Page 27 of Cowboy (Fury Vipers MC: Dublin Chapter #4)

CAOIMHE

M orning light streams through the windows of Ciarán's kitchen, illuminating Saoirse as she sits at the large oak table, her small face scrunched in concentration as she draws, colored pencils scattered around her like fallen autumn leaves.

I watch her for a moment, my heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. When I met her, her eyes had been vacant, traumatized. Now, those same eyes light up when she smiles, though the shadows never completely disappear.

"What are you drawing, love?" I ask, placing a mug of tea beside her.

She looks up, a tentative smile spreading across her face. "Our family. See?" She points to stick figures on the page. "That's you, that's me, and that's Ciarán."

My heart warms at how she's included him. Since we've been staying with him since we were rescued, he's become more than just our protector—he's become family.

"It's beautiful," I tell her, kissing the top of her head.

I never planned to be a mother, especially not like this.

But from the moment I found Saoirse, something clicked into place.

Perhaps it was seeing myself in her—another victim of the same monsters who had taken me.

Perhaps it was knowing that I could give her what no one had given me: a chance to heal, to be safe, to be loved.

As I move around Ciarán's kitchen preparing breakfast, I allow myself to believe in the normalcy we've created.

The nightmare is over. Dylan is in a secret location held by Travis and his men.

He was supposed to die. I thought he was dead.

But they have more questions for him. He knows a lot of the people who bought the women who had been trafficked and they want as many names as possible.

Kovac is dead. The trafficking ring is dismantled. We're safe.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

The nightmares haven't stopped. I still wake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, convinced I'm back in that hellhole. But now, when I wake, Ciarán is there, his strong arms around me, his voice in my ear whispering that I'm safe, that we're home.

Home. Such a simple word, but it holds so much weight now. This house isn't mine, but somehow, with Ciarán and Saoirse in it, it feels more like home than anywhere I've ever lived.

"Caoimhe, can we go to the park after breakfast?" Saoirse asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Of course we can," I reply, setting a plate of toast in front of her. "Eat up, then."

As she tucks into her breakfast, my phone buzzes with a text from Ciarán.

Ciarán: I'm running late. Be there by noon. See you soon.

I text back a quick reply, feeling a now-familiar warmth spread through my chest. It's still strange sometimes, this new reality where Ciarán is part of our daily lives.

My brother's childhood friend turned protector, turned.

.. whatever we are now. We haven't put a label on it, but we don't need to.

After everything we've been through, words seem inadequate.

Things have been difficult since Vienna. The Agency is still sorting through the mess we uncovered, still determining how deep the corruption went. Thankfully, they're dealing with it now and Saoirse and I can put it all behind us.

It's been three weeks and I'm trying to find a way to move past it all. But how can I when I know my brother was at the root of what happened to me?

"You're doing it again," Saoirse says, her voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts.

"Doing what, love?"

"Going away in your head." She says it so matter-of-factly, with the simple wisdom of a child. "Dr. Sheila says when that happens, we should count colors."

I smile, grateful once again for the child psychologist who's been helping Saoirse process everything. "You're right. Let's count colors."

"I see yellow sunlight," she begins, pointing to the window.

"I see blue sky," I add, looking out at the remarkably clear Dublin day.

"I see a red pencil," she continues, holding it up.

We go back and forth until my mind settles, the paranoid thoughts receding like a tide pulling back from shore.

After breakfast, we bundle up—the September air has a bite to it—and head to the small park near Ciarán's house. It's a weekday morning, so the park is relatively empty; just a few mums with toddlers and an elderly man walking his dog.

I sit on a bench, watching Saoirse climb on the playground equipment.

Her laughter is so clear to hear even across the park, and I'm in awe of her resilience.

Children adapt, the therapist had told me.

They heal faster than adults, especially with proper support.

Still, I watch for signs—nightmares, regression, fear.

So far, incredibly, she seems to be thriving.

My phone rings, and I see Travis' name on the screen. My stomach tightens instinctively. Travis never calls with good news.

"Hello?" I answer, keeping my eyes on Saoirse.

"Caoimhe." His voice is tight, controlled. "Where are you?"

"At the park with Saoirse. Why? What's wrong?"

A beat of silence. "Dylan's escaped."

The world tilts sharply. I grip the bench to steady myself, my knuckles turning white. "How?" The word comes out as barely more than a whisper.

"He had help from inside. We're still investigating, but it looks like one of our own facilitated it."

"How long?" I ask, forcing my voice to remain steady.

"About six hours ago. We only just discovered it. Ciarán's on his way to you now."

Six hours. My brother could be anywhere. I scan the park, suddenly seeing threats in every shadow, every stranger.

"Stay where you are," Travis continues. "Ciarán should be there any minute. We're putting together a security detail?—"

"No," I interrupt. "No security detail. No safe house. Not this time." Not after finding out The Agency helped him escape. "Just Ciarán."

