Page 28 of Cowboy (Fury Vipers MC: Dublin Chapter #4)

COWBOY

I watch helplessly as the car speeds away, taking Caoimhe and Saoirse with it. Fury and fear battle inside me, but I force them both down. Emotions won't help now. Action will.

"Cowboy!"

I turn to see Pyro racing toward me, his face grim. He must have been nearby, watching. This is what the club does. What my brothers do!

"Dylan took them," I manage, my voice raw. "Black sedan. Heading east."

Pyro's already on his phone. "We need a lockdown. All roads out of Dublin. Now." He barks into the receiver, then looks at me. "The brothers are mobilizing. We'll find them."

But I'm already moving, sprinting toward my bike parked just outside the park. Pyro catches up, grabbing my arm.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he demands.

"After them."

"You don't even know where they're headed."

I shake him off, my voice deadly calm. "I know Dylan. I know how he thinks." I pull out my phone, opening an app. "And I put a tracker on Caoimhe's phone weeks ago. For exactly this scenario."

Pyro's eyes widen slightly. "Smart."

"I wasn't taking any chances. Not after losing her once already." I check the phone. The signal is moving steadily away from the city. "They're heading toward Wicklow."

"The mountains." Pyro nods. "Perfect place to disappear."

I swing my leg over my bike. "Call Travis. Tell him what happened. And tell the brothers to hang back. This is personal."

"The hell I will," Pyro growls. "You're not doing this alone, Cowboy."

"I have to," I say, starting the engine. "Dylan's unstable. If he sees a pack of bikers coming, he'll panic. He'll kill them both before we can reach him."

Pyro curses, but I can see the understanding in his eyes. "At least take this." He hands me his backup piece, a 9mm Glock I know he keeps pristine. "And for fuck's sake, we'll be following behind you."

I nod, tucking the gun into my waistband. "Okay."

"The second you have them," Pyro emphasizes, "we'll be right there. Any sign of trouble, you wait. That's an order."

"Understood."

It's a lie, and we both know it. But Pyro lets me go anyway, watching as I tear out of the parking lot.

The road stretches before me, my heart pounding in rhythm with the engine. I weave through traffic, eyes fixed on the tracker. They're moving fast, but not recklessly so. Dylan's being careful, trying not to draw attention. Smart. But not smart enough.

My mind races through possibilities as I ride. Why Wicklow? What's waiting there? A safe house? An escape route? Or is it just a convenient place to finish what he started?

I push the bike harder, the wind tearing at my face. I should have killed Dylan when I had the chance. In Vienna, with my hands around his throat. I should have ended it there, Agency protocols be damned. Instead, I followed the rules. And now Caoimhe and Saoirse are paying the price.

Never again.

The tracker shows them turning off the main highway onto a smaller road. They're heading deep into the mountains now, toward the more remote areas. I follow, keeping a distance while ensuring I don't lose the signal.

Twenty minutes later, the dot stops moving. I slow down, approaching more cautiously now. The road has narrowed, and there’s dense forest on either side. Perfect for an ambush.

I pull over, kill the engine, and check the tracker again. They've stopped at what appears to be an isolated property about half a mile ahead. I text the coordinates to Pyro, then slip the phone into my pocket.

Moving on foot now, I stick to the tree line, advancing slowly. The property comes into view—a small, weathered cabin set back from the road. The black sedan is parked outside. No other vehicles visible.

I circle around, looking for the best approach. There are two windows on each side, one door in front, and likely another around the back. Smoke is rising from the chimney. They're inside.

I consider my options. Wait for backup? No. Every minute I wait is another minute Dylan has to hurt them. But rushing in blind is suicide.

Then I see her—Caoimhe, standing by a window, Saoirse clutched to her side. They're alive. Relief floods through me, followed immediately by renewed determination.

Caoimhe's eyes scan the tree line, as if searching for something. For me. Our gazes lock, and for a split second, I see the recognition in her eyes. She knows I'm here.

