Page 40 of The Chief
“Who says I want something from you? I want to get to Dublin so we can help your sister.”
Her expression quickly shifted from distrust to horror. “Orla,” she whispered, scrambling up from the floor and snatching up the clothes before she raced into the bathroom.
While she was still sleeping, I’d spoken to Finnan about my plan. He hadn’t been interested in helping Molly but had agreed that luring in whoever had ordered the hit would be a useful bargaining chip. My motives weren’t altruistic, though. I wanted Molly indebted to me. She’d fucked with my clan, and I would take my pound of flesh from her pussy.
Fifteen minutes later, Molly emerged from the bathroom dressed in the borrowed clothes, her damp hair hanging in loose waves across her shoulders. There was a set to her jaw, which wasn’t there before, so she’d clearly given herself a pep talk.
“I’m ready,” she announced, straightening her spine.
“We’re not going to war, Jynx.” I knew as soon as those words came out that they were untrue. Wewerewalking into war, but neither of us were prepared.
“I’m ready,” she repeated, shifting anxiously in her borrowed shoes.
Grabbing myself a jacket, and throwing another hoodie in Molly’s direction, I unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway. It was early—just after five—but I wanted to have as much time as possible in Dublin to draw out the threat. Dublin was Sionnach Clan territory, but they were surrounded by the Fiach Clan. Given Molly used to live in Dundalk—though at the very edge of their empire—I was confident the attack was going to come from that direction.
Molly was soundless beside me, not uttering a single word until we were in the Rover and racing down the drive, so her whispered question echoed like a shotgun blast. “What if we’re too late?”
“We won’t be.”
“The message yesterday morning said I had twenty-four hours.”
I glanced at her. “Yeah.”
“That means we only have four hours left.”
“We’ll be fine, Jynx.”
“Why do you call me Jynx?”
Ignoring her question, I turned on the radio as I navigated toward the M6 and began our drive east. By the time we reached Athlone, the silence between us was bugging me. I pulled into a service station, feigning the need to take a piss. The forecourt held a few cars and trucks, so I insisted Molly come inside. When I emerged, she was clutching a bar of chocolate.
“You want that?” I asked her.
She looked down at the package cradled in her hands, then at me. “I’d rather have a coffee, but this will have to do.”
With a roll of my eyes, I snatched up the chocolate bar and took it to the counter.
“You want to get a coffee, too?” I asked, handing her back the chocolate bar.
“God, yes,” she replied.
There was only one other person waiting, so our orders arrived quickly, then we returned to the Rover.
Molly was mid-sip when I asked, “What were you dreaming about?”
She turned to look at me. “I wasn’t dreaming.”
“You were having a nightmare, Jynx.”
Her lips thinned in displeasure.
If there was one thing I’d learned about Molly O’Reilly, it was that she didn’t like to be noticed.
She let out a huff and turned to look out the window. “And so, what if I was?”
“Sometimes it’s good to talk about that shit.”
A mocking laugh burst out of her, and she shook her head. “Believe me, talking won’t do a damn thing.” She took a sip of her coffee and sighed. “What are you planning to do?”
