Keenan (Dangerous Doms 1)

“You sober yourself up,” I order, fixing him with a serious look. “I don’t need you to work with us today, but you need to be sober at the weekend.”

He frowns. “Why?”

Why? My palm itches to smack some sense into him. Of all the fucking cheek...

“Because I said so,” I answer curtly. Christ, I sound like my father. But as his superior, I don’t feel the need to explain myself to him.

His green eyes flash at me like a bolt of lightning before he checks himself.

“You’ll fit those shoes well, Keenan,” he says tightly. I don’t need to ask him which shoes. I take a step toward him, but Cormac grabs the back of my shirt and holds me back while Nolan stalks off.

“Not worth it, brother,” Cormac says, shaking his head.

“The boy needs a proper beating,” I say between clenched teeth. “Never had one, and he’s gotten too fuckin’ big for his britches, he has.”

“Not gonna deny it,” Cormac says with a sigh, as if it pains him to say it. We both know mam spoiled him rotten, and the future of our organization lies in our hands. Lack of discipline and focus will be Nolan’s downfall. “But we have a job to do.”

That we do.

“I’d honestly like his help,” I confess to Cormac, as we exit the house and head to the garage. “But for this particular job, it’s best it’s just the two of us.”

“Agreed.”

We walk in silence until we get to the garage. I click the lock on one of the cars in our fleet, choosing a Jaguar because I need a sleek, quiet ride. I slide into the driver’s seat as Cormac folds his massive body into the passenger seat to my left.

“What do you reckon we’ll find there?” he asks.

“No feckin’ clue,” I mutter. “I wish to God Father Finn wasn’t so tightlipped. He says just enough to cause vague suspicion, but not enough to go on.”

“Not exactly,” Cormac says. “To be fair, he often tells us things way before anyone else knows. And if word ever got out he was confiding in us, that source would dry up faster than a bitch’s pussy.”

“Fine,” I mutter on a snort. I can always count on Cormac for his colorful use of irreverent, descriptive language. “I know, I know.” Always the diplomat, Cormac.”

We drive down the driveway and exit the estate, and I bang a left at the fork in the road. The road to the right will take us deeper into Ballyhock, toward the church and armory, but to the left takes us to the shore. Drive too far, and we’d head straight into the ocean.

“Might help to have at least an idea of what we’re looking for,” Cormac begins.

“We’ll know when we see it,” I respond. “And I’ll tell you.”

He snorts. “You’ll tell me? Maybe I’ll be the one that notes it first and tells you.”

I huff out a laugh. “Bullshite, but fair game, then.”

We took our time this morning, finishing our meeting. By the time we reach the path that leads to the lighthouse and park the car it’s early afternoon. There’s no paved road we can drive to the entrance, so we need to go the rest of the way on foot. I lock the car and pocket the key, eyeing the lighthouse ahead of us with suspicion.

What the hell will we find that has anything at all to do with The Clan? It’s odd, because we’ve never had any affiliation with the lighthouse keeper. None that I’m aware of, anyway. He kept to himself and was off his nut, and we have enough business to tend to without mingling with the local nutters.

“You notice anything strange?” Cormac asks, when we begin walking up the pathway to the entrance.

“Cormac, pretty much everything about this place is strange.” Stepping foot on the property that leads to the lighthouse feels like taking a step back in time, with the weather-worn shutters by the tiny windows, the well-worn pathway.

“Right,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But I mean more strange than usual.”

I shrug. “I’ve always thought it odd this place didn’t have a house. Where’d the old geezer sleep?”

Cormac shrugs. “Reckon he had a room inside. Some old lighthouses had limited space when built, so they don’t have a house. The inside was the only home they had.”

Not sure how I didn’t know that, but I’ve never been what one might call a lighthouse expert.

“Right,” I say with a nod. “But what would the old man have to do with what the Father said?”

“Not a feckin’ clue.”

We enter the lighthouse, surprised to find the entryway on the bottom floor open. I hit a switch on the wall, and the room illuminates. Frowning, I look at the details on the basement floor. I see nothing at all that would give us a clue. This floor has a toilet behind a door and a little kitchenette. It smells stale, as if no food’s been prepared in some time, though it’s neat and tidy. I look at Cormac and point to the spiral staircase. There’s no fucking way he’s going to hoist his massive body up that tiny staircase. He shakes his head, and I can’t help but smirk.