Page 107 of Dublin Charmer
I stare at the gun on the desk in front of me, its metal gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights of the war room. Six weeks since we last spoke. Six weeks of this hollow feeling in my chest. I wasn’t sure where we’d left things, but the silence that followed made it pretty damned clear.
We’re done. Emilia has made her choice.
The whiskey bottle beside me is nearly empty. I’ve been hitting it harder lately. My brothers have noticed. Tag cornered me yesterday and tried to talk it out. He told me my behavior isn’t healthy.
Well, unhealthy behavior seems to be a theme in my life right now.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from one of our informants, Donny. A meet. Information about a new player trying to fill Gravely’s shoes.
I text back:
When and where?
Donny responds back almost immediately:
Thirty minutes. Behind the old fish market.
I should call Sean or Bryan. Hell, even Kieran. But they’re all tied up with other business. Brendan and Nora are at the hospital for her first ultrasound. Bryan and Sean are meeting with suppliers. Tag’s with Laine and the baby.
Fuck it.I can handle this myself.
I grab the gun, check the clip, and pull on my shoulder holster. The weight of carrying it always feels heavy. I’m not my brothers. I’m the tech guy, the smart one. But these days, I don’t feel particularly smart.
Just hollow. And angry. And missing her.
The old fish market is quiet, the surrounding streets deserted this time of night. The smell of brine and decay hangs in the air, a permanent fixture in this forgotten corner of Dublin's docklands. Puddles reflect the dim streetlights, creating eerie patterns on the cracked pavement.
I park out front and approach on foot, whiskey still warming my veins but not enough to dull my instincts. Something feels off. If I had to put a finger on it, I’d say the silence is too complete, or maybe the shadows feel too deep.
But then I’d sound like a paranoid arsehole, so I push forward anyway, ignoring the warning voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like Tag.
Donny is waiting in the shadows, face obscured by a hoodie, his figure hunched against the damp night air. He's sitting on a bench, but his position is odd. Before I have a chance to question it, a man steps out of the shadows.
The newcomer is stocky and is wearing a black muscle shirt and a knit cap. It’s a bit of a contradiction in wardrobe but hey, that’s just me. He takes a few steps forward to meet me, his gait stiff. It’s like he’s trying too hard to appear casual.
The back of my neck prickles with unease.
"You alone?" His voice is low and raspy, his gaze darting over my shoulder as if expecting someone else.
"Aye, at the moment," I respond, keeping my distance, one hand hovering near my waistband where my gun rests. “Is there a problem?”
"I told your boy I need to speak with the man in charge. Instead, they send the baby Quinn.”
His comment sets my teeth on edge. “And I hear you’ve got big plans. Like maybe you think there’s a place for you in South Dublin.”
“That’s what I wanted to discuss, but not with you. Aren’t you the computer geek?”
I bristle, anger flares, fueled by weeks of self-pity and alcohol. "I'm more than that," I snap, straightening to my full height. "Say what you need to say or don’t. I don’t give a fuck, and I don’t plan to hang around here all night."
He shifts his weight from one foot to another, and something about the movement sets off alarm bells in my head.
Too late, I reach for my gun.
Three more men emerge from the darkness.
I barely have time to register the ambush before the first shot rings out, echoing off the brick walls surrounding us.
Pain explodes in my shoulder, white-hot and blinding. I’m spun around by the impact, not even sure which one of them shot me. It feels like someone's driven a red-hot poker through my flesh. As I stagger toward the entrance, I twist to point my gun behind me. I’m not even looking at where I’m shooting, but bullets flying will slow them down.
