Page 8 of Draven
“It’s good to be back home. Can’t wait to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
Ciaran laughs. “You’ve hardly been away to war. Besides, it was your choice to stay in a motel. You could have commuted or, I don’t know, stayed somewhere half decent. It’s not as if you’re short of cash.”
He’s right. Our business has taken off in a way I never envisaged when I started it. Seems like private investigators who get the job done are in short supply by both private firms, wealthy individuals, and, as evidenced by my recent work over in Jersey, police forces.
“Nah,” I grunt. “I like to keep work and home separate, and staying in some dive motel reminds me where I came from. We weren’t all born with silver spoons in our mouths.”
Ciaran grins. “Fuck you very much.”
I chuckle. “At least that’s one more piece of shit off the streets. Bastard will have been replaced by now, but you gotta keep fighting the good fight.”
“True that,” Ciaran says. “Can’t do more than we already do. Anyway, Millie gave me strict instructions to invite you over to dinner tomorrow night. And by ‘invite’, don’t think for one second that means you get a choice.”
“Sold,” I say, taking a long swig, the cold beer sliding down my throat. As the alcohol hits my stomach, my shoulders relax. “How are Millie and Aimee?”
“They’re great.” Ciaran’s face softens. “I highly recommend fatherhood. You should try it one day.”
I snort. “Can you see me pushing a stroller down fifth? Standing on the sidelines with the other soccer dads, freezing my ass off, listening to their whining and moaning because little Jonny has been substituted again. No thanks. I’m good with being an uncle.”
Erika, my nineteen-year-old sister, has an almost three-year-old daughter. When she’d gotten knocked up at sixteen, it’d been a helluva shock for the family, but we’d all supported her. She’d never spilled who the father was—probably because she knew I’d make sure the bastard never fathered any more kids. Ruby, my niece, rocks my world, but I also look forward to the moment when I can walk out of the house, leave behind the noise and chaos, get on my bike, and return to my childless life.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Ciaran says.
For some unfathomable reason, his words sting. I tug on my beard and grimace. Sure, I can’t see myself as a dad, but when my best friend thinks the same, it’s kind of a kick in the teeth. Yeah, I know. I’m something of a dichotomy.
We discuss our upcoming cases and iron out a few issues, but as I grab the check before Ciaran does, and we have our usual row about who’s turn it is to pay, movement out of the corner of my eye captures my attention. I slowly turn my head.
Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus Christ. Can’t the goddamn woman take a hint?
“Brace,” I mutter to Ciaran.
He frowns. “Why?”
“I’ll update you later.” I stand, cross my arms over my chest, with my feet planted wide. “Come for round two?” I growl. “’Cause you won’t get a free shot a second time.”
Ciaran glances between the Louise and me, catches on to the tension zinging off the walls, and, despite his obvious confusion, sensibly keeps his mouth shut.
Louise raises both hands in the air. “Please, Draven. I’m begging you. A few measly minutes. That’s all I’m asking for.”
I snort. “You, begging? Fuck, whatever shit you’ve gotten into must be bad.”
Ciaran nudges me in the back. “Dial it back, Draven,” he mutters.
Louise shoots a grateful smile in his direction while I growl again. She returns her attention to me, biting her lip as she assesses her next move.
“You’re right. I’ve got a huge problem that I can’t handle alone. I’m sorry about your bike. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on it, or on you. How are your balls, by the way?”
Ciaran chokes out a laugh, and I throw a fierce glare over my shoulder, then turn back to Louise. “Needs more than a pussy blow from you to take me out, sweetcheeks. Don’t worry about that.”
She squares her shoulders and sets her jaw. “Really? Funny that, considering the last time we breathed the same air, you were on the ground, clutching your prized possessions, with tears rolling down your face.”
“Tell me more,” Ciaran says, a curious lift to his tone.
“Shut the fuck up, Ciaran.” Looming over Louise, my manner purposely threatening, I grit, “Go. The. Fuck. Away.”
She doesn’t even flinch. “Not until you’ve heard me out.”
“Oh, this is priceless,” Ciaran says. When I shoot him another glare, his smile almost splits his face in half. He pulls out a chair and gestures to Louise. “Have a seat. This is the best show in town.”