Page 2 of Dublin Beast
Tag pegs me with a stony stare. “And once I explain that, I don’t expect anyone will have an issue with us tracking down the bitch who did it. Still, there are courtesies which need to be honored.”
I grunt. “It’s a good thing you’re in charge, brother, because I don’t give two flaming dog shits about courtesy. That bitch must die.”
“And she will.” Tag turns his attention back to Finn. “So, assuming Bryan and Kieran are on their way to Gatwick, what else do we need to know?”
Finn seems to consider that. “Are we ending her on sight or bringing her back here? Travel logistics will complicate things.”
Tag frowns. “As much as I’d love to make a celebration out of dragging her back here and watching her die, it’s too dangerous. With the task force watching our every move and with our women here and the baby on the way, it’s best to keep violence at an arm’s reach.”
“Should Henessey go, too?” Sean asks.
I give him my best reassuring smile. “I’ve taken down worse than Siobhan fucking Daley.”
Sean dips his chin. “I wasn’t implying otherwise, brother. Just posing the question.”
“Henessey isn’t a good idea,” Brendan adds. “If the Quinn triggerman is with Bryan and Kieran, they’ll draw more attention—the authorities will know we’re gunning for someone.”
“Agreed. Anything else?” Tag waits, scanning the four of us to see if we have anything more to add. When we don’t, he pushes away from the table and stands. “All right. Get it done.”
I grip my fingers into balled fists. “Time to feed the beast.”
* * *
Harper
Liverpool is exactly how Macie and Chantal described it to me—charming, vibrant, and filled with just enough grime around the edges to make their European adventure feel a little gritty.
That was the last time they checked in.
The last time anyone ever heard from them.
Journalism 101 - Not every story has a happy ending.
I draw a deep breath and push down the survivor’s guilt that has been lodged at the base of my throat for the last four months.
If I hadn’t backed out of the trip to be a TA over the summer, maybe we’d know what happened to them.
Maybe they would be home with their families.
Or maybe I’d be missing, too.
I gather the silver ‘F’ pendant hanging around my neck and run my thumb over the tiny engraved ‘Forever’ running down its spine. The three of us got these BFF necklaces when we graduated from high school.
Macie picked the ‘B’ because she liked to tell people she was the ‘Queen B’.
Chantal had the ‘F’ engraved with friends.
And I chose this one. ‘F’ is for forever.
I sip at my gin and tonic, ice clinking against the inside of the glass as I watch the crowd swell outside the pub. Just another day pretending to be a tourist in Liverpool, right?
The cavernous pubs, the street performers along the docks, the buzzing energy of the city at night. It’s easy to see why people with ill-intent come here.
It’s the perfect hunting ground.
My fingers drum lightly against the polished wood of the bar, my nerves buzzing with adrenaline.
I think I’ve finally got one.
