“I’m not asking him, but I am going to tell him that you’re trying to boss me around.”
“Good, maybe I’ll get a bonus.”
“Great. Just great.” I want to stomp my feet.
Instead, I look at my phone and notice that I have not one, not two, but three messages from Cavin.
I tap on the first one.
Cavin
Am I still blocked? Or do you actually see this now? You brat.
The second:
Cavin
I’m sending three of my men to watch over you.
The third:
Cavin
Put on your location tracker so that I can watch you.
I type back quickly:
Number one: You’re not blocked. Number two: I’m well aware that you sent your goons round to watch over me. Number three: Fuck off.
I toss my phone in my bag and take Bridget by the hand. “Let’s go.”
She wobbles a little, and one of the guards steps in as if to catch her, but she quickly steadies herself.
“I’m fine,” she says with a forced smile.
When we enter, I don’t understand why he protested so much. This just looks like a normal pub. There’s a match on the telly—hurling, maybe, or football—playing on a massive screen. Glasses line the bar, bottles gleaming in the low light, and couples sit at round tables nursing their pints. It’s actually quite nice in here, cozy even, though dimly lit.
Nothing sinister about it at all.
It isn’t until my second round of soda water that I see someone questionably dressed walk past me.
“Is that… latex?” Bridget whispers, staring at the girl’s black skirt. “It’s an interesting clothing choice, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” I say, and I watch as she walks to the back of the room, whispers something to someone, and they take her down a little corridor to a separate elevator.
She doesn’t come back.
“Where’d she go?” I say to Bridget. “That’s odd.”
Bridget gasps, covering her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oh my god. Oh mygod!”
“What?” I whisper, alarmed, my heart racing.
“I know why he didn’t want us to go in here,” she says quietly.
“Well, care to fill me in?” I ask, shaking my head. “I’d like to know.”
“Erin.This is the secret entrance to The Craic.”
