I let out a bitter laugh. “An explanation? He’s got Ciara and Riley’s names written down next to a list of known enemies of our family, and you think there’s a fuckingexplanation? Are you really willing to risk finding out if it’s nothing but a bluff?”
“I’m saying?—”
“You’re saying you don’t want to face it.” My voice is sharp, slicing through the silence of the locker. “You’re so wrapped up in this bullshit loyalty to him that you can’t admit what’s right in front of you. He’s betraying us. He’s betrayingyou. And if you keep protecting him, you’ll go down for it, Ronan.”
“Kieran.” His voice hardens, a warning edge. “Watch your tone. I’m still your boss, and Cormac is still family.”
I slam the folder shut, my hands shaking. “Are you really willing to risk having your kids grow up without their father because his ego was so big that he couldn’t admit when he was wrong?”
Ronan doesn’t answer right away. His breathing deepens like he’s trying to keep a lid on his temper.
“Until I know otherwise, I’m holding onto hope. Innocent until proven guilty.”
“Jesus Christ, Ronan. What more proof do you need? His handwriting is all over this.”
“I said what I said.” I rake a hand through my hair, my chest heaving.
It’s clear there’s no getting through to him, not like this.
“You either need to get on board with the reality that our brother is a fucking snake in the grass or get out of my way. One way or another, I’m going to find Cormac, and I’m going to end this before Riley ends up paying the price.”
Silence stretches on until finally Ronan sighs. “I think I’m too close to this.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I won’t stand in your way. Not anymore.”
His answer takes me by surprise. It’s not like Ronan to back down so quickly, and I find his answer unnerving.
“I’ll be home soon. We’ll talk more then.”
We hang up, and I shove the folder back into the box, though not before tucking the incriminating page deep into my jacket pocket. After all, if I’m going to take down my brother, I’m going to need proof.
On the drive back,I decide to pay a visit to one of our clubs in the city. As much as I want to focus all of my time and attention on this situation with Cormac, I have other responsibilities to uphold, and I don’t want to risk people becoming complacent.
I turn down a side alley beside one of our clubs and find Kyle, the manager, already waiting outside, shifting nervously on his feet.
He thrusts a stack of papers into my hand the second I roll down the window, and I quickly scan the numbers.
It doesn’t add up. It’s not by much, but the loss is enough to piss me off.
Our guys know better than to waste time with excuses.
“Fix that.” I don’t bother with explicit threats.
Kyle knows there will be no more chances if this happens again.
He nods, stuttering something about an oversight, but I don’t bother answering.
I simply fix him with a stare, one that he will think about every time he touches the register.
A few miles down, I swing by the warehouse on the river.
Two black SUVs sit outside with half a dozen men stationed at the doors.
One jogs over to my window with a clipboard, and I flip through the pages, checking dates and weights. But unlike the club, these guys are clean and efficient, so it comes as no surprise that everything lines up.
I hand the clipboard back and give a short nod, which has the guy exhaling as if he’s been holding his breath since I arrived.
