“Hey, cousin, you fucking daydreaming or what?”
I cursed and turned off the tap. Beer had spilled over into the sill plate and pooled. “Sorry,” I said, wiping off the side of the glass, and handed it over.
Donal squinted at me and sipped the foam off the top. “I feel like you haven’t been around much. Where’ve you been?”
I shrugged, glanced over his shoulder toward where the other cousins sat at a table, drinking and getting rowdy. Ferris and Tully were both there, and Tully studiously pretended like I didn’t exist.
“Around, working mostly. You haven’t been coming in.”
Donal grinned huge. “Got a promotion. Been running a little crew of my own.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Good for you. I always thought you were destined to clean the toilets for the rest of your life.”
Donal laughed. He had a good smile, straight teeth, a good-looking Irish boy. He would’ve been exactly the kind of guy my father wanted me to marry.
Except I had zero interest in him.
“Been moving on up in the world. You’d be proud of me, if you were ever around. You should come hang out on the block soon, maybe after you get off tonight?”
I shrugged a little. “Yeah, sure, maybe.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising.”
“I’ve just been busy, you know?”
“Mysterious too. Come on, Fiona, what’s your deal? Ever since you moved out of your old man’s place, it’s been like you don’t want to be in the family anymore.”
I looked away, down at the other end of the bar. How could I explain to him that I hated the family, hated my father, and hated what he was turning into? Donal was okay now, but sooner or later, he’d become just another Doyle asshole, way too far gone to ever come back.
I didn’t want that for myself, and I didn’t want it for him or for any of the young cousins.
But there was nothing I could do to save him. There was never anything I could do.
I’ve been powerless my whole life.
“It’s not like that. I’m just busy, you know? Trying to keep my shit together. Bartending isn’t exactly making me rich.”
“Which is why you gotta come back to the family. Look, I know you and your old man don’t get along, but still. You’re a catch. Lots of the guys say so.”
I smiled at him a little. “Really?”
“Seriously. Especially little Tully. Always going on about how hot you are ever since you dyed the tips of your hair red. He likes that rebellious shit.”
I laughed and looked over at Tully. He glanced back at me, blushed a little, and quickly looked away as if he knew what we were talking about.
But that wasn’t it. No, he blushed because he knew I pried information out of him that I had no right knowing. My laughter and my smile slowly faded away.
I’d never be in the family again. It’d never be normal, not ever. Even if normal was comfortable.
“Well, I’ll think about coming out, all right?”
“You do that.” Donal flashed me another charming grin then walked off to rejoin the others.
I turned my back on them and busied myself straightening up the bottles and cleaning off glasses. If I watched those guys too closely, I’d catch a glimpse of what my life could’ve been like if Connor never got kidnapped, or if my father wasn’t such an abusive monster.
I could’ve been like those guys and the girls that hung around them.
Instead, I was an outsider. A powerless outsider.
The door opened and someone sat down at the bar where Donal had been standing a minute earlier. I turned toward him, forcing myself to be slightly friendly—
But my kindness quickly faded away.
Renzo grinned at me. “Hey, kiddo.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked, looking around in a panic.
The only Doyle guys were the young cousins at the table, and I doubted any of them knew who Renzo was.
But this was dangerous. Really stupid and really dangerous. My hands shook and sweat back out across my palms.
“Thought I’d stop by and chat a little. Hey, I’ve missed you lately. Connor sends his regards.”
I let out a hissing breath and leaned toward him. “You can’t come in here. My family—”
“Fuck your family,” he said, staring at me, his avuncular bullshit fading away. “Don’t forget who you really work for.”
“What do you want?”
He grinned again and scanned the bottle behind me. “Got anything good? Whiskey, something aged and expensive. And don’t worry, I’m a good tipper.”
I stared at him. “You’re not drinking here.”
He sighed dramatically. “Suit yourself. I’m nicer when I’m drinking, but all right.” He raised his eyebrows. “Hey, I meant to show you something. God, it almost slipped my mind.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He tapped at it, swiped a few times, then held it up.
It was a picture of Connor, tied to a chair.