“It’s good to see you.”
“And you,” I agree. “Where’s Collin?”
“He’s still around,” Rory replies. “He’s scoping out the gardens now. You’ll see him soon.”
I nod, but I’m aware that we don’t have the luxury of a good catch-up over a pint.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
“They came prepared tonight,” Rory tells me with a sigh. “At least fifty men. All heavily armed and in tactical gear. And they had warrants.”
“Fuck me,” I mutter.
“I think they were expecting resistance,” he continues.
Kian shouts in pain from the table. I want to go to him, to help. But I hold my ground. There’s nothing I can do for him at the moment.
“Why was there no resistance?” I ask, trying to contain my anger. “No one even tried to stop those assholes. Surely, you aren’t scared of a fucking warrant. We own the judges in this goddamn city.”
Rory gives me a strange look. “Cillian, we were following orders.”
“Whose?”
“Your father’s,” he explains softly. “We were told that if this ever happened, we were to adhere to the warrants and step aside.”
I frown. “Da was expecting to be arrested?”
“He was prepared for it.”
“Prepared?” I scoff. “He strolled away with the fucking enemy!”
“Your da has never entered a fight he couldn’t win,” Rory says delicately. “I think in this case, he knew he wouldn’t be able to win like that.”
I grit my teeth. “Just how powerful are the Kinahans now?”
“Significantly more since you left,” Rory admits. “Brian Murtagh has built them up to something they never were back in the day. The man’s far more ambitious than any of us realized.”
“And Brody Murtagh?” I ask.
Rory’s expression clouds over instantly. “We only learned about it this past week,” he says guiltily.
I knot my hands into fists. “Tell me.”
“As far as we all knew, Brody Murtagh was a fucking vegetable. But Brian Murtagh had the power and the resources to keep him on life support. He wasn’t willing to let his only son slip away. No one thought he’d wake up.”
“And this is the week he chose to turn into Sleeping fucking Beauty?”
Behind me, Kian is thrashing around on the table while a few men hold him down so Dr. Doyle can do his work.
“You always had good timing, didn’t ya?”
“Fuck,” I breathe.
“The rumor is that Brian Murtagh’s health is failing,” Rory tells me. “And if he dies, Brody will inherit the kingdom that Brian built.”
“We can handle one fucking cripple,” I snarl.
But Rory looks uncertain. I’m glad to see that I can still read my old friend.