Travis begins to protest, but I cut him off. "I trust Ciarán. Right now, he's the only one I trust."

After a moment, he sighs. "Understood. But be careful, Caoimhe. Dylan's smart. He'll know to be careful."

"I know. Thank you for the warning."

I hang up and immediately scan the park again, this time with greater urgency. Saoirse is still playing, blissfully unaware. I stand, ready to call her over, when I see him.

Ciarán is walking briskly toward us from the park entrance. Relief washes over me like a wave, so strong it nearly brings me to my knees. I raise my hand to wave, to let him know we're here.

That's when I feel it—cold metal pressing against my lower back.

"Hello, sister dear."

Dylan's voice in my ear turns my blood to ice. I freeze, my hand still half-raised in greeting.

"Don't make a sound," he whispers. "Don't signal Ciarán. Or I'll put a bullet in both of you before he can reach us."

My mind races, calculating distances, options, risks. Ciarán is still too far away. Saoirse is out of reach. I'm trapped.

"What do you want, Dylan?" I manage to ask, my voice surprisingly steady.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Family reunion, of course. Now, when I tell you, you're going to call Saoirse over. You're going to smile and act normal. Then we're going to walk—very calmly—to the south exit where a car is waiting."

"Dylan, please?—"

The gun presses harder into my back. "No discussions. No heroics. Or the girl dies first, then you, then your boyfriend over there. Understood?"

I nod, bile rising in my throat.

"Good. Now call her over."

I take a deep breath, forcing a smile onto my face. "Saoirse! Time to go, love!"

She looks up, pouting slightly, but begins to make her way over.

Ciarán is still approaching, his face shifting from casual smile to concern as he draws closer, sensing something's wrong. I want to scream, to warn him, but Dylan's gun remains steady against my back.

"Ciarán!" Saoirse calls out, spotting him.

Dylan tenses behind me. "Change of plans," he mutters. "We move now."

His hand grips my arm painfully as he steers me toward Saoirse. When we reach her, he scoops her up with his free arm, keeping the gun hidden between us.

"Who are you?" Saoirse asks, her voice small and uncertain.

"An old friend of Caoimhe’s," he says, his voice sickeningly sweet. "We're going on a little adventure."

"Caoimhe!" Ciarán calls, picking up pace.

"Start walking," Dylan hisses. "South exit. Now."

With Saoirse in one arm and his gun still pressed against me, we begin moving. My mind screams at me to fight, to run, to do something, but with Saoirse in his grasp, I can't risk it.

"Ciarán!" I call over my shoulder, my voice strained. "Dylan has a gun!"

The warning leaves my lips just as Dylan shoves me forward, breaking into a run while gripping Saoirse tightly. I stumble but keep my footing, spinning around to see Ciarán sprinting toward us, his face a mask of fury and fear.

"Caoimhe!" Saoirse screams, reaching for me as Dylan carries her away.

I lunge for her, but Dylan turns, aiming the gun at me now, no longer hiding it. "One more step and I shoot," he warns.

I freeze, my hands raised. "Dylan, please. She's just a child."

"She's coming with us," he says, backing toward the exit where I can now see a black car idling. "And so are you."

Ciarán is closing the distance, but he's still too far. Dylan reaches the car, yanking the back door open and tossing Saoirse inside. Her screams tear through me like physical pain.

"Last chance, Caoimhe," Dylan calls. "Come with us, or I leave with her alone."

The choice isn't a choice at all. With one last glance at Ciarán, I rush toward the car.

"Caoimhe, don't!" Ciarán shouts, but it's too late.

I slide into the backseat, immediately pulling Saoirse into my arms. Dylan slams the door shut and jumps into the front passenger seat.

"Drive," he orders, and the car peels away.

The last thing I see through the rear window is Ciarán's face, a mixture of rage and helplessness as he watches us disappear. But beneath it all, I see a promise—the same one we made when we swore to end this nightmare.

He will find us. And this time, Dylan won't escape justice.

As the car speeds away from the park, away from safety, away from Ciarán, I hold Saoirse tightly against me. She's crying, confused and frightened. I whisper soothing words; promises I'm not sure I can keep.

"It's going to be okay, love. Ciarán will find us."

Over her head, I meet Dylan's eyes in the rearview mirror. My brother—my flesh and blood—stares back at me with a coldness that chills me to the bone.

"He can try," Dylan says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "But this time, the game is mine."

I say nothing, just hold my daughter closer. Dylan may think he's won, but he's forgotten one crucial detail—I'm not the same broken woman they dragged from that shipping container. I've changed. I've hardened. And if it comes down to it, I will kill my own brother to protect this child.

As we leave Dublin behind us, I make a silent vow. This isn't the end of our story. It's just another chapter. And I refuse to let Dylan write the conclusion.