Ever so slightly, she tilts her head toward the back of the cabin, then steps away from the window.

She's giving me intel. The back entrance.

I circle around, moving quietly through the underbrush. The back door is partially visible; weathered wood with a simple lock. Nothing I can't handle.

As I approach, I hear voices from inside, growing louder. Dylan and another man. They're arguing.

"This wasn't the plan!" the unknown voice hisses. "You were supposed to be on a plane out of the country by now!"

"Plans change," Dylan replies. "I have unfinished business."

"With your sister? Are you insane? The organization is in ruins because of her!"

"Not just her," Dylan says, his voice colder than I've ever heard it. "Ciarán. He needs to pay too."

"You're going to get us all killed," the man spits. "I'm out. You're on your own."

"Fine," Dylan responds, eerily calm. "But you're not leaving yet. Not until this is finished."

I hear movement inside, shifting positions. This is getting worse by the minute. I need to act now.

The back door doesn't have a clear line of sight to the main room. If I can get in undetected, I might be able to get to Caoimhe and Saoirse before Dylan realizes I'm there.

I approach silently, testing the door handle. Locked, as expected. I pull out my picks and set to work, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. After a tense minute, I feel the lock give.

Easing the door open, I slip inside what appears to be a small utility room.

Through the partially open inner door, I can see into the main living area.

Caoimhe and Saoirse are seated on a worn couch, Dylan pacing in front of them.

The other man—tall, lean, with graying hair—stands by the front window, clearly agitated.

Dylan has a gun, alternating between aiming it at Caoimhe and gesturing wildly. His movements are jerky, unpredictable. He's unraveling.

"It was supposed to be simple," he's saying. "You stay out of the way, living your pathetic little life, while I make millions. But no, you had to go looking for answers, didn't you? Had to play the hero."

"You sold me," Caoimhe replies, her voice steady despite the fear I know she must be feeling. "Your own sister."

"Business is business," Dylan snaps. "Nothing personal."

"It was very personal to me," she says. "And to Saoirse. And to every other woman and child you trafficked."

Dylan laughs bitterly. "What, you think I care? They were merchandise. Just like you."

The other man interrupts. "Enough of this. We need to move. If she's here, Cowboy won't be far behind."

"I'm counting on it," Dylan says, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "In fact, I'm betting he's already here. Aren't you, Ciarán?" He raises his voice, turning in a slow circle. "Watching, waiting for your moment? Come out, come out, wherever you are."

I freeze, wondering if he's seen me. But his eyes pass over the utility room door without pausing. He's bluffing, trying to flush me out.

Caoimhe's eyes flick to the utility room then away quickly. She knows I'm here.

"He's not coming," she says to Dylan, her voice hard. "I made sure of it."

Dylan scoffs. "Please. That lapdog? He'd walk through fire for you. Always has, even when we were kids." He leans in closer to her. "Did you know he was in love with you even then? Pathetic, really."

"You're the pathetic one," Caoimhe retorts, and I can see her shifting slightly, positioning herself between Dylan and Saoirse. "Selling out your own family for money."

"Money and power," Dylan corrects her. "I had everything. And I'll have it again, once I tie up these loose ends."

I need to move now, while he's distracted. But the other man is still by the window, his back to me but positioned to see any movement from the utility room.

As if reading my mind, Caoimhe suddenly stands. "I need the bathroom," she announces. "Saoirse too."

Dylan laughs. "Nice try. Sit down."

"She's five years old," Caoimhe insists. "And terrified. Unless you want her to wet herself on your couch, I suggest you let us use the bathroom."

Dylan seems to consider this, then nods toward a door on the far side of the room—away from me. "Fine. Two minutes. And the door stays open."

Caoimhe takes Saoirse's hand, and they move across the room. As they do, Caoimhe knocks into a small side table, sending a lamp crashing to the floor.

