Page 111 of Dylan
I go to grab the key to the SUV, but remember it’s in the clothes I had on earlier and Ciara has the spare. Instead, I grab the key for the Porsche. I note how quiet the place is.
Taegan and Ciarán can’t still be up on the rooftop. Maybe they went out to get something to eat or something. I pull my phone to text her as I leave out of the front door.
I’m already annoyed because I had to be called away from Ciara to deal with this shit. I don’t like repeating myself. Having to repeat myself after the day I had is even worse.
These fucking dirty cops are barking up the wrong tree. Jumping in the Porsche, I head for the city where these fucksare demanding my attention. Like, who the fuck are they to be summoning me in the first fucking place?
I tried to call Brooklyn, as this all started with some shit on his books. I didn’t get an answer, so I’m taking things into my own hands. The only problem I have is that they’re luring me out of my territory.
I’ll have to think before I do anything in Manhattan. I have a million things on my mind during the drive. As I stop at a light, it dawns on me that Taegan hasn’t replied to my text yet.
I look at the time. Maybe Ciarán was in his room and Taegan called it a night. It’s not uncommon for her to place her phone on Do Not Disturb so she can read and have time to herself.
I shake the thought off. I’m sure Ciarán is safe in the apartment. In the last two years, I’ve never had any trouble out of him. Right now, I need to focus. I know these assholes are up to something and I need to head them off at the pass.
“One issue at a time, Dyl,” I blow out as I turn onto the block this meeting is on.
Once I get to the end of the street, I realize it’s a parking lot by the water. I head in and ride to the row they gave me. Three cruisers are parked across the lanes as if in warning not to come back here to park.
I climb out of the car to find all three of these bastards waiting for me, sitting on the hoods of their cars. I glance around and can see the lights and camera back here seem to be out. Someone smashed the lights and the live light isn’t active on the cams.
“Good to know,” I murmur to myself.
“What the fuck do the three of you want?” I snap as I move to the front of my vehicle.
“You didn’t think we were going to give up so easily, now did you?” Detective Baker speaks up first.
“Especially not with those deep-ass fat pockets you and your family have,” Detective Vargus adds.
I shrug. “Your IQ isn’t my problem. I’ll give you the smart … no, the only option. If you want to play a game of fuck around and find out, be my guest. I have a bunch of stupid prizes to hand out.”
“Big talk,” Detective Strong says as he tilts his head to the side. “We noticed the girl is a weakness of yours. So we started to look into her and that little ink shop. Funny, her license and the deed to the place say Ciara Walsh, but she’s on all the kid’s school shit as Ariel Norwood.
“That got my attention, and I decided to do some more digging. Did you know your girlfriend isn’t his legal guardian? We could bring her in for kidnapping and I’m thinking about adding trafficking to the list, depending on how well you cooperate.”
I clench my jaw so hard I’m surprised my teeth don’t break. These stupid motherfuckers are out of their minds if they think I’m going to allow anything to happen to Ciara and Ciarán. They should have spent more time doing homework on me.
Exhortation isn’t even on the menu. Now the only option they have left is death. I go to step forward to beat the shit out of all three of them, but my phone rings, holding me back.
Knowing it’s a call from Booker, who I left sitting on my building to watch over Ciara, I pull out the phone to pick up. I’m not even concerned with these three.
“What is it?” I bite out.
“Ciara just sped out of the garage like a bat out of hell. I’m on her, but I don’t have a good feeling about this. She’s alone. The kid isn’t with her.”
“When was the last time you spoke to Taegan?”
“Just before she took off from your place. She said Eoghan called and wanted her to hang out.”
“How long before I left was this?”
“About an hour or two before you let me know you were heading out. She said she was heading to the Fighting Irish for drinks and to watch a match or two. I was going to head there to chill with them before your call.”
“Wait, she hasn’t been with Ciarán? Fuck, Book. The Fighting Irish is closed for renovations,” I rush into the phone as I turn to jump into my car. “Stay on Ciara, something is wrong with the kid.”
“We’re not fucking done with you,” Baker snarls after me.
“But I’m done with you.”
