I was the one who left the clan.
Kian was the one who got left behind, and the men know to look to him in Da’s absence.
I don’t expect the sudden shift to be easy or automatic for them. Hell, half of them thought I was dead.
But I’m willing to be patient. There’s a difference between pride and ego. I have the former, not the latter. I won’t be one of those assholes running around trying to stomp on the world to prove a point about my own masculinity.
Brody Murtagh was that guy.
And no matter what Da said to me in that jail cell a decade ago, I’m nothing like that rich fuck.
I have Rory bring around one of the cars in the garage. A glistening, vintage silver Rolls Royce.
“They don’t make them like this anymore,” I sigh appreciatively.
I take the keys from Rory with a nod of gratitude and slide into the driver’s seat. Darragh gets in next to me and fixes me with a contemplative glance as I hurtle down the private driveway towards the gates.
It feels good to drive. To take action. The wheel thrums beneath my hands and the engine roars in my ears.
“What if you’re recognized?” he asks.
“I’ve already been recognized,” I say. “They know I’m back in the country. Kian’s broken leg is the result.”
He frowns. “They broke Kian’s leg because you returned to Dublin?” he asks, trying to follow along.
“He told them he was me.”
“Ah.”
“Not the brightest bulb,” I chuckle. “But it bought me some time.”
“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Darragh warns.
I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “Why does everyone automatically assume I’m going to do something stupid? I’ve been doing this shit for the last thirteen years. I know how to handle myself.”
“Los Angeles and Dublin are very different places. Homes to very different people.”
“I can handle myself anywhere.”
He drums his fingers on the briefcase in his lap. “You and Kian are a lot alike.”
“Don’t tell him that,” I caution. “Compliments like that go straight to a young man’s head.”
* * *
Driving through Dublin is more triggering than I expect. But not in a bad way. I pass streets I used to walk down, restaurants I used to frequent, alleyways where I’d drank stolen liquor with Sean or learned how to handle myself in fist fights.
The memories they pull up are like snapshots from another era.
But they’re clear.
They tug at me, igniting a love for home that I’d buried long ago.
Until we arrive at our destination. When I pull up in front of the police station, I feel the anger flood back into my extremities. These bastards just stormed the O’Sullivan stronghold and dragged my parents out in cuffs.
They’re not about to get away with it.
I park the car and slip on the dark trench coat and hat that Rory stowed away in the back seat on my request. There are other goodies waiting for me as well and I reach for them eagerly.