Page 94 of Dublin Beast

“And if I want to leave Dublin altogether?”

I grip the wheel tighter. “Then we’ll figure that out, too. For now, while you’re still investigating Eddie and his trafficking activities, this is the safest place for you.”

She doesn’t thank me.

But she doesn’t argue either.

As I pull onto the road, the city rises before us in shadow and light—danger and memory wrapped in stone.

Fuck, it’s good to be home.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

Harper

The North Dublin neighborhood is quiet in thatpostcard-perfectkind of way. Pale brick houses line the narrow road, their windows dark and shuttered against the night. Ivy curls over stone fences, and dainty little flower boxes cling stubbornly to windowsills.

It’s the kind of place where people wave to their neighbors. Where porch lights glow soft and warm, not for security, but for welcome.

And yet all I feel standing on this porch istired.

Bryan unlocks the door and pushes it open, stepping aside so I can go inside first.

I glance at the serene street one last time, the only sound the chirp of insects and the distant bark of a dog behind a fence.

Then I cross the threshold and enter the house.

It’s cozy. Tasteful. The air smells faintly of lemon polish, like someone came through and cleaned it for company but didn’t stay long enough to say hello.

I set my suitcase and computer bag down at the base of the staircase, the worn wood creaking under the weight. The banister is carved and old-fashioned, and the light filtering from the hallway casts soft gold across the floorboards.

That’s one thing I love about being in Europe. So many of the buildings are older than the civilization of my country.

Bryan lingers behind me. “Want me to give you the tour?”

My treacherous body wants to melt into him and have him carry me up the stairs. What I said in that parking lot was harsh, but true. He killed a woman and made me part of it.

I’m hurt, angry, and feel more than a little betrayed. And despite wanting him to push inside me and make the world disappear, he’s part of the problem.

I shake my head. “Not necessary.”

It’s not about the house.

It’s just me.

I’m beyond tired. Not the kind you fix with a nap. The kind that settles deep, down in your bones. Like all the fear and adrenaline and fury I’ve been running on finally ran out and left me hollow.

What I want is a hot shower and to sleep for days behind locked doors. Alone.

Bryan must get the hint, because he nods toward the archway off the hall. “Powder room and kitchen are through there. Den and dining room to the right. Upstairs you’ve got three bedrooms and a big bathroom. Water pressure is decent.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly. “You should go. You need to get that looked after.” I point at the bandage on his hand. I changed the wrap on the boat, but it’s already streaked with blood seeping through, the edges curling.

“It’ll keep.”

“It won’t. I cleaned it up the best I could with the kit, but you need to have it looked at properly. You trudged through a storm drain after slicing it open on rusted metal. You need shots. Probably antibiotics, too.”

He lifts his brows, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Aye, I’ll take care of it.”

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