I do one of those comical double takes. He uses it as an in to keep explaining himself.
“Right, so now I know you’re listening. You’ve landed in the middle of some of God's greatest country, but it comes with a price—the Irish boys. Now we’ve got one major player here that has ruled the streets for a long time. Like any large group, there’s others getting involved. Some good, some bad. You following?”
I don’t answer, but he makes a point of looking at me, then keeps going. “For the last little while, things have been smooth, but some people always seem to rock the boat or decide they want things to be done differently. And the people making lots of noise at the moment are the Kellys. You’ve arrived when a small spark is going to blow things sky high. My conscience wouldn’t rest if I didn’t make you a hundred percent aware you’ve effectively got your feet in both camps. Yeah?”
“And that means?”
“Well, the pub you’re working at is owned by the Kellys, and where we are now is very much O’Connor territory. Sometimes innocents get caught up, and I didn’t want that to be you.”
Hello, rock and a hard place.
I drop my eyes to the ground. “I’ll be careful. Thanks.”
I keep acting doe-eyed when I look back at him because it’s a hell of a lot easier than saying I know an awful lot about organized crime, and it was a planned decision for me to take the job at the pub. The room thing, not so much, but here we are.
It was also very much a conscious decision to use my family name, Tally Murphy, as opposed to using an alias, like what usually happens on a job. The hope is, now I’m working for Walsh, who has connections with the Kellys, word will get back to Oscar—who also has ties to the Kelly’s—that I’m here. And hopefully I’ll get a chance to see Oscar again.
“I am aware now, thanks to you. Your conscience is clear.” I smile up at the cabbie, making another reach for my bags.
He flicks his fingers, and like magic, a business card appears. I take it because it can be a right pain in the bum trying to find areliable driver. But then he messes everything up in a handful of words. “I’m a phone call away if you need. It can’t be safe for a lass like you being out here by herself.”
I stare at him, trying to decide if I want to be burning bridges or if I should simply write off the second Alpha today treating me like I don’t know my left hand from my right as nothing but a coincidence.
Ultimately, I keep my comments to myself as I wave him off.
It starts raining. A cold gusty wind makes the drops like little needles, and I get absolutely drenched between the road and the door to the apartment, which sits down a side street close to another apartment's entrance across the road. The buildings are polar opposites, though, since that one looks like a mix between social housing and student accommodations.
I completely scored with this booking.
The state-of-the-art security means it takes me a couple of tries to follow the instructions emailed over by the host-slash-owner before the monitor even blinks to life. I nearly cry in the process of figuring how to set up my own entry code, but I’m no quitter.
Admittedly, I am half feral with rage by the time I program the goddamn thing that links my palm print and an eight-digit emergency code, but my anger is offset by how state of the art the security actually is.
My admiration is tested when I have to do the whole screening procedure again to get into the lift.
Of course, it’s one of those silent lifts that oozes sex appeal. It’s made better because of a faint lingering scent, one that reaches inside my soul and feels like a tender touch.
If I was pushed to explain the scent, I’d be hard-pressed to do it, but it doesn’t discount the fact it’s here.
“I need food, and sleep, I’m telling you,” I mumble as the lift rises.
I slide one of my bags over the door track to stop them closing to triple-check I’ve got the right floor. I have, and being on ‘ground’ so to speak, the U shape of the building makes sense. By the time I’ve unlocked the door by using my palm print and the long code, I’m feeling more settled than I have in days.
The owner-slash-host left on the smaller downlights, which cast warm light in important places, showcasing the apartment’s stunning features. The photos on Airbnb are woeful at best, because this place is lush as hell. Industrial chic timber, black fixtures, and a huge expanse of polished concrete come together in a very inviting way.
Layout wise, a short entrance opens into a central living space where the kitchen, dining, and lounge room blur into each other. Like the rest of the space, the same industrial theme runs throughout. Some people wouldn’t appreciate the dark moodiness, but the owner offset it with oversized, abstract artwork in lighter contrasting colors, interspersed with knickknacks, vases, and small detailing that somehow softens the harshness.
There’s an envelope on the island, a welcome scrawled over the front. Before I can even bother opening it, I need a shower. Anything from this point on this evening will be done without my bra on and me not smelling like Guinness.
Finding the bedroom is as easy as following my nose. It smells divine. Flicking the central heating on, and setting it to toasty AF, I leave my bags where they fall. I do the same with my clothes. And then I spend an ungodly amount of time under the shower.
I feel like a new person when I step out of the steam billowing from the bathroom and into the bedroom again. The room is heated, adding to the toasty feel, and the way the warm air brushes against my skin is as good as my shower was.
Unpacking and setting up my room naked isn’t as salacious as it sounds. After feeling so unsettled at the last place I booked, and after the day I had, it’s as soothing as a cup of milky sweet tea.
With only the light from the bathroom on, I find a place for everything before I’m drawn to the floor-to-ceiling window. The glimpse I caught from across the room promised an incredible view. Knowing the glass is “smart glass” and you can turn it on and off like you would be opening and closing blinds, I walk over, unconcerned.
And, well, the view is breathtaking but not at all what I was expecting. Although, truthfully, theactualview might be as good as I thought it would be, but I can’t look away from the naked man in the apartment opposite mine. He’s resting his forehead on his arm. His eyes are shut. His body is to die for.
