Page 115 of Dublin Beast

But what if they’re not the first to find me?

I grip the gun tighter and will the darkness to swallow me up and hide me in the shadows. My heart is lodged in my throat, torn between hope and terror.

A crack of movement behind me makes me spin?—

Shit. They found me.

Two figures burst through the fence to my right, and I scream and roll away. There’s a terrible shout of fury and then more men are barreling into one another. I scramble to see and a cry of relief tears from my throat.

Bryan.

And his brother, Brendan.

The Quinn twins move like unleashed predators—fluid and brutal, indistinguishable in the chaos and the dark. One man slams his fist into the face of the nearest Mason goon, sending him sprawling into the hedges.

The other tackles the second to the ground, driving his elbow into the man’s ribs with enough force to crack bone. There’s no time to think. No time to breathe.

It’s not a fight—it’s an execution.

Fists. Boots. Blood. The pounding of violence and vengeance delivered without mercy. In this light, I don’t know which one is which—honestly, I don’t care.

They are here. Twin protectors fueled by rage.

And then one of them turns, his gaze locking onto mine, and I know—Bryan.

He crosses the distance in three powerful strides and drops to his knees beside me.

“How bad are you hurt?” His breathing is rough, panic scrawled across every inch of his handsome face. His hands go straight to my sides, to the blood soaking my shirt. “Fuck, that’s a lot of blood.”

“It’s not mine,” I whisper, grabbing his wrist. “It’s Eddie’s. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

His arms wrap around me like a vice, crushing me to his chest, and I melt into him, the tremble in my limbs giving way to full-body shaking.

Still, I don’t know who’s trembling more—me or him.

His voice is a growl in my ear, low and rough and barely holding together. “I thought I fucking lost you. I thought I was too late.”

I grip the back of his jacket and hold on. “It’s not. You came. You saved me.”

And for the first time in weeks, I let go… of the fear, the doubt, and most importantly of the worry that I don’t know who he is to the core of his tortured soul.

Of the lie I’ve been telling myself—that I don’t love him… because Ido.

God help me, I do.

* * *

The hum of the engine fades as Tag’s driver slows the SUV to wait for two massive iron gates to inch their way open enough to allow us to pass.

I blink, fighting against going back to sleep, my gaze drawn upward, through the windshield. “Where are we?”

Bryan bends his head to kiss my temple. “We’re taking you home, trouble. You’ll be safe there, I swear.”

The towering gates of the Quinn compound part for us, heavy black iron adorned with twisting Celtic filigree. Beyond them, lit gold against the night sky, stands a stone castle.

An honest to goodnesscastle.

Stone and shadow. Turrets and ivy. It’s the kind of estate that belongs in a movie—except this one’s real. It sits elevated on an expansive property, and rises like a freaking fortress.

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