Page 82 of Dublin Beast

No remorse. No pause.

The heavy footfalls of boots catch up a few steps behind me, even louder than my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t try to touch me. Just waits with that infuriating calm he oozes.

Straightening, I whirl on him, my entire body trembling. “You killed her.”

He dips his chin. “I did.”

“You don’t even look fazed by that.”

His brow furrows as his mouth curves up in a smirk. “Why would I be? That bitch was dead the moment she crossed us. I just made it official.”

I stare at him, jaw slack, my chest heaving. “Then why not tell me? I never would’ve helped to find her if I knew all you were going to do waskill her.”

He steps closer and a chill runs down my spine. I take a step back, suddenly questioning everything I thought I knew about this man—the Dublin Beast.

Stupid me, I didn’t take his title seriously enough.

“Because it was none of yer fucking business. We made a deal to trade services. Yer investigative skills for my criminal insights and connections. Don’t pretend ye didn’t know who ye were getting in bed with.”

Does he mean that literally or figuratively—or both?

He takes a stalking step closer, towering over me now, his voice low and lethal. “I don’t owe any explanations. If ye convinced yourself I’m an outlaw with a heart of gold, that’s not on me. I never lied. My family is at war and that woman was a brutal enemy. She lied. She betrayed. And she killed.”

Another round of dizziness hits and I drop my head to keep from blacking out. I’m deafened by the thundering of my own heartbeat in my ears. How could I have been so blind? I’m smarter than this.

Anger simmers hot in my blood, at him and at myself. “You’re right. I thought you were different, but you’re not. You play a good game but when it comes down to it, you’re a thug and a killer.”

His jaw clenches as his glare hardens. “Grand, well it’s good to know where ye stand. The only question that needs answering now is—what will ye do about what ye just saw? Because if ye intend to go to the police or write me up in a story, we have a problem, trouble.”

Before I can respond to his threat, tires screech. The sound tears through the parking lot as three black cars whip in from the main road.

They fan out to box us in, engines growling.

Doors fly open.

Bryan grabs my arm and yanks me behind him. He raises his gun, shielding me as a dozen men spill out of their cars, guns drawn, voices barking orders.

We’re surrounded.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

Harper

Alow, rhythmic throb pulses behind my eyes, making the darkness under my blindfold swirl with shapes that aren’t really there.

My mouth tastes like metal and chemicals. Like I licked the inside of a garbage can at a pharmaceutical lab or something equally as disgusting and bizarre.

My tongue is thick. Heavy.

I try to swallow but my throat is bone dry.

I can’t move my arms.

Panic slams into me like a bird against a glass window—hard and disorienting. I jerk, hard, my wrists yanking against bindings. They bite into my already raw and scabbed skin. The movement sends a bolt of pain through my shoulder.

Where the hellamI?

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