Page 8 of Broken Lies
Cormac just leans against the bar with a bored look on his face.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from grinning like a Cheshire cat.
One thing I love more than giving Cormac a hard time isRonangiving Cormac a hard time.
But Cormac doesn’t even blink at the murderous glare Ronan is giving him. "I didn’t break anything."
Brennan’s chin almost drops to the floor. "You dislocated two of his fingers.”
"So? I reset them again. I think he’ll survive.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The headache is already building behind my eyes—not the kind I normally get from too much booze or too little sleep. It’s the kind that comes withdealing with my brothers’ shit for way too long. "Focus. Sean O'Keefe is the only one who makes sense for Finn to be linked to."
Ronan holds up a finger. "He’s the only one whoalmostmakes sense. We don’t have anything solid on him, just speculation and the fact that he used to work with Liam Kelly."
Brennan frowns. "Liam Kelly… The one who kidnapped Mila?”
“The very one.” Ronan’s expression darkens.
No doubt he’s remembering how close Ciara came to being the one to shoot him dead.
“So, you just want to assume Sean is innocent because we don’t have solid proof?” I scoff.
Ronan shakes his head. "I’m not saying Sean’s innocent. But Finn hasn’t confirmed a damn thing. He hasn’tdeniedit either, which tells me he’s scared."
"So, scare him more."
Brennan laughs under his breath.
"We already tried that, Kieran,” Cormac retorts. “He’s more scared of whoever he’s working for than us."
"Then we bring in Lorcan."
Ronan’s voice turns sharp. "Lorcan’s in Ireland. He left two days ago.”
What? “Why?”
“Some great-aunt is dying, and he wanted to say his goodbyes to her.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah. He’ll be home in a week, so if we haven’t gotten through to Finn by then, we’ll bring in Lorcan.”
“I understand the need to be there for family, but the timing sucks.” I shake my head. “A week might be too late."
Ronan narrows his eyes at me. "Then we make the week count, instead of bitching about it."
My fists clench, but I force myself to keep quiet, to hide my annoyance.
No matter how good of a point I make, Ronan always has to be the one to make the final call, and I’m sick of it.
It’s always like this with him. The barking tone, the orders, the assumption that we all fall in line becausehesaid so. Because he’s the oldest. Because our father puthimin charge.
Never mind that I’ve bled just as much as him and fought just as hard, maybe harder.
I was the punching bag, the one expected not only to dish out the punishment but also to bear it.
Every bruise, every cut, every bullet hole, I wore them with pride because Ronan and I were a family. A team.
