Page 26 of Wicked Ruin

“Aye, of course.” And just like that, I think of Bridget.

I always think of Bridget.

Beautiful, impossible Bridget—long hair, spitfire eyes, and that laugh she has that makes a room feel warmer without her even trying. The way she never quite fit the mold the world tried to press her into, and never seemed to lose sleep over it either.

And after all this time, I still can't decide whether that's the thing I love most about her or the thing that kept me up at night.

What's she like these days? Is she happy? Is she seeing somebody who deserves her in all the ways I never could?

Did she ever go back to the club? Did she get her wish?

I hope she did. I hope she got every single thing she wanted.

But I can't think of her now.

“Everyone must be happy,” I say noncommittally, not wanting to let a single suggestion of anything to do with Bridget creep into my voice.

“Aye,” he says with a smile.

I lean forward. “Let me tell you about Boston. They've been building for years. Patient. Men, money, planning routes to Dublin that didn't exist eighteen months ago and now do.”

“Aye.”

“And Donovan was the useful idiot. They needed a local face. He provided one.”

“Aye. Padraic Kavanagh likely thought they'd win,” he says. “Looked at everything we'd built. Everything we gave him. Used his daughters.”

“Right. Decided Boston was the safer investment.”

I hate this about Bridget’s parents. She deserves better.

“The Boston contingent’s calling it reparations,” Seamus continues. “Old grievances, old losses, a debt we apparently owe them for something that happened before half of us were born.”

“And we owe them nothing.”

“Not a penny. Not a square meter.” His jaw tightens.

“But they're not asking anymore, Seamus. They're moving men. Into Ireland. This isn't a negotiation. It's an invasion,” I say.

A muscle tics in his jaw. “I know. I need to make some calls. And it’s best if we’re proactive. I have some ideas, but I want your report on my desk by tomorrow morning. Yeah?”

“Aye.” I swallow hard.

He looks at me across the table, his fingers steepled. “You know the time for you to fulfill your promise is imminent. But I have a way that could put all our fears to rest.”

I knew we’d get there eventually. I just hadn't expected it this quickly. But it'll be fine. I'll do what I promised. I’ll fall on the proverbial fucking sword because that’s what we do for the sake of family and loyalty and keeping the people we care about safe.

“Go see Mam,” he says. “She's been dying to get her hands on you. Give you a proper hug and feed you something decent. We’ll have a meeting, all of us, and make our move.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I missed my Aunt Caitlin too. “Thanks, brother.”

I get up from the table.

But I don't go see my aunt straight away. Not yet. I need a little space first.

It's a gorgeous summer day in Ballyhock, with the sun pouring through the windows and warming the interior. I hear laughter outside. Splashing. I wonder if Zoya has the kids out in the pool that Uncle Keenan had put in a few years ago. The moment it gets warm enough, it gets relentless use.

It's been a while since I've been to my own place. My younger brother Colm's been keeping an eye on it, which means the roof is still on, but I'm going to have to scrub it from top to bottom before it feels like mine again.