“Baby, it’s going to be fine—” he attempted to soothe, but I was in the middle of a full-on freak-out.
“Fine? How the hell is this going to be fine? You’re going to meet with one of the baddest bad guys in the existence of the bad guy universe!”
“Stella, breathe,” he ordered when my lungs suddenly couldn’t seem to pull in enough air. “It’s going to be fine because Seamus didn’t get to where he is today by being stupid—unlike his nephew. He knows O’Brien is a fuck-up. He also knows who I am. He knows all about what my guys and I can do. He’s taking this meeting because he knows a peaceful resolution is in his best interest.”
I tried not to have a heart attack in the middle of Muffin Top, but it was hard. What West said made sense, in a way, but while his words sounded nice and logical, it didn’t make me feel much better.
“West,” I croaked, my heart in my throat. Damn it, I’d gotten too attached to this man. I’d let myself fall for him in spite of knowing it would only lead to heartache, and now look where it had gotten me. “I swear to God, if you get hurt—or worse, I’m going to be so pissed.”
Taking my hand in both of his, he brought it to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “I won’t get hurt—or worse. I promise. I’m not going alone. I’ll have my team at my back, and we’ll walk out of there with no issues.”
Okay, so knowing he wasn’t going into the lion’s den all by himself made me feel a teensy bit better, but still. “You better, or so help me, I’ll silent treatment the absolute hell out of you. After I kick your ass.”
The stupid jerk actually had the audacity to laugh. “You know, you’re all kinds of cute when you’re panicking.”
“I’m not cute,” I argued on a grumble. “I’m fierce and scary and not to be fucked with.”
“Sure thing, baby. Now you about done with your bucket of coffee? We need to get to the office.”
Picking up my cup, I sucked the last of my delicious latte back and felt an instant caffeine rush, which only made my heart beat even harder against my ribs.
Note to self: don’t drink enough coffee to kill an elephant when you’re in the middle of a panic attack.
Twenty-Eight
West
Shamrock’s was an old Irish pub in the middle of a strip mall on the outskirts of DC. Where O’Brien was relegated to south Philly with his tiny force, Seamus Byrne liked to run his empire from one of the booths in the middle of the bar, surrounded by his underlings, in our nation’s capital.
The place was covered in dark wood, from the paneling on the walls, to the scarred floors, to the bar top that stretched along the entire back wall. The stools and booths were covered in deep red leather that was eerily the same color of drying blood, and the air smelled like a combination of a million different cheap colognes and whiskey.
The shades over the windows were drawn, the only light coming from a few can lights in the ceiling and the dark glass pendants hanging over the bar. The bit of sunshine that came through the door when I opened it and stepped in with Linc, Hunter, and Xander at my back, blinked out like a switch flipping off as soon as the door closed behind us.
Even for noon on a Tuesday, the place was suspiciously empty, and the moment we entered, all conversation came to an instant stop as everyone in the place turned to look at us.
The guy who came off his stool and started in our direction stood an inch or two beneath six feet, with no neck, and ridiculous muscles that made it impossible for him to lower his arms all the way at his sides. “Think you might have stumbled into the wrong bar, friends.” Stopping in front of us, he crossed his meaty arms over his chest as best he could. “You need to move on down the road,” he warned in a thick, overdramatic Irish brogue.
“Titus, sit back down.” The order came from the man sitting at the booth in the middle of the room. His shock of white hair and heavily lined face probably fooled most people into thinking he was nothing more than a helpless old man, but there was a cunning behind those cold blue eyes, and you’d be a fool to underestimate him. “These men are my guests and they’ll be treated as such.”
He lifted his gaze from the crossword puzzle he’d been working on, a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
Linc and I took the bench across the table from him while Hunter moved to one of the stools close to Titus, and Xander stood sentry at the door.
He lifted the highball glass that had been resting next to the newspaper and brought it to his lips, casually sipping the whiskey inside. “I trust, given your reputation, that you were wise enough to show me the respect of entering my establishment without any weapons.
Leaving my Glock behind in the glove compartment of my truck was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do, but walking into a known hangout for the Irish mob with a gun at my waist would have only made an already tense situation that much worse.
“We’re unarmed,” Lincoln confirmed. “But you’re free to have your man check if it would make you more comfortable.”
I saw Hunter tense from the corner of my eye, but he managed to keep his cool. He knew Lincoln was just playing the game, and like the rest of us, he trusted his boss to have his back in all things. That didn’t mean the man wasn’t still keyed up; we all were, but just like when we’d gone to Stella’s old apartment, it was more than usual. Something was eating at him, and as far as I’d been able to gage, he hadn’t said a word to anyone about it. Not even Bryce.
Seamus lifted his hand in the direction of his man Titus to keep him in his seat before resting back and adjusting his tie, the picture of calm and comfortable. Interlocking his fingers and resting his palms on his stomach, he said, “I believe that’s unnecessary. May I offer you and your men a drink?”
Lincoln gave a curt shake of the head. “If it’s all the same to you, we’d like to get down to business.”
That made the old man smile. “I must say, I was intrigued when you requested this meeting. I’ll admit, I did a little digging, as I’m sure you did. The reputation of Alpha Omega is widely known. I’m curious, what is it I can help you with?”
It was my turn to take the lead. “We have a bit of a problem with one of your men.”
Seamus arched a single brow, but gave nothing away. “Oh?”
“Grady O’Brien.”
His mask slipped then. It was so subtle most people wouldn’t notice, but I caught the tensing of his jaw and the slight flare of his nostrils before he schooled his features once again. “I see. And what kind of trouble is my dear nephew causing you?”
“Seems your nephew got played in a low-level con a while back, and is having trouble letting it go,” I informed him. “He’s been paid back what he lost in full, but that doesn’t seem to be good enough.”
Seamus inhaled deeply, considering everything I’d just said before asking, “And you’ve been pulled into this how, exactly?”
“Because the woman he had his man attack in the middle of a dark parking lot is mine,” I said on a growl.