The Pawn
I dedicated the left half of my screens to ‘Project Natalie’…and the right half to watch Bridget while she tried that stupid proxy again and headed off to Simon Kinsley’s house for the third time in two days.
I’ve heard enough so far to know that I rattled her with my wee performance in the woods, and I can’t keep the smile off my face about that. I clicked around, facing the left side of my desk and listening out for anything else that might pique my interest while I dabbled in this and that. The dwarf said something about offin’ me if I show up again, and it got a good chuckle outta me while a couple of my fingers relaxed over my mouth. I like Simon. Truly, I do. But I’ve got absolutely no problem with locking him in a doggy crate, and roasting marshmallows while I watch his fucking house burn down. I don’t think either one of them realize the danger he’s putting her in, encouraging her to go be a complete fool about whatever it is she’s up to.
“Key has number. Safety deposit.”
“So, this is…what bank?”
“Don’t know. We find box. Get answers.”
“And Zach McKinley?”
“Just child. Much money…no sense.”
Okay, so I’m on the right track. She’s looking into the McKinley’s and that’s why she went after Natalie…I’ve got no clue about the rest of this shite. At least I know what I’m leading with. I went back and pulled up everything I’d managed to dig up about Zach and everybody he’s associated with—until I heard…
“Need married. Access.”
“But once we have what we need…you can get me out of this?”
My head snapped to my screens where I was steadily recording the audio from her mic, and I felt my heart start thrashing.Get you outta what, Bridge?
“So, you’re saying I should stay married to this prick?”
“Prick dead. Throne…empty.”
You’ve gotta be pullin’ my dick. No. There’s no fucking way. My fingertips hammered on my keyboard, diving into public record, and all the other shit I shouldn’t have access to. I popped in code after code and then…
“Oh, you son of a…” I peeled my glasses off, swiping my hand and throwing them until they smacked the screen with the answer to everything. My body slumped back and I dragged my hands through my disheveled hair as I blew out air I didn’t think was in my fucking lungs.
Jonas O’Dell…deceased. Married. Surviving: Bridget Elaine Byrne—O’Dell.
“Ní féidir liom a chreidiúint é seo…”
So, this is why she’s been so weird. How long has she known about this? If Mal finds out, he’ll set what’s left of the world I’m about to rip apart, onfire. I don’t even have the luxury of peeling the skin from Jonas’s bones for this shite. Can’t piss on his ashes. Can’t do a fucking thing but sit here, absolutely dumbfounded. Now, I can’t even find it in me to be pissed at her. She’s scared. And it’s not even pleasurable ‘cause it’s not because ofme.
“I’m not a queen, Simon. You saw how well I handle something as simple as gutting a bitch and leaving her in the woods. Daddy was right. So was Jonas. I’m only good for one thing. It’s all I’ve had to use. What else is there?”
“Revenge.”
Revenge…
I’ve sat here thinking about this for hours. My nerd brain went deep—too deep. But it still keeps leading me back to the same conclusion. Simon’s right. Whatever way this happened…Bridgetisa fucking queen. She always has been, and she never had the opportunity to learn how to wear a crown or sit straight on a throne with some dignity…because they neveraffordedher any.
I thought about Elizabeth I. It’s wildly different, but hauntingly similar. Beautiful redhead, born into Irish mob royalty…loses her mother. Callum didn’t reject Bridget, but he definitely kept her secluded to the sidelines. He never gave her any responsibility. Never thought she would amount to anything worthy of leading this pack of rabid dogs. Maybe hedidn’twant this life for her and Malek anymore…but that’s beside the point. It was never their choice in the end. Elizabeth didn’t end up on that throne until her sister was gone. The man that tried to marry Elizabeth…executed. And then she went on to be the queen that led her people into the Golden Age, conquering and reigning until she was feared and respected by the entire world…allwithouta king by her side.
They called her ‘The Virgin Queen’. She never married. Bridget fucking Byrne is far from a virgin, and thank Christ for that. But see…that’s what makes her believe she’s not worthy of what’s left of this family. The truth is, we’re not worthy of her. And I don’t need to be a king. I’m apawn. The tattoo on my hand…I take just as seriously as if it were one of the most important pieces on the fucking board. Every kingdom is built on the back of a pawn.
I’m happy to be your lapdog, Little Doe. Let me chase after you. Let me hunt you down and then sit at your feet with a bloody mouth. Lemme play with my prey.
The only thing more fucked up than this situation is my need to absolutely break her…but if there’s one thing I know…it’s that to really understand and make the best outta your potential? You gotta be broken down before you’re built into something strong enough to be an Elizabeth I…and I’m one hell of an expert at putting shit together, Bridge.
Run…run…
The hunt’s back on. I suited up and followed the tracker to Everton Trust, parking where she couldn’t see me while I watched her hide out in an alley. I put the phone to my ear.
“Dec?”
