Devil: The Doyles, A Boston Irish Mafia Romance by Sophie Austin

Author:Sophie Austin [Austin, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-28T16:00:00+00:00

11

Ronan

It’s not the first time I’ve driven up here, but I’ve never gone in the building before.

I have a man on the inside, who I met with this morning. Management has been in overdrive lately, preparing for an important visit. My guy says it’s never been like this before, so my hunch is that it’s the big boss coming to check in on operations while he decides how to integrate what he acquired after Ian Nolan’s sudden death.

At least I assume it was sudden. There’s been no news that they’ve found him yet.

It’s a fight to resist the urge to place my hand on Ruby’s lower back. She was sleeping when I got up, so she didn’t hear the long jerk-off session she inspired while I showered. Haven’t been worked up like that since high school.

I didn’t want to have to explain where I was going, either.

The O’Dooleys’ brewery produces numerous types of beer, each with unique branding. It’s why everyone refers to it as “the Brewery” rather than by the O’Dooley name.

It serves Michael O’Dooley’s purposes better that way. The brewery staff know him vaguely, but think of him more as an absentee landlord who left his people in charge.

Most workers outside of top management have no idea about the secret operations organized by the third shift.

Besides, everyone knows third shift folks are always a little bit off.

My inside man owes me a favor. Owes me many favors. I suggested he get a job here, and he ended up liking the work.

A win for everyone, really.

Except the O’Dooleys, of course.

Ruby looks back at me as we get to the visitor’s entrance. There’s something she’s not telling me, and I imagine licking her pussy until she screams all her secrets.

I imagine her begging me to do it.

She’s doing nothing for my concentration.

I pull the door open, letting her in ahead of me. A sign indicates the next tour leaves in five minutes. An exuberant young employee checks us in, and he eagerly begins the tour, right on time.

He gives a brief history of the brewery. This was defunct farmland. One of two old family farms. It was overgrown and Prescott was a dying town until Saint Michael O’Dooley bought the land and turned it into the successful business we see today.

“The brewery funds numerous charities, including the police officer pension fund, the cancer ward at Springfield Memorial, as well as sustaining historic buildings such as the old church.”

The tour guide is so invested in his spiel he doesn’t hear Ruby’s derisive snort.

“One of his relatives runs the church,” she whispers.

“Buying atonement? Old-school.”

We chuckle, following behind our guide as he explains the importance of how the brewery’s hops are grown and maintained, the various kinds of wheats and barley used, and then he goes in-depth into the chemistry of the fermentation process.

I could give a shit, naturally.

I’m too busy memorizing the layout of this place. My contact had given me plans, but it’s different seeing it in person. I’m sure O’Dooley has heard that I’m in town by now, so I want the lay of the land before I make my move.

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