Page 22 of Dublin Beast

“I’ll do my best.” Which isn’t a promise, and Tag knows it.

The line muffles as Tag speaks to someone on the other end. “Brendan wants to know if the woman you saved showed you her undying gratitude for sticking your neck out.”

I rub a hand over my stubbled cheek, probing the tender spot where her fist connected. “If her slamming a right cross into my face and making me see stars is a symbol of her gratitude, then aye, she did.”

“Come again? She sucker punched you?”

“Aye,” I drop my jaw and test the ache of the damage done. “She didn’t appreciate me making her look bad in front of the men trying to kidnap her or some shit. I don’t fucking know. Women be batshit.”

Although the punch had been impressive—perfect form and surprising explosive power.

There’s no missing my twin’s laughter booming in the background.

Tag chuckles. “Brenny wants me to ask if Kieran can get any CCTV footage of the lass clocking you.”

I roll my eyes. “We’re almost back to the hotel. Let me know what Drake says.”

“Aye, I’ll ring you back once I speak with him.”

The line goes dead, and I drop the phone onto my lap, letting my head fall back against the seat. The leather is cool against my neck, offering small relief from the tension building there.

Nothing about this is going the way I need it to.

Maybe the gods will take pity on me and tomorrow will be a better day.

It couldn’t be much worse.

CHAPTERSIX

Bryan

The need to find answers is the only thing keeping me from throwing my laptop across the room. How does Finn do it? The kid taps a few keys and computers barf out information for him. When I try…

Dead ends.Everywhere.

I lean back in the leather office chair, rubbing the heel of my hand over my stubbled jaw. Despite my hope that the gods would spare me another day of bashing my head against the wall, day three of the search for Siobhan has been just more of the same—frustration piling on frustration.

I understand that she’s in protective custody, but I’ve tracked down dozens of asshole runners hiding in every shit-hole from Dublin to Donegal, and figured it couldn’t be that different just because the authorities were behind her disappearing act.

Wrong.

I can count the number of leads we’ve dug up on one hand, and that’s being generous. Kieran is upstairs working his contacts, Logan’s outside making calls, and me? I’m stuck in the shitty little business center of this hotel, staring at a screen full of nothing but digital tumbleweed.

This isn’t my strength. Never has been.

I’m the closer, the muscle, the enforcer of justice.

Put me in a room with someone who needs convincing, and I’ll get results. Put me in front of a computer, and I’m as useful as tits on a bull.

I glance at my phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. Still no call from Tag. He was supposed to talk to Drake and ask if he could shake anything loose about where the task force might be keeping Siobhan.

I’m not the most patient man on the best of days. Since Jasmine was taken from me, rage simmers just beneath my skin, ready to boil over at a moment’s notice.

As the silence stretches, I get more restless. My leg bounces under the table like I’ve had ten espressos.

The door creaks open, and I look up, more out of habit than curiosity.

The pink-haired firecracker with the right hook steps inside, laptop tucked under one arm, her sharp hazel gaze scanning the space—until it lands on me. She stops mid-step. Her mouth presses into a thin line, and I see the debate flicker across her face.

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