Connor doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. Growing up, he was the one who cried when Da clipped a badger onthe country road and left it for dead, heartbroken over something Da didn’t care about.
Even when Da shoved a gun into his hand and threatened him to use it, Connor just froze, wet himself, and stood there trembling in the mess, eyes wide and empty.
My brother isn’t a criminal. And I’ll make sure he stays that way.
“Just carry on as normal and I’ll drive down to Dublin tomorrow to see you, okay?” I put my foot down on the gas and head straight for the motorway.
His sigh crackles through the car. “Yeah… normal. Whatever the fuck that is.”
The call ends and I grab a packet of mints from the inner console, tipping one into my mouth as another call comes through.
“Tierney,” my da’s voice fills the space. “Where are you?”
I glance in the rearview mirror at the steady stream of headlights behind me and change lanes. “Leaving Belfast and heading home now.”
“Meet me at the farm.”
I keep my sigh to myself and agree. “Okay. Is something wrong?”
“On the contrary, honeybee. Everything is working out as it should,” he says. “Don’t dilly-dally.”
The line disconnects, the car returning to silence.
I press harder on the accelerator; the engine responding as I push past the speed limit. The last time I drove with Damien in the passenger seat, he almost shit himself gripping the door handle. I get off on speed and efficiency; he prefers slow andsteady.
That’s probably why we work.
It doesn’t take long to hit the country roads, where there aren’t any streetlights and the fields are washed silver under the high moon.
I swerve off the road, taking a hard right and bouncing over potholes as I drive across the hill toward the old farm we acquired for business. From here it looks like any other working cattle set up, but at the back, in the outbuildings, there’s a fresh shipment of ammo and crates of weapons waiting to be moved stateside.
When I roll into the yard, a man with a flashlight circles the vehicle, the beam spreading across the doors and windows before he nods and gives me the all clear. I kill the engine, pull my hood up, and climb out into the wind.
He leads me to the farthest barn, where my da is pouring himself a black coffee from a flask.
Behind us, our guys are checking the crates, splitting the shipment into groups for dispatch. It’s one of the jobs he first gave me when I was ten. That evening, I held a machine gun for the first time and loved everything about it.
Connor hated weapons. Me, I wanted to know how they worked, how they fit together, where they failed, and how to use them.
It probably explains the collection I keep locked away at home, every piece cleaned and catalogued inside a cabinet with a keypad only I know the code to.
“Tierney.” My da lifts the flask. “You want a coffee, honeybee?”
I shake my head, a low unease settling in my chest. Something feels off.
“Is everything all right with theshipment?” I ask as I step into the barn, tugging on a pair of gloves and lifting an Uzi to check the weight. “Did they short us?”
“Nah.” Da chuckles. “They’d know better than to try it.”
“Right.” I set the weapon down and move toward him. “Is this about Connor then?”
“It sure is.” He takes a sip of coffee, steam curling into the night air. “You hit the jackpot when you pulled those files. It got the Viacavas’ attention.”
My spine prickles, and Bronx flashes through my mind without warning. The buzz in my veins when we wrestled, the way he owned the elevator just by looking at me, the weight of his gun at my back when he could’ve pulled the trigger and didn’t.
I’d never make that mistake.
“Did they make contact?” I ask, my breath fogging white in the cold air.
