.”
“How long was he unconscious?” the doctor asks.
“Twenty minutes before the ambulance got there. I’m not sure when he came to during the ride here.”
Brendan winces as the doctor probes around the bullet wound. “Aye. I’m sure that smarts, Mr. Quinn. Missed the femoral artery, though, which is why you’re still with us.”
Brendan’s gaze finds mine, and he still looks lost.
“You’re good, Brenny. We’ve got you, brother. Just let the doctors do their thing, and we’ll be right here when you get patched up.”
Nora steps closer, careful to stay out of the medical team’s way. “And we love you, big guy. So, be a good patient and come back quickly.”
The doctor straightens and peels off his bloody blue gloves. “We need to get him to surgery. The head injury needs monitoring, but the leg is the priority.”
“Do whatever you need to, doc,” I say, as a team arrives to transfer Brendan to a surgical gurney. “Just take good care of him.”
The Quinn compound looms dark and quiet as I watch the gates close behind me and pull up the winding drive. My headlights sweep across the front of the old stone manse, catching the armed men stationed at strategic points. They nod as I pass - a mix of our security and MC members keeping watch.
As I swing my legs out of the SUV and drop to the pea gravel of the drive, I cast a weary gaze toward the horizon. It’s going on half five in the morning and another day is about to begin.
And who are we kidding? It’ll be a busy and rage-filled day.
The stone castle is quiet and bathed in the blue-gray haze of the pre-dawn hours. The sounds of life stirring in the kitchen are no surprise. Cora cooks when she worries, and she worries when trouble circles our family.
The kitchen light spills out into the hall, and the warm scent of baking bread and cinnamon draws me in. Then, the savory smell of steak and eggs makes my stomach growl.
Aiden sits at the kitchen island, fork halfway to his mouth. Cora bustles around him, pulling another batch of something from the oven while three mixing bowls wait their turn on the counter.
“Morning,” I call softly.
Cora whirls, dusting flour from her hands onto her apron. “Finlay! How’s our boy? What did the doctors say?”
I cross over to her and plant a kiss on her weathered cheek. “He’s all right. Surgery went well. His leg is all patched up. They’re keeping him for twenty-four hours to watch for any swelling from the head knock, but he’s already complaining about the hospital food.”
“Thank Christ.” She crosses herself, shoulders dropping in relief. “And Nora?”
“Before I left, I made sure she got herself set up in one of those reclining chairs beside Brenny’s bed. She won’t be leaving his side for anything. Kieran’s outside the door with some MC boys, and a dozen more are covering the hospital entrances. He’s well protected.”
Cora nods and bustles to the stove. “Sit. You need feeding.”
“You’re an angel. Thank you.” I slide onto the stool next to Aiden as she sets a loaded plate in front of me and pours fresh coffee.
“How are Tag and Laine?” I ask around a mouthful of perfectly cooked steak.
Aiden swallows his bite. “Got the two of them home around three. His shoulder’s stitched up nice, no major damage. They checked Laine and the wee one, and both were unharmed. Doc gave Tag some good pills and ordered them both to rest the moment they got home. They went straight up to bed.”
I chuckle to myself. That Tag obeyed that order just goes to show how much power Laine holds over him. I have no doubt she said, if he didn’t go to bed with her, she wouldn’t go either. “And everyone else is home and settled?”
“Aye, once everyone finished with the cops, we got them home. Sean handled most of that song and dance. Bryan’s organizing cleanup crews for the ballroom.
It’ll take a few days to sort out that mess.
Tag wants you to contact the Historical Society and arrange to pay for all repairs and restorations. ”
Cora leans in and refills our coffees, then returns to her stress baking. The familiar sounds of whisks against bowls and the oven door opening and closing fill the quiet kitchen as we eat.
And in the eye of the storm, that’s music to my ears.