The Irishman: Max Jones #2 (PAPERBACK)

Pages: 294

Size: 5" x 8" (147mm x 243mm)

Format: Paperback

Series: Book 1, The Max Jones Series

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Liam Mulroney rubbed his face and gLiam Mulroney rubbed his face and glanced at Barry. The strain of the last few hours was evident in the lines around Barry's eyes and the tight, grim set of his jaw.

They had driven hard and fast for two hours along the E44, heading toward the Hatta border crossing into Oman.

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting soft rays that bathed the desert in hues of pink and gold, but Liam found no beauty in it. The rage that had burned inside him had long since faded, replaced by exhaustion as the adrenaline drained from his body.

“How are you feeling?”

“Alright,” Barry replied with a grunt, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

“Do you want me to take over?”

“No,” came the gruff reply.

Liam acknowledged him with a single nod and shifted in his seat. Images of the firefight and their escape from the villa flickered in his mind—the bodies of his dead men, the metallic scent of blood, the sound of bullets ricocheting off his prized vintage Aston Martin.

Oddly, he realized he felt more regret about the Aston Martin than about leaving his brother behind. But at least his brother could take care of himself and find a way out.

Besides, it served his brother right to face some difficulty in his otherwise cushy life. After all, this whole mess had been his brother’s fault in the first place. Liam picked up his phone from the center console and glanced at the screen.

No messages.

Liam sniffed. His brother Caim should be safe by now. He had called the cops as soon as they fled the property, and he’d seen the patrol cars speed past as he and Barry drove off The Palm. They would have dealt with the shooter or shooters, whoever they were, and were probably giving Caim a hard time. Liam shrugged. He had no sympathy for his brother. Caim would face a few tough questions at first, but Colonel Hakim Al-Hamadi, his police contact, would sweep everything under the rug, and Caim would be released.

Liam chewed his lip. Still, it was odd that he hadn’t heard from anyone yet.

He glanced at his phone again, frowning. He didn’t want to be the first to reach out, but now that his anger had subsided, a bit of concern crept in.

Deciding to act, he tapped the screen, selected Caim’s number, and dialed. Putting the phone on speaker, he waited as the call connected, only to frown when a robotic voice told him the phone was switched off. Liam ended the call and stared blankly out the windshield, his worry growing. After a moment, he selected another contact and dialed. The phone rang three times before the call was cut off. Frowning deeper, he hit redial. This time, the call was cut immediately.

Grinding his teeth, he tossed the phone back into the centre console as Barry glanced over at him.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Caim’s phone is turned off and Colonel Hakim is not taking my calls.”

Barry said nothing, his eyes back on the road ahead.

Liam let out a frustrated sigh. In less than a week, everything he had built was crumbling around him. It had all started with his brother, but there was no point in continuing to blame him. His brother was an idiot, no doubt, but he was still family. Now, Liam had to focus on whoever was moving in on his territory and dismantling his business.

In just a few short days, ten of his most trusted men had been killed, and his house had been attacked. To make matters worse, his once-reliable police contact—the man he had paid hundreds of thousands of dirhams over the years—was now refusing to take his calls. Grinding his teeth, Liam tapped a nervous rhythm on his thigh with his forefinger, his frustration mounting.

Barry cleared his throat, then asked, “What do you want me to do?”

Liam’s frown deepened, and he jabbed his finger at the highway ahead. “Just keep driving,” he growled.