Page 51

The wound in my shoulder bleeds through my shirt, the pain a constant reminder of my failure to protect them. I deserved that bullet. They don't deserve any of this.

My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. A video message. I open it with shaking hands.

Maeve's face fills the screen, a bruise darkening her cheek. "Declan. I'm sorry. They caught me leaving the club." Her voice trembles. "They want me to take them to Conor. I told them I don't know where Jack took him." The camera shifts to show a man's hand gripping her hair. "They don't believe me."

The video cuts off.

"Drive faster," I tell Finn.

"I'm already doing ninety."

"Then do a hundred."

We make it to Killarney in record time. The hotel Jack mentioned is a small place on the outskirts of town, discreet enough to hide but public enough not to attract attention.

Jack's car is in the parking lot, alongside a black SUV I don't recognize. No sign of a struggle outside.

"Room number?" I ask Finn.

"Jack didn't say."

I scan the building. Three floors, maybe thirty rooms total. "We split up. You take the ground floor, I'll start at the top."

Finn grabs my arm. "You can barely stand, Declan. Let me?—"

"My family. My responsibility." I check my gun. "Just watch my back."

We enter through a side door, avoiding the front desk. The hotel is quiet, most guests out enjoying the day. I take the stairs to the third floor, each step sending pain shooting through my body.

I move down the hallway, listening at each door. Nothing unusual until I reach the end—room 312. Voices inside, one of them a child. Conor.

I text Finn the room number and draw my gun. No time to wait for him. Not with my son in danger.

I kick the door in, gun raised. I freeze the minute I look inside.

Maeve stands by the window, her face bruised but defiant. Conor is on the bed, Jack's body on the floor in front of him, a pool of blood spreading from a head wound. Two men I don't recognize have guns drawn—one aimed at Maeve, one at Conor.

"Daddy!" Conor's cry breaks the silence.

The man pointing his gun at my son turns toward me. I fire twice, hitting him in the chest. He crumples to the floor.

The second man grabs Maeve, using her as a shield. "Drop the gun or she dies."

I keep my weapon trained on him, looking for a clear shot. "Let her go."

"No chance, Donovan." He backs toward the bathroom, dragging Maeve with him. "I'm walking out of here with her, or she's not walking out at all."

"Declan," Maeve says, her voice surprisingly calm. "Get Conor out."

"Not without you."

"He's what matters." Her eyes hold mine. "Take him and go."

The man tightens his grip on her throat. "Enough talking. Drop the gun."

I lower my weapon slightly, like I'm considering it. "Let her go, and you can walk out of here. You have my word."

He laughs. "Your word of a Donovan? Worth less than nothing."