Page 41 of Brutal Heir
“That’s me.”
“Right this way. Mr. Flanagan’s waiting for ya.”
Steeling my nerves, I follow the big guy into the dark warehouse. An icy blast of air raises the tiny hairs on my arms as I trail behind the guard down a corridor lit by a single flickering bulb. Every step echoes, bouncing off cement walls stained with time and possibly blood. The smell of old tobacco and rust thickens the air with every breath. Hugging my arms more tightly around my jacket does nothing to chase away the chill. Flashes from the past rush to the surface and threaten to pull me under. Covert meetings with Da’s associates at the pub, running errands for my brothers, the pungent metallic scent of blood and carcasses from the butcher shop…
Blinking quickly, I try to chase back the grisly images threatening to surface. I’m never going back there. This is just a one-time thing. I’ll get the forged docs I need from Ryan and never set foot in this place again.
My escort stops in front of a reinforced metal door and knocks twice. An excruciatingly long moment later, it whips open, and another man stalks out. Dark, beady eyes latch onto mine and hold.
A chill races up my spine at that look, like death’s fingers dancing on a grave.
“Mullen, always a pleasure,” the guy holding the door mutters, urging him through the threshold.
With a dip of his head, I’m finally free of that penetrating gaze. Who in all the blazes was that? And why did he look at me like?—
Before I can think on it too much, the guard ushers me into the room, a small office with only one window. Bars crisscross the double-paned glass, a thick curtain hanging from either side.
Seated at the mahogany desk is a middle-aged man, streaks of silver running through the deep auburn. His eyes meet minefor only a second, a deep, haunting blue before they drop to the stack of files on his desk.
“Rory Delaney, I assume,” he mumbles as he sorts through the tower of paperwork.
“Aye.”
“Ryan Flanagan, a pleasure to finally put a face with a name.” He motions at the chair in front of the massive desk. “Have a seat, lass.”
The big burly guy who accompanied me in moves to stand beside the wall.
“If it’s all the same to you I’d rather remain standing. I’m kind of in a hurry.”
His eyes narrow on me for a moment before they return to the task at hand. “Suit yourself.”
As Flanagan rifles through the files, the first guy taps the desk with his meaty palm. “You’ve got the payment?”
I swallow hard before fishing out the envelope from my bag. It took me months to save up these two-thousand dollars. Now if everything goes to hell with Alessandro, I won’t just lose the job, I’ll lose the one shot I have at building a life beyond Brigid O’Shea. And ifanyonefinds out, I won’t just be out of a job. I’ll be dead.
Releasing a resigned breath, I unclench my fingers from around the envelope and place it on the desk. “It’s all right here.”
Flanagan ticks his head at the guy then the wad of cash. “Make sure it’s exact, Eoghan.”
“Sure, boss.” Eoghan grabs the knife-shaped letter opener from the desk and slices through the envelope. Okay, maybe it’s an actual knife. Thank goodness I have my own hair-pin dagger firmly tangled in my hair.
I watch as he counts out the crisp hundred-dollar bills, a trickle of sweat dribbling down my spine. Once he’s done, he tips his head at the boss.
“All set?” The words come out in a breathy rush.
Flanagan nods and slides a manilla envelope across the desk. “It’s all in there: the nursing license and board certification from the state of New York, work authorization, and background check.”
“Great,” I whisper on a sharp exhale, tucking the envelope into my bag. “So we’re all good, yeah?”
He nods, sharp eyes scrutinizing. “You never did say how you got my information, lass. Ya mind sharing?”
“A friend from Belfast who’d rather remain anonymous,” I mutter quickly before turning toward the door. The last thing I need is for him to make the connection between me and Maeve, then Conall would surely come next.
My escape from the great Butcher of Belfast had been a big deal in our tight-knit community.
“Good luck,” he calls as I rush out the door.
The mad dash through the dark corridors is nothing but a blur. I barrel through the metal door at the end and stagger into the alleyway. The moment the cool air hits my face I draw in a breath of relief.
