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All five of the Quinn boys are the spit of our da—black hair, green eyes, and tanned complexion—but Sean also has a brutal and broken vibe about him.
He’s lethal.
One look at his ink and scars and the ladies cream their panties while the men wet theirs. And when he’s in his Dublin Devils leathers, that effect is magnified tenfold.
With the seized product laid out, Sean adds a rubber tie-off, a lighter, and a spoon to the mix.
Owen lets out a strangled groan, finally getting the picture that he’s at the end of his journey. “Mr. McGuire said it was just business. I owed him. If I didn’t do what he said, he would’ve killed me.”
I meet the kid’s gaze. “So, you gambled on the devil you knew over the one you didn’t. I get it. You were in a pinch.”
He nods, grasping at the hope that I understand his predicament. “Right. I had no choice.”
“Och, Owen, there’s always a choice.”
“It was nothing personal.”
I strike forward and smack the hilt of my knife with my palm. A burst of blood sprays free from his side and Owen lets out an anguished wail. When he sags, I grip his chin and slap his cheeks to keep him from passing out.
The pussy.
“Nothing personal?” My hand closes around his throat, and I squeeze until his air is cut off and his face goes red. “People died, Owen. People who trust my family to keep the dangers and violence of our world away from the ones they love.”
Aiden moves in beside me and I step back to give him space. He’s a brute of a man with endless muscle stretched over his six-foot-six frame and fists like concrete blocks. He’s known as the Viking, and feared in the streets, but he’s also got an intellect and a knack for strategic thinking that few realize.
Owen gasps for breath as my best friend wraps his arms around his waist and hoists him up to free his hands from the ceiling hook. Gripping the back of the metal chair, I position it to catch the whimpering street rat.
“Grow some balls, man,” Aiden scoffs, shifting to stand at the back of the chair. With a firm grip on both the guy’s shoulders, he keeps him pinned in the chair. “You knew this would happen when you broke the Quinn Laws.”
“I didn’t know,” Owen sputters. “I swear I didn’t.”
Sean grunts and hands me the piece of rubber hose. “Everyone in Dublin knows the Quinn Laws.”
With Aiden holding him in his seat, I wrap the tubing above Owen’s elbow and watch as his veins bulge. His blood is really pumping, so that will make this quick. “Just for shits and giggles, tell us the Quinn Laws.”
His eyes widen. “Uh…no killing in your streets.”
“Right. And what else?”
“Uh…no drugs, guns, or violence will impact the innocents.”
“Aye. Right again. So, you knew the Quinn Laws and yet I was rung up at three in the morning by a grieving mother saying her boy and two other lads were dead in her living room.”
He swallows, blinking up at me. “I’m sorry about that…really…so, so sorry.”
“I’m sure that’s true, but it doesn’t make those three lads any less dead now, does it? You brought McGuire’s poison on our side of the bridge and people died.”
“I didn’t know it was dirty, Mr. Quinn. I swear I didn’t,” he sputters, snot running from his nose.
“But a man must stand behind the quality of product he sells, Owen. It’s just good business.”
His tears and snot are getting tangled as his gaze locks onto Sean’s lighter dancing under the spoon, heating the drugs he brought to this private party.
“Wait! I can still help you. The McGuires are planning something big. Word on the street is that Mad Mattie is going to make a play.”
Sean steps in, syringe in hand, and Owen practically vibrates in the chair.
“Wait! He’s bringing in men from the north. He’s gunning for all of Dublin. I can help. I know people!”
