Page 25 of Dublin Beast

The screen captures my attention, and I freeze.

The screensaver isn’t some default corporate wallpaper or a meaningless landscape photo.

It’s a picture—a picture of him.

He looks younger in it, maybe five years, with a wide, open grin and a lightness I haven’t seen any sign of since I met him yesterday. His arms are wrapped around a beautiful Indian woman with long chestnut curls and pale green eyes. He’s pulling her close like she’s his whole world. And she’s looking at him the same way.

They’re in love.

Man, it’s a rare thing to have a man look at you like that. Like you’re the breath in his lungs, the beat of his heart. Lucky girl.

I take a slow sip of water, staring at the image a second longer than I should. He looksso happy. Nothing like the man I met in that alley, all fire and fury, fists flying.

The deep rumble of his voice filters in from the hall, his conversation ending. I jolt back to my seat, set my cup down and pretend I wasn’t just prying into a moment I had no business witnessing.

The door swings open, and he steps inside, his gaze immediately narrowing on his lit screen.

His whole body goes rigid.

His fingers twitch.

Then, in one sharp motion, he reaches over andslamsthe laptop shut.

“Did you try to fuckingspyon me?”

I roll my eyes, leaning back in my chair. “Relax. I got a glass of water and bumped your chair. The image came up on its own.”

His jaw flexes.

I shrug. “Your girlfriend is very beautiful.”

He stares at me for a beat, then slowly unplugs his laptop, sliding it under his arm like he can shield it from my view.

“Aye.” His voice is rough, clipped. “Shewas.”

Was.

I hesitate, something about the way he says it making my stomach sink. “Was? As in you’re not together anymore?”

His emerald gaze pegs me with so much raw hostility that Ifeelit, sharp as a blade pressed against my skin.

“No. As in she’sdead.”

The words hang between us, heavy and final.

Before I process what that means or can say anything, he storms out of the room.

I drop my head back. “Well done, Harper.”

* * *

Bryan

She’s dead.

Saying the words aloud ignites a familiar storm of anger and fury within me. Adrenaline rushes to my muscles, my fingers curling into tight fists. Rage simmers out of my empty soul, urging me to hurt someone the way I hurt, to beat someone bloody, to make someone pay.

I used to give in to those violent urges.

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