Not the case for me.
Riley plays the part of grieving daughter-in-law well enough, her delicate features expressing genuine grief as she sticks to Finn’s side, nervously toying with a strand of blond hair. Harper hovers by her identical twin, her blue eyes shifting between Riley and Cian.
“Prowling the perimeter as usual, I see.” Tiernan Murphy’s familiar, grating voice washes over me. His stocky frame stops beside me, and our shoulders nearly brush.
Like me, he exists on the periphery of the Kings, performing dirty tasks that the Gallagher name can’t risk being associated with if things go south. We’ve worked a few jobs together over the years, so I know he’s decent at what he does.
Too bad he’s such a huge pain in the ass.
Drinks too much, talks too much. I’ve got more than one scar thanks to his inability to shut his damn mouth.
Not even the ten years we spent in the trenches together could bond us.
I don’t spare him a glance. “Back from overseas?”
“Wouldn’t miss Finn’s big day.”
“Don’t pretend. Sentimentality doesn’t suit you.” I nod in Finn’s direction. “You’re angling for a seat at his table, aren’t you?”
I catch Tiernan’s wide smirk. “What’s it to you? Worried about the competition?”
I swirl my drink, the ice tinkling against the glass. “Of course not.”
Tiernan’s no one. Finn Gallagher wouldn’t think twice about him.
All told, he’s an idiot. Just another tool in Finn’s arsenal, like the rest of us.
At least I’ve got tact and a history of successful jobs. More than most.
I understand how to play the game.
If anyone’s climbing into Thomas Brennan’s vacated spot at the top of the ladder, it’s me.
“Good.” Tiernan swigs from the wine glass trapped between his tattooed fingers. “There’s no way Finn would choose traitor’s blood for his next cabinet anyway.”
White-hot fury blinds me, and my free hand twitches toward the gun tucked at my waist.
I sip more of my drink, the alcohol burning down my throat and soothing the anger. No need to let Tiernan Murphy break my composure.
I treat him to a bland little smile. “My relation to Thomas Brennan is an unfortunate biological fact. I’m no more a traitor than you are.”
Tiernan’s blue eyes darken as he finishes his wine and slaps the empty goblet on the closest table. “We all thought we could trust your uncle. Who’s to say we can trust you?”
For one brief, beautiful moment, I contemplate picking up that empty wine glass, shattering it, and shoving the sharp end straight into this fucker’s eye.
On any other night, I’d teach Tiernan exactly what serving as the Kings’ shadow, the one Shane trusted with the jobs no one else could do for him, truly means.
Tiernan would be dead before he hit the floor.
But not tonight. Though I possess too many character faults to count, I do draw a line at disrespecting the deceased.
Tempted as I am to put this asshole in his place, Shane deserves better than a brawl at his memorial.
Tiernan fades into the crowd before he can dig his grave any deeper. Smart move.
At the front of the room, Donal calls for everyone’s attention by raising a hand.
“I appreciate you all coming.” His voice is smooth, aged like thirty-year-old Teeling Single Malt Whiskey. He strokes his well-groomed beard as he surveys the crowd. “Shane would be grateful to see so many friends.”
