literally, the clothes on our backs.
I look over my shoulder and glance past her hurrying behind me, to where I parked the speedboat in some bloke’s private slip. It’s only a matter of time before someone notices it, though no one seems to have yet. I plan on disappearing into the mist before the mob descends on this place.
“Is there Uber in Ireland? Or we can call a cab? However we make this work, I’d like to be in Cork harbor before the cargo ship arrives.”
Now I don’t have the heart to correct her. Share with her that the mob has a different port in mind, a less-busy, more mob-friendly place thirty kilometers south in Kinsale. That we can go hunker-down and twiddle our thumbs until they turn blue, but they’ll be no ship pulling into Cork.
Still, I could call her a cab and be done with her. She’d be safe enough; it’s not like they got a gander at her pretty face. And it’s doubtful they think a woman helped steal their bleedin’ boat.
No. It’s Antonio they’ll be hunting for.
It’s about time I give that wanker a quick death.
She curses under her breath, forcing me to stop and turn. “We can go our separate ways,” the ballsy minx informs me.
I can hear me da’s whispered warning in my ear. That I’m twice cursed by Adam’s slipup, that when Eve handed Adam the apple, he should have resisted. He should never have nibbled on the forbidden fruit.
“Or we can do this together,” I hear myself mutter.
“What?” she gasps from behind me.
I keep quiet and keep moving forward. Quickly running through my options.
Let her get on with things alone.
Use her.
A stunner like her? A girlfriend? Another set of eyes and ears? It’s feckin’ brilliant.
She grabs my arm from behind and halts our progress. “I don’t even know your name. But, I mean, of all aliases, you chose Antonio?”
Keen as a priest hearing confession. “Ever hear of Black Irish?”
She snorts. “I believe the term applies to coloring. For example, hair color. And, you, Antonio, are red-headed.”
“Red-headed?” Not on yer nelly. “I’m blond.”
“Ginger.”
“Strawberry blond.”
“Whatever.” She pauses. “And I’ve decided to call you Patrick. Or maybe Reilly. That has a nice ring to it.”
“Just don’t call me late to supper,” I say, my tone a wee bit gruff. Reilly? Not on me worst day.
Next, she’ll be demanding I share a list of my favorite things. Violent video games. Sex. Good food. A fine pint of the Black Stuff. Sex. A good, honest fight. The craic. A woman’s touch. Not soft but hard, like her firm hand wrapped around my cock. Or her teeth biting my neck while I knock her boots off. A dirty, no-holds-barred fuck. I bet with that filthy mouth of hers, she’d be down with it. I’ll bet the winnings of my first fight that Clarissa can handle my brand of loving.
You eegit, I catch myself. Dead men can’t drink, fight, fuck, or consider riding a lass like the one staring at me. If Hayden discovers I’m risking exposing TORC by bringing her into the mix . . .
No. I’ll use her then send her packing. That’s it.
“So, Conor. We’ll clean up, catch our breath, then wait at the dock for the ship to arrive.”
“No.”
“No?” She glares at me.
“The name’s Finn, not Conor.”
For a second, she looks confused. “Finn.”
“You heard me. Last name’s McDuff.”
“Your name’s Finn McDuff.”
“Better ring to it than feckin’ Antonio Nobody, yeah?”
“It does.”
My chest swells with pleasure. Feels good to be recognized, even if just in name.
“So, Finn McDuff, are we off to the port?”
I spin on my heels, dodging her and her questions. I need a drink. A shave. Time to fix me head back on me shoulders after losing it over this mad plan.
Yeah, she can be my lack. My ears while my fists are flying and while I’m drawing O’Brien’s attention. She’ll make a brilliant good cop, her with her bleeding heart and grand intentions.
And me, I’m the bad cop. A man the world needs but nevertheless dislikes acknowledging. A hitman for hire. A killer.
I quicken my stride, not wanting her to see how pleased I am with this new plan. We’ll draw O’Brien into the fight clubs. Get in good and tight with his men, and their women.
Clarissa is going to get a story, all right.
It just might not be told exactly as she’s expecting or end the way she believes it will.
10
Clarissa
Finn McDuff wants to work with me.
But the newfound spring in my