The Devil’s Keepsake by Somme Sketcher
Lorcan
“The Tunnels?” I roar, slamming the barrel of my gun into Cillian’s temple. He swerves across the road and I grab the steering wheel to steady it. Despite wanting to blow Cillian’s brains out, I can’t save Poppy if I’m tangled up in a road accident downtown.
“It’d be a lot easier to drive if you weren’t pointing a gun at my head,” he says sourly, his eyes trained on the road ahead.
“How do I know I can trust you?”
He shrugs with a calmness that would suggest he wasn’t driving a hundred miles an hour in a twenty-five zone. “You know I just saved your life, right?”
I grab hold of the steering wheel before I hit him again this time. “Why the Tunnels?” I growl.
“My suggestion. Because you’d never look there. You’d never expect for this shit to be happening right under your nose. But really, I know you know the Tunnels like the back of your hand.”
Even I have to admit, if he’s telling me the truth, it’s smart.
My cell buzzes and I answer in the first ring.
“What’s going on? I’m waiting on your instruction,” Donnacha growls down the line.
“Are you in on this?”
“On what?” he snaps back, impatient.
“Antoin’s plan,” I say sourly, glaring at downtown Boston passing in a blur. “His pathetic attempt at a coup.”
Silence. I squeeze my eyes shut and grip the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. Not you too, Don.
Eventually, his reply comes, quiet and stoic. “I’ll kill him myself.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. Donnacha isn’t like Antoin. Never has been. He says what he means and shoots when he says he will. No deception, no lies. Just pure dedication to the Quinn name.
“Too late.”
He lets out a groan and mutters something laced with curse words.
“All right. We can sort this shit out later. Where’s your girl?”
My girl.It feels like an ax is swinging against my chest, chipping away at my heart. If I make it out of this alive, I’ll never forgive myself for the look on her face when she walked into Gatsby’s. Pure betrayal.
I drag a hard stare over to Cillian. “The Tunnels,” I say sourly. If this cunt is telling me the truth. Before Donnacha can show his surprise, I continue with, “Antoin was working with Bratnov and Marcus Murphy.” Yeah, we’ll unpick that fuck-fest later. “Go alone. We don’t know who of your men is compromised.” After a brief pause, I say, “Put Miguel on the line.”
Heavy footsteps, a car door slamming, and an engine starts. There’s a muffled exchange. “Lorcan,” A gruff voice says.
I take a deep breath and stiffen my jaw. I’ve never been one to sugarcoat shit. “Antoin betrayed us. He was working with Bratnov all along. Your father was caught in the crossfire.”
Despite the backdrop of skidding tires and honking horns, his silence is deafening. “I’m sorry man,” I say, dragging my knuckle over my beard. “Antoin’s dead, but I’ll make sure Bratnov and Murphy suffer slow deaths.”
When Miguel speaks, his voice is detached. “No. First, he raped and killed my sister. Now he is the reason my father is dead. Bratnov’s mine.”
Without another word, I hang up and focus on the road ahead.
He can have Bratnov.
It’s Murphy I want.