“The house you provided as your down payment was only half of what you owe. So where is the rest?”
“I just need some more time, that’s all. Just a little more time to get the rest of it. There are circumstances with my wife’s estate he doesn’t understand.”
“He’s already given you time and plenty of it. I’m afraid the clock—and Cian’s patience—has run out.” Frankly, Gallagher’s lucky he’s still alive. For six months he evaded Cian’s reach,spending much of his time in D.C., where he knew we wouldn’t dare attempt to off him.
Coward.
Gallagher rubs a hand through his hair, leaving the normally perfectly gelled strands sticking up in all directions. “I can—” His voice cuts off as Eamon prowls around the room nursing his drink.
“You can what?” I ask, wondering if he’ll plead for mercy on his behalf. Maybe he’ll invoke his family, not that I’ve ever gotten the sense he cared about them.
“I can make a deal,” the sniveling man says.
Eamon snorts after we share a disbelieving look and says, “Are you seriously trying to renegotiate with Cian Lynch? Do you have a death wish? Because I can arrange that and make it much more enjoyable. For me, at least.”
For the first time in our short and despised acquaintance, Rory grows a spine. Ignoring Eamon, he says, “I have something you may find useful. You said I could pay in blood.”
“I doubt there’s anything you have that I will find useful,” I answer slowly, wondering where he’s going with this. My palms grow slick, my neck hot. I fight the urge to shift in my seat. Outwardly, my mask doesn’t crack.
He licks his dry lips, winking brilliant veneers that probably cost more than most four-year Ivy League degrees. “These debts. Do they specify exactly whose blood? Or would any Gallagher blood suffice?”
Eamon inhales so quickly he nearly breathes in the whiskey. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ with me, pal. Maybe I knocked you around a bit too much. Or you’ve gone hard of hearing. Christ, Aiden, let me deal with this one. Save you the trouble.”
I nearly sigh again. I’ve never minded being Cian’s enforcer. But I’ve never enjoyed it the way Eamon does. I’ve never craved it. It’s a duty, a job. Something to check off on a list that seemsnever-ending. Maybe if it gave me more satisfaction, I wouldn’t chafe at the knowledge that all I’ll ever be is Cian’s hound.
“Spit it out, Gallagher, or I’ll let Eamon introduce you to those knives he loves so much.”
“What would you say if I were to offer you one of my daughters?”
What I say is nothing, and Gallagher, degenerate though he is, doesn’t miss the way my eyes narrow in interest despite myself. Can he hear the way my breath catches in my chest? He leans forward as though we’re coconspirators.
“The oldest is… a challenge, but my youngest listens well enough.”
My back goes ramrod straight, but he’s so enthused by his own idea at this point, he doesn’t notice.
“Why the hell would I want one of your daughters?” I ask.
At this, he looks more like the invulnerable man of power he pretends to be when the cameras are on him. “Because I know the thing you want the most in this world, and my daughter is the key to giving you what you want.”
Eamon sneers. “And how the hell do you know somethin’ like that?”
“While you’ve been looking for me, I’ve been learning all about you.” He doesn’t glance away from me. “About your mother. That you haven’t seen her in nearly, what? Ten years, right? I bet you miss her.”
I say nothing, which says everything.
The fear stitching Gallagher’s muscles taut loosens at the silence. “I may not be in the family, but I’ve been around Cian long enough to puzzle out how it works. If you were to get married, you’d have to go back to Ireland to introduce her to all of them. It’s tradition, right?”
The thought makes me sick, but my face stays perfectly blank.
“Cian would have to let you see your mother. That’s why he hasn’t forced the issue. Married you off to one of his lieutenant’s daughters. Because he’ll do anything to keep you under his thumb. HisCú Chulainn.”
His hound.
The name on his lips makes my stomach roll.
“You desperate piece of shite,” Eamon interjects. “Tell him to fuck off.”
When I don’t, Eamon spins slowly in my direction.
