Page 88 of Dublin Beast

Bryan’s watching me. I feel the heat of those sharp green eyes tracking every move I make.

“Something wrong?” he asks, voice low, casual, but with that undercurrent of suspicion he’s always carrying.

“You mean other than murder, kidnapping, and waiting to be raped by a sex-trafficking piece of shit?”

“Aye, other than that.”

I roll my eyes. “Not a damned thing. I’m fine.”

He raises an ebony brow like he caught me in a lie but doesn’t call me on it.

I don’t offer anything else… because the truth is… I have to pee.Badly.

It’s the kind of pressure that makes your spine ache and your bladder feel like it’s plotting your death. I clench against the worst of things and glance toward the bolted steel door again, moving to check it myself.

Bryan watches me push at the frame. The thing is a sheet of metal. There’s nothing to grab hold of or to pry open. “Ye don’t believe me that it’s locked up tight?”

I don’t answer him.

Because this has nothing to do with not believing him and everything to do with wanting something—anything—to distract me from the fact that I’m trapped, uncomfortable, and probably going to wet my pants.

He pushes off the wall, following me with that infuriating, smug little tilt to his mouth. “Ye’ve been squirming like a worm on a hook for the last ten minutes. Want to tell me what’s actually going on, or should I guess?”

“I said I’m fine,” I snap.

“Yer not.”

I spin on him, the words tearing out of me in frustration. “Fine! I have topee, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

He shrugs like it’s the most mundane thing in the world. “Then cop a squat. We might be here for days. Ye can’t hold it forever.”

My mouth falls open.

“That’s your solution? Just… pee in the corner?” I eye up the corners in question and wonder how many diseases I might contract.

He points toward the bottom of the decrepit pool basin, to a massive rusted grate set into the cracked floor at the deep end. “There. It’ll be just like peeing in the shower.”

I stare at him, horrified. “Whodoesthat?”

He gives me a deadpan look. “Everyone?”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re disgusting.”

He barks a throaty laugh. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s perfectly normal. Warmth running over your body added to the sound of falling water—bam, yer bladder’s like, ‘let’s go’.”

Damn.The last thing I want is to think about Bryan Quinn in the shower—but that mental image crashes in anyway. Water streaming down those tattoos, dripping from the ends of his dark hair, his hand braced on the wall, muscles flexing with every shift?—

Nope.

Absolutelynotthe time.

I shake it off and stalk toward the grate, wishing it would somehow transform into a working toilet if I just stare hard enough. It’s big—maybe the size of a manhole cover—and corroded around the edges. But it’s the only thing in this cursed room that even vaguely resembles plumbing.

“Yer not going to last forever and if Mason or his minions show up, ye’ll need to be in fighting form.”

Both of those things are true, but it doesn’t make me any happier about it. Heat rushes to my cheeks as yet another humiliating moment punches me in the face. “Fine. Turn around. I don’t want you watching me.”

He chuckles, slow and rough, then obediently turns his back. “Ye’ve come on my face a half dozen times and I’ve seen every inch of yer body up close and personal, but whatever ye like—have your modesty.”

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