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Anger flares, hot and fierce. Tag took it to keep me here, to ensure I can’t leave.
The frustration and betrayal of that move proves how little he knows about me. I won’t be trapped. It’s one thing to be caught in his world by circumstance, another to be held here by force.
Taking deep breaths while I change, I work to compose myself. I can’t go down to breakfast like this, not with this fury burning inside me.
But I also can’t let this go.
In less than twenty-four hours, he’s taken my money, my mother, and my choices away from me.
Madelaine Moneta would never have stood for any of this. I tried to lie low and play the part of a new person, but it’s not working.
I am—and will always be—me!
Tag Quinn may think he’s got me under his thumb, but he’s about to find out how wrong he is.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tag
Seventeen fucking messages. Doesn’t anyone in this city sleep anymore? I managed to close my eyes for all of four hours before I woke up to the buzz of notifications and found seventeen messages.
It will take me all morning to clear them up.
My coffee is black and strong, exactly how I need it if I’m going to get through the morning. If the McGuires intended on fucking up my mood and pissing me off, they’ve succeeded.
That’s the only win I will give them.
Da didn’t fight his way up from nothing to leave us a family legacy just for me to drop the ball…or worse, hand the Quinn territory over to the McGuires of all people.
Never going to happen.
My stomach growls loud enough that if I weren’t alone, I would be embarrassed. Doesn’t matter. As much as I’d rather be having breakfast with my American wildcat, the day is already filled with dozens of problems that bubbled up after last night’s meeting.
As I scroll through the messages, my blood is simmering at a low boil. Every one of these texts is a point of the chaos awaiting me outside the compound.
The pub needs renovations and a fuck-ton of PR to erase the bloodstains from last night.
The kids who died from the McGuire meth have left some very angry and upset parents.
The advance by the McGuires has shaken faith in Quinn territory and will only be put right once we’ve responded with equal or greater force.
There’s a buzz with the factions outside the city, as all eyes are on me to see where this will go.
“Fuck you, Mattie.”
How would Da handle it?
Who are we kidding? He wouldn’t have to. He brokered the truce, and those relationships are age old. There’s no way Mattie McGuire would’ve advanced on Cormack Quinn.
The drizzle outside picks up speed and begins an all-out downpour. Figures. The foul weather only adds to the growing unrest, casting a gloomy shadow over the entire city.
I take a long drag from my cigarette, letting the smoke curl in the air as I ponder my next move.
“Hey, Tag. You coming to breakfast?”
I look up and find Finn leaning in the door. “Laine is making a plate, and the twins are keeping her company. She asked if you were going to join us.”
It’s stupid how much her asking about me lightens my mood. It’s like I’m fourteen again and Maeve Stewart asked if I was coming to the St. Paddy’s Day parade.
