Page 95 of Dublin Beast

He steps toward the door, but pauses to set a set of keys on the side table in the entryway. “I’ve arranged for Kieran and Drake to help you with your research. Drake used to work for the Watsons and lived in Liverpool. He knows the players there—he might have insights that will help.”

I press my lips together and nod.

“He was shot a few weeks ago,” Bryan adds, glancing at me. “He’s fighting Sean on the wholetake it easything. So, maybe you can distract him for a time while he recovers.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He grins. “Your best is more than enough.”

“How did he end up with you if he was part of the Watson family?”

“We inherited him when a London job went sideways and they needed him out of sight. Been with us ever since. Loyal as hell. Deadly in a fight.”

“Well, hopefully all the fights are behind me.”

He chuckles softly. “If Drake’s here, you’ll probably meet Frenchie, too. The two of them are a package deal. Frick and Frack—if Frick and Frack carried Glocks and rode Harleys.”

I manage a half-smile. “Good to know. Thanks. Really. But… I’ll be fine. You can go now.”

He stills.

“I mean it, Bryan. I’m done. I got swept up in all the cloak and dagger, and made choices I probably wouldn’t have if things were quieter. I have to live with those choices. I’m trying to think clearly now, but I’m too tired. I need rest and the peace to decompress.”

His jaw ticks once. “That’s fine. Message me when you’re ready to have Drake and Kieran stop by. I’ll keep my distance, but if you need anything—day or night—you can call me. I’ll be here. No questions.”

The look he gives me then… it’s not anger. It’s not even disappointment.

It’s something else.

Something that makes my heart ache.

I hate that I’m the one who put that look on his face.

But Imeantwhat I said. I need him to leave.

Bryan walks out, the door closing behind him with a soft, final click.

I reach up, twist the deadbolt, and then press my hand over my mouth.

The weight of it all hits me at once.

The grief. The exhaustion. The memory of Siobhan’s eyes. The echo of Bryan’s hands. The way it felt to beseenby someone who didn’t ask me to hide.

I sink to the floor beside my bag, knees drawn in, heart hammering behind my ribs. I don’t know if I did the right thing.

But for now, I just need to breathe.

* * *

The chair beneath me is oversized and deep, the kind that swallows you whole and lets you disappear into it.

I sit curled into the corner of it, one knee tucked up, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee that’s more creamer than caffeine. The scent of hazelnut floats around me, warm and soft, and the house is so quiet I can hear the tick of the wall clock down the hall.

Outside, the neighborhood is slow to wake.

Track Suit Dad walks his golden retriever past my window. He wears the same navy Adidas jacket every morning and carries a tennis ball launcher in his free hand. There must be a park up the road. Maybe I’ll bundle up and see if I can find it this afternoon.

I check my watch and glance the other direction down the street. Tiny Backpack Kid stomps along the sidewalk looking disgruntled as usual. He kicks the same loose paving stone near the lamppost every morning as if going to school is a personal affront.

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