“Aren’t you coming?” she asks, pausing at the rear door of the towncar.
I’ve strode down the sidewalk to the SUV that’s waiting. I give nothing away as I glance at her and say, “Eddie and Fionn will get you home. Don’t worry about the rest.”
It’s the extent of what she needs to know; she should be happy she got to attend Chantal’s event at all when I’ve got a shitstorm coming.
Killian and I take off in the SUV. He’s driving while I’m dialing up Sean.
“Tell me you’ve got a location on Dren.”
“Working on it,” Sean answers. “We’ve put some feelers out in Morris Park, but nothing so far. You think they’ve left the city altogether?”
“Dren didn’t fucking leave the city,” I rumble, clenching my phone to my ear. “He’s about to strike, if he hasn’t already. Find out what he’s up to. Right now.”
I hang up and immediately start typing a text to Fionn, telling him to alert security at Callahan House and lock the place down.
“You think he could be at some Langston location?” Killian asks, stealing a glance at me before returning his gaze to the traffic up ahead. “Some warehouse or other hideout he’d provide?”
“Could be. Anything’s possible at this fucking point.”
My fingers tap away at the phone screen as I send another text to Fionn then await a response that doesn’t seem to be coming.
Fionn’s aware things have gone left; he knows shit is possibly about to hit the fan. So why isn’t he immediately responding?
Teeth gritted and irritation spiking in my veins, I call him.
His phone rings a couple times with no answer. I’m convinced I’m about to be sent to voicemail when, on the last possible ring, he finally gets his head out of his ass and answers.
“Fionn, what the fuck is going on? Why aren’t you?—”
“Fionn can’t come to the phone right now.”
It’s Eddie answering for him. It’s unexpected enough I pause for half a second. Then I’m agitated all over again. I’ve had enough of my nephew being a fucking brat and meddling when it’s not his place.
“Put him on,” I snarl. “Stop fucking playing games, Eddie, or I’ll have this phone so far up your ass?—”
He interrupts with a sharp laugh. “No, Uncle Ronan, you don’t understand. Fionn can’t come to the phone right now because he’s dead.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, you little piece of shit? If you don’t?—”
“I killed him,” he continues plainly. Yet there’s also a hint of pride too. Like he’s been waiting to deliver the news.
I’m so fucking thrown his confession’s met with silence. It’s met with me pulling my phone away from my ear and checking the number as if questioning who I’ve dialed in the first place.
“But don’t worry,” my nephew says. “I’m still driving your precious wife. She’s coming with me on a detour. So if you want her to make it out alive, I suggest that, for once, uncle, you listen to what the fuckIhave to say.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Simone
The shock doesn’t fadefor seconds to come. My ears are still ringing as my gaze pans from Fionn’s body slumped in the seat to Eddie and his gun.
This isn’t happening; this can’t possibly be happening.
Eddie’s pressed the gas. The towncar rolls forward, coasting down some Manhattan street lined with tall buildings and businesses; some typical street that looks like any other in New York City and further disorients me.
My head’s swimming. I feel like I’ve entered some horrible nightmare, and I don’t know what to do.
“You’re… you’re crazy,” I sputter out finally. It’s barely above a whisper, about as loud as I can manage through the thick wall of shock encasing me.