Page 100 of Dublin Beast

“Go stay at my loft for a bit. Sort yourself out. It helped me to be there when Da died. No eyes on. No pressure. No expectations. Just quiet. Figure out what’s weighing you down and what you need to do to free yourself from it.”

I nod… not because I believe it’ll help…

But because I don’t know what else to do anymore.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

Harper

TWO WEEKS LATER

“Drake!” I whoop, practically shouting from the den. “Igot it! Guest lists—July 26thandSeptember 17th!”

I hear a thud and a string of muttered curses from the kitchen, followed by Drake’s heavy boots pounding down the hall.

He barrels into the room, eyebrows raised beneath his buzzed head. “You serious?”

I spin toward him, waving the printed files in my hand like a winning lottery ticket. “Dead serious. Two full guest lists for Eddie Mason’s private functions. Both hosted at the mansion. These are the dates that line up withMacie,Chantal, andZhara. This is our window.”

His mouth stretches into a grin that borders on dangerous. “You are bloody brilliant, Harper.”

I laugh, wild and breathless, my heart pounding like I’ve just pulled off a heist. In a way, I have.

This information could blow the case wide open. Names. People who were there—some of whompaidto take ownership of women.

I can start tracking them.

I can find out who bought women.

I can find out where they took those women.

I hug the pages to my chest, vindication curling in my belly like fire. But as the heat spreads, it turns cold at the edges—because the first person I want to tell isn’t here.

I can’t help it. My mind goes straight to Bryan.

He would understand.

Not just the excitement, but theweightof this. He saw what I saw. He held me when I screamed from the nightmares. He knew how much this meant—still means—to me. I can practically hear his voice in my head:Good girl. That’s it. Make the bastards pay.

But it’s been weeks. I thought time away from him would be good for me—and in some ways it has—but in others… missing him has made me question everything.

Did I read too much into the way he looked at me?

There have been no calls, no texts, no surprise visits with bags of groceries or bruised knuckles and that crooked little smirk.

I told him to stay away… and he listened.

He did exactly what I asked for, what I told him I needed. Yet, somehow, it’s still a punch to the gut.

Drake is still talking, offering congratulations and ideas about where we go from here, but his voice fades as he realizes I’ve drifted into my own head. “Something wrong, lass?”

I look at him, the sting behind my eyes forcing me to blink fast. “No. I’m just happy.”

He snorts. “You know, I wouldn’t call myself a player, but I’ve been with enough women to know that this,” he circles his hand before me, “isn’t what happy looks like.”

I draw a deep breath and sigh. Is this what my life has come to? Baring my soul to the Devils MC biker who is equal parts research partner and lethal bodyguard?

“Is this about the boss? About maybe you missing him just a little?”

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