Irish Throwdown (What Happens In Vegas Book 4) by Matt Lincoln (motivational novels TXT) 📗

that the energy in the bar was in full swing. There were only a few parking spaces on the street in front of this bar, typical for the city. Of course, since it was Halloween night, they were all filled already, which meant that we had to park a few blocks away and walk to the bar.

The bar was located in a rundown and significantly less crowded part of Las Vegas, close enough to the Strip that we could still see the glow of lights and hear the sounds of revelry in the distance, but far enough away that the area immediately around us was nearly pitch black. Except, of course, for the warm yellow light streaming through every window of the bar. Even the ones that had been broken and haphazardly repaired with cardboard and tape had beams of light streaming through the cracks. If we hadn’t known better about who was inside, the place might have looked like a beacon of safety amid the cold, wet darkness of the night.

“He’s not out here,” I said to Naomi as we approached the bar. Considering the rain, that much wasn’t surprising. Unfortunately, that meant we’d have to venture inside the bar to look for him. “How long do you think we’ll have before someone notices and kicks us out?”

“With how subtle and stealthy you are?” Naomi asked. “I’ll give us three seconds.”

“Haha,” I deadpanned as I moved toward the door. I could hear music coming from inside. Maybe everyone would be too drunk and distracted to notice us.

My hopes were not dashed as I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The place was decorated like an old-fashioned saloon, with a long, polished wood bar fixed with thin brass spigots. The entire space was packed to the brim. People were seated around tables and crowding around the floor, and it seemed like almost everyone was singing along to the song the band was playing up on the stage.

“Do you see him?” I called to Naomi over the roar of the crowd.

“No!” she yelled back.

We made our way further through the crowd until we were right up against the bar. I doubted we would have much luck finding him in this mess, so I decided to try asking directly instead.

“Dillon O’Callaghan,” I called to the bartender. The first expression to flash across his face was surprise, followed quickly by fury as he recognized who I was.

“Get out,” he huffed. “I believe I already told you that your kind isn’t welcome in here.”

“Our kind?” I blinked as I looked over at Naomi. “That’s kind of racist, isn’t it?”

“What?” O’Callaghan sputtered as his eyes flashed over to Naomi, whose skin was a distinctly darker shade than that of the other patrons in the bar. “No! I meant feds! Don’t be twisting my words now!”

“Right, got it,” I snickered. “But I’m afraid we can’t leave. We’re looking for someone.”

“Looking for me, I hope,” a voice drawled directly behind me. I turned to find an extremely inebriated man swaying from side to side. He was staring at me with what was probably supposed to be an alluring smile, but that came across more as a dopey grin.

“They’re not looking for you, Tom,” O’Callaghan huffed. “And they were just leaving!”

“What?” Tom slurred, his eyes going wide with disbelief. “Dill, where are your manners? What kind of Irishmen would throw two gorgeous women out into the cold rain without even offering them a drink first?”

“They’re feds,” O’Callaghan spat, clearly getting annoyed by the customer’s drunken rambling.

“Ooh,” he drawled as he snaked one arm around Naomi’s thin waist. “I love a woman who can take charge. Can I see your badge, gorgeous?”

“Unless you want to lose that arm,” Naomi crooned, “I suggest you remove it from my person.”

“Ah, she’s feisty!” Tom exclaimed, though he did as he was told and took a full step backward, away from Naomi. Even drunk, he could clearly discern the danger in her eyes. “Have you ever been with an Irish man, love? I’ve got the rest of the night free, you know.”

The look on Naomi’s face was so indignant that I almost laughed out loud. We had a plan to complete, though, so I turned back to the bar to face O’Callaghan.

“We need to speak to Brady,” I informed him.

The color drained from his face immediately, and he set his mouth into a thin line as though he was gritting his teeth.

“Brady?!” He exclaimed angrily. “What do you need with him?”

“We need to question him,” I replied vaguely. “Regarding a criminal matter. I’m afraid I can’t say much else.”

O’Callaghan’s face grew redder as he glared at me.

“Well, he isn’t here,” he spat.

Then, as though on cue, a door on the other side of the bar popped open as a head peeked out.

“Dillon, did you call me?” Brady called through the door behind the bar just as O’Callaghan finished speaking. O'Callaghan's mouth gaped open as he looked back and forth between the young man and me. Brady looked confused at his reaction until his eyes drifted over to mine, and I could see a spark of fear ignite behind them the moment he made eye contact.

“Brady, go!” O’Callaghan screamed as he caught me around the arm in a vice-like grip. The boy was gone in a flash, and before I could do anything to pull myself free of his grasp, Naomi was by my side. Quick as lightning, she placed one hand on O'Callaghan's forearm and the other beneath his elbow, and just a second later, his arm shattered with a sickening crack.

O’Callaghan howled with pain as he cradled his ruined arm to his chest, but I was already halfway out of the bar, shoving my way forcefully through the throngs of drunken patrons.

The rain was cold as I burst through the front entrance and around the side of the building. Brady had run through the back, which meant that there was probably a backdoor. My suspicions were proven right as I rounded