"Sorry," she says quickly, but the distraction is enough. The other man turns toward the sound, and I seize my moment.

I burst through the door, gun raised, immediately taking aim at Dylan. "Drop it," I command, my voice deadly calm.

Dylan spins, his gun swinging toward me, but he's too slow. I fire twice, hitting him in the shoulder and chest. He staggers backward, a look of shock on his face.

The other man reaches for his waistband, but I'm already pivoting, squeezing the trigger again. He drops like a stone.

"Caoimhe, get down!" I shout, turning back to Dylan.

But he's not where I expected. In the chaos, he's lunged for Caoimhe, grabbing her and using her as a shield, his gun pressed to her temple. Saoirse screams, diving under a nearby table.

"Should've shot to kill, Ciarán," Dylan sneers, blood soaking through his shirt. "Now drop the gun, or I paint the walls with her brains."

I hold steady, looking past Dylan to meet Caoimhe's eyes. There's no fear there, only fierce determination. She gives me the slightest nod.

"You won't do it," I say to Dylan. "She's your ticket out of here. Kill her, and you've got nothing."

"You think I won't?" Dylan growls, pressing the gun harder against Caoimhe's head. "I've got nothing to lose now."

"That's where you're wrong," I say, taking a small step forward. "You've still got your life. For now."

Dylan's eyes narrow. "Stay back!"

"You're bleeding out," I continue, taking another step. "But The Agency has doctors. They can patch you up. All you have to do is let her go."

"Fuck The Agency," Dylan spits. "They're the reason I'm in this mess."

"Then take me instead," I offer. "I'm the one you really want, right? The one who tracked you down, who made you lose everything."

Dylan hesitates, his eyes darting between me and the door. I can see the conflict, the desperation. He's running out of options, and he knows it.

In that moment of indecision, Caoimhe moves. She drives her elbow hard into Dylan's wounded shoulder, making him howl in pain. His grip loosens just enough for her to twist away, dropping to the floor.

I don't hesitate. The second I have a clear shot, I fire. Once, twice, three times. Center mass.

Dylan's eyes widen in shock. He stumbles backward, gun slipping from his fingers. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but no words come. Then he crumples to the ground, eyes fixed and empty.

For a moment, the cabin is absolutely silent. Then Saoirse whimpers from under the table, and the spell breaks.

Caoimhe rushes to her, pulling her into her arms. "It's okay, baby. It's over."

I move quickly to check both men, confirming what I already know. They're dead. I kick their guns away just to be sure, then turn to Caoimhe and Saoirse.

"Are you hurt?" I ask, my voice rough with emotion.

Caoimhe shakes her head. "We're okay." She looks over at Dylan's body, her expression unreadable. "Is he..."

"Yes," I confirm. "He's gone."

She nods, a mixture of grief and relief crossing her face. "Good."

I cross to them in two strides, pulling them both into my arms. Saoirse clings to my neck, trembling, while Caoimhe presses her face against my chest. I hold them tightly, the reality of how close I came to losing them hitting me all at once.

"I was so scared," Saoirse whispers. "I thought the bad man was going to hurt us."

"Never," I promise, pressing a kiss to her hair. "I'll never let anyone hurt either of you again."

Over Saoirse's head, I meet Caoimhe's eyes. "It's over," I tell her. "For real this time."

She nods, tears streaming down her face. "I know."

I hear the rumble of motorcycles outside. The brothers have arrived.

"Let's get out of here," I say, standing with Saoirse still in my arms. "Let's go home."

Caoimhe takes one last look at her brother's body. Whatever she's feeling—grief, anger, relief—she keeps it hidden. She turns away from him, reaching for my hand.

"Home," she agrees. "That sounds perfect."

As we step outside into the sunlight, Pyro and the others rush up to meet us. I know that this marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. The nightmare is finally over. Now we can start to rebuild, to heal.

Together.