Page 31 of Dublin Beast
He doesn’t know me, doesn’t trust me, and I have no doubt if I do something that screws them over, I’ll be in as much trouble or more from them as I would’ve been if I just took on Eddie Mason on my own.
But I won’t screw them over, so this is going to work.
It’s a risky collaboration, but hopefully we can all benefit from it. I’m damned good at digging things up. For instance, given what Bryan told me last night—Five brothers. Irish. Criminal affiliations—I discovered he is none other than Bryan Quinn, of the Quinn brothers.
Once I knew that, I spent hours learning everything I could about them.
The oldest brother, Tag, came into power a year ago when their dad died.
The one with the scars, Sean, runs the Dublin Devils motorcycle club.
Bryan and his twin brother Brendan are the muscle and cage fight for charity.
And the youngest brother is Finn. There wasn’t much on him, but Bryan mentioned that he’s the one that’s good with computers.
One of the most interesting things I learned is that these men ruleforthe people andwiththe people. They have a moral code called the Quinn Laws.
One of their tenets is that women are to be protected. These men are criminals, but they aren’t like Mason. They have acode.
The Quinn Laws.
I read every scrap of information I could find on those laws—statements, whispers, rumors. It seems the Quinns have a reputation for ruling with the people of Northern Dublin in mind.
They are still dangerous criminals—I’m not trying to downplay that—but there were dozens of references to their efforts to keep their streets and their citizens safe.
Especially women. That may explain why Bryan stormed across the street and ripped me away from Mason’s men a few days ago.
Looking at it now, it could be considered…gallant.
Despite ruining my plans.
Despite making my life a lot more complicated.
I slide a sideways glance past the curtain of my hair to where Bryan is scowling at his computer. He’s got the patience of a raging bull—the muscles of one, too.
Wearing his signature black jeans and black T-shirt that barely stretches enough to contain him, there’s nothing much left to the imagination.
Not that I have to imagine—I saw him without his shirt last night in the gym. I know exactly what’s happening under that T-shirt. All that inked flesh stretching over his honed physique.
I miss the gray sweatpants though. The way they dipped low on his hips as we worked out. The way they did nothing to hide the outline of his fineness when things got interesting.
I shake the thought off and refocus.
Siobhan Daley.
The woman they’re looking for isn’t just some girl on the run—she’s been tangled up in the Dublin underworld her entire life. And, from what I’ve found out, she has slept with or gotten her hooks into every male power player in Dublin.
I would never slut shame anyone, but this woman made bedding the bad boys an Olympic sport.
When I mentioned that to Bryan, he scowled and said there was history with her and one of his brothers but he never saw the appeal.
When I asked Bryan why he needed to find her, he said she crossed one too many lines and needs to answer for the pain she’s caused his family.
During the entire time Bryan spoke about her, he radiated a fake calm so unsettling it creeped me out. It was obvious he was seething under the surface. Whatever she did, she’s lucky the Quinns don’t hurt women because he looks murderous whenever she’s mentioned.
So, I’ve been tracking her as my part of the deal.
Kieran filled in a few of the blanks earlier. Siobhan was on a private plane that landed at Gatwick before she was escortedsomewhere near Liverpool.
