Page 1 of Dust to Dust

Prologue: Quinn

Belfast

Two years ago

I fucking hated parties.

All the people. All the noise. All the fake smiles and false bravado.

Considering I was a young, wealthy bachelor, one might assume I relished social activities. The free-flowing alcohol, the beautiful new women to seduce, the business connections to make.

But that wasn’t me.

It never had been. Given the choice, I’d take a good whiskey in a quiet room any day. Or even better, a hike along the bogs in the wilds of the countryside.

Anything to be alone.

I especially hated tonight’s party. I fucking loathed the guest of honor. That statement would be surprising to most since we were celebrating my father. Most children don’t encounter their first bully until they enter school. But for my brothers and myself, we had from the moment we were born.

At our estate, hundreds of guests gathered to celebrate my tormentor. To the outside, Hugh Kavanaugh was a gregarious man who wined and dined the rich, but also had a heart for the less fortunate. A larger than life presence who commanded the respect of those around him.

He appeared as a loving husband who doted on my mother with diamonds, fancy cars, and a beach house. At the same time, he stepped out on her every time a slut in a short skirt walked by. She was a prisoner outfitted in designer clothes. To leave him was out of the question. The first time she tried he threatened she’d never see her sons again. Since hers was the purest of maternal love, she endured hell to be with her children.

Some might boast he was a devoted father to his five sons and only daughter. That his success enabled us to attend the finest schools, wear the fanciest of labels, and vacation in exotic locations. But for every accolade we received, we wore a physical or emotional bruise because of it.

No one on the outside would ever believe the monster he truly was. Only those in his clan or those who saw him behind closed doors ever saw the mask slip. Only then was his true psychotic nature revealed.

Satisfied with my role as a wallflower, I surveyed the crowd around me. Most of the guests I knew from growing up here in Belfast. Bored with the Irish underworld and with his ego swelling, my father had set his sights on bringing our business to Boston eight years ago. I’d been just eighteen when I’d said goodbye to the only world I’d ever known, including my mother and youngest siblings who weren’t allowed to come.

As usual, my younger brother, Dare, surrounded himself with a bevy of beauties. God only knew which he would be taking to his bed for the night. Knowing him, it wouldn’t be just one.

Across from him with a gang of his friends, Kellan longingly eyed Dare’s circle of women. Like me, Kellan was quieter than our outgoing brothers. Unlike me, Kellan had the truest heart and purest soul.

My youngest brother, Eamon, hung around the food tables, stuffing his face while eyeing our mother to see if she was distracted enough for him to sneak champagne or whiskey. With a chuckle, I shook my head at him. Considering he was thirteen, I could only imagine he’d be puking his guts out most of the night if he managed any alcohol.

At the massive grand piano in the corner, my beautiful sister Maeve, provided the musical entertainment for the moment. Her stiff posture wasn’t just about elegantly performing the concerto. Maeve detested performing in front of crowds. She and I were alike in our dislike of large groups of people.

If anyone looked closely past the makeup artist’s work, they would see the red welt my father had left on her cheek. My jaw clenched at the sight while my fingers tightened around my glass.

Before the party had started, our family had congregated in the sitting room overlooking the front lawn. Maeve had barely made it over the threshold before my father informed her she would be playing at the party.

As she wrung her hands, tears had spilled down her porcelain cheeks. “No, Da, I can’t play in front of all those people. Please don’t ask that of me.”

It was the worst way to appeal to him. He hated tears and shows of emotion, even from women. Maeve would’ve been better off telling him to go fuck himself.

But she was too pure and kind to ever do that.

So, his palm had cracked against her cheek.

At her cry of pain, the room exploded around me. As I launched myself at my father, my whiskey glass crashed on the floor. Grabbing him by the lapels of his suit, I shoved him against the wall. When one of my father’s bodyguards made a move to restrain me, Callum drew his gun, causing my mother and Maeve to scream.

“Take one more step, and I’ll blow your brains out,” Callum growled.

At the same time, Dare and Kellan moved to shield Mam and Maeve. I narrowed my eyes on my father. Since we’d spent the last eight years away in Boston, Maeve had been spared the brunt of my father’s psychopathic nature.

“As long as I draw breath, you will never lay one finger on her again.” When he remained sneering at me, my forearm slid under his jaw. “Did you hear me?”

“You’ve got a hell of a lot of cheek to put your hands on me like this.”

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