Page 5 of Cowboy (Fury Vipers MC: Dublin Chapter #4)

COWBOY

I ’m awoken by the sound of my cell ringing. Groggy and disoriented, I fumble to turn over and reach for it, my hand clumsy as I swipe my finger across the screen to answer.

"Hello?" I manage to croak out, my voice thick and heavy with sleep.

"Ciarán," comes the soft, broken sound of Caoimhe’s voice, barely more than a whisper yet laced with so much pain it sends a chill down my spine. "Dylan's dead."

A cold fist clenches around my stomach, and I inhale sharply, feeling the air catch in my throat. What the hell? "What? Caoimhe, what are you talking about?" I demand, my mind racing and heart pounding in my chest.

"The Gardaí are here," she says, her voice trembling with fear. "They found his body. Ciarán, what the hell was he involved in? What happened to my brother?"

Fuck. My thoughts spiral into a chaos of disbelief and dread. Dylan’s dead? This can't be happening.

"Jesus Christ," I whisper, the words barely escaping my lips as the enormity of the situation crashes over me.

Shit, this has to be connected to the job Travis sent us to do.

"Caoimhe, listen to me," I say urgently, trying to steady my voice despite the panic clawing at me.

"Don't tell the Gardaí anything. Don't mention me, or any jobs, or anything unusual. Do you understand me?"

"Ciarán, please," she whispers, her voice quivering. "I need to know what happened to Dylan."

Christ, there’s no way I’d tell her, I think, as a wave of protective instinct washes over me.

I won’t ever get her involved in this mess.

"I can't explain everything over the phone.

It's not safe," I say, my voice low and urgent.

"But Dylan... he got caught up in something big. Something dangerous. We both did."

"The job you were talking about? The one that required staying low?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, but I can hear the pain and fear in her words so clearly.

"Yeah," I respond with a heavy sigh. This is too fucking much. It’s hard to believe this has happened. I wonder just how much she knows; how much she’s pieced together.

"Look, Caoimhe, I promise I'll explain everything.

But right now, you need to focus on staying safe.

Don't tell the Gardaí anything about what Dylan might have been involved in. Just say you don't know."

"But—" she begins, her voice cracking.

"Please," I cut in, needing her to hear me. "Trust me on this. It's what Dylan would want. To keep you safe."

"Okay," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I won't say anything."

"Good," I say, relief mingling with the tension that’s still coiled in my chest. "I'll contact you soon. Stay safe, Caoimhe."

As I end the call, my mind races. Dylan's dead. How could this have happened? We were supposed to lay low and stay out of trouble. What went wrong?

I run my hands through my hair, trying to piece together the events of the last few weeks. The job at the abandoned housing estate, the package we retrieved, the men who chased us... It all seemed to have died down. We thought we were in the clear.

But clearly, we weren't.

My phone buzzes again, and I look down to see a text from Travis’ burner phone.

Travis: Meet at my apartment, ninety minutes.

He must know what happened to Dylan. Good. I need answers.

I slip out of the house, careful not to wake my ma. The streets are quiet at this hour, the city still sleeping. As I make my way to his apartment, I try to focus on everything besides Dylan. I’ve just lost my best friend and I have no fucking idea what happened.

When I arrive at his apartment, it’s pitch black. Shouldn’t he be here by now? I step inside cautiously, my hand instinctively moving to the gun tucked in my waistband.

The apartment is eerily quiet as I step inside. My eyes strain to adjust to the darkness, every sense on high alert. Something feels off.

"Travis?" I call out softly, my hand still resting on my concealed weapon.

No response.

I take a few more steps into the living room, my heart pounding. The faint glow from a streetlight outside casts long shadows across the room. As my eyes adjust, I start to make out shapes, the outline of the couch, the coffee table, the?—

A muffled thud comes from the bedroom. I freeze, holding my breath. Then I hear it, the unmistakable sound of labored breathing.

"Travis?" I call again, louder this time, as I cautiously approach the bedroom door. "You in there?"

The door creaks open slowly, seemingly of its own accord. As it swings wide, I see a figure slumped against the far wall. It’s Michael, Travis’ right hand man. Even in the dim light, I can make out the dark stain spreading across Michael's shirt.

"Jesus Christ," I breathe, rushing to his side. "Mike, what happened?"

He coughs, a wet, rattling sound. "Ciarán," he manages to gasp. "You shouldn't... be here."

"Who did this to you?" I demand, pressing my hands against the wound in his abdomen, trying to stem the flow of blood. It's bad, really bad.

Mike shakes his head weakly. "Doesn't matter. Listen... you need to run. Take the girl and go."

"The girl?" I repeat, confused. "You mean Caoimhe? Dylan's sister?"

He nods, grimacing in pain. "They'll come for her next. To tie up... loose ends."

My blood runs cold. "Who, Mike? Who's coming after us?"

But Mike's eyes are starting to glaze over. He grabs my arm with surprising strength. "The package," he wheezes. "It's all in the package. You need to?—"

His words are cut off by a fit of coughing. Blood spatters his lips.

"Mike, stay with me," I plead, but I can see the life fading from his eyes.

With his last breath, he manages to whisper, "Run, Ciarán. Run."

And just like that, he’s gone.

I sit there for a moment, stunned, my hands still pressed against Mike's lifeless body. The reality of the situation crashes over me like a tidal wave. Dylan's dead. Mike is dead. And whoever is behind this is coming for Caoimhe next.

The door opens and I turn to see Travis enter, his gaze moving around the apartment and landing on me. “What happened?”

I shake my head, trying to comprehend everything that’s happened. “Fuck knows,” I snarl. “Christ, Travis, what the fuck is going on? Dylan’s dead, now Mike? What the fuck?”

Travis' face pales as he takes in the scene. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, running a hand through his graying hair. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"What wasn't supposed to happen?" I demand, standing up. My hands are covered in Mike's blood, and I can feel the rage building inside me. "Dylan's dead, Travis. My best friend is gone. And now Mike... What the hell have you gotten us into?"

Travis moves to close the apartment door, checking the hallway before locking it. "It's complicated, Ciarán. The package we retrieved... it's bigger than I initially thought. More dangerous."

"No shit," I spit out. "Dangerous enough to get Dylan killed? To have someone come after Mike?"

"Listen to me," Travis says, his voice low and urgent. "We've stumbled onto something huge. Corruption at the highest levels. Politicians, billionaires, even some within law enforcement. The information in that package could bring down an entire network of criminals."

"So what now? They're trying to clean up loose ends? Is that why Dylan's dead?"

Travis nods grimly. "It's likely to do with him going back to the abandoned estate. And they'll keep coming. For you, for me... for anyone who might know something."

A cold fear grips my heart as I remember Mike's last words. "Caoimhe," I whisper. "They'll go after her next."

"Dylan's sister?" Travis asks, his brow furrowing. "Why would they?—"

"Because she's the only family Dylan had left," I explain quickly. "If they think she might know something..."

Travis curses under his breath. "We need to move fast. Get her somewhere safe."

I nod, already pulling out my phone. "I'll call her, tell her to pack a bag and be ready to leave."

As I dial Caoimhe's number, my mind races. How am I going to explain this to her? How can I possibly keep her safe when I don't even understand the full scope of what we're up against?

The phone rings once, twice... On the third ring, Caoimhe picks up.

"Ciarán?" Her voice is thick with tears, and I can hear the exhaustion in her tone.

"Caoimhe, listen to me carefully," I say, trying to keep my voice calm and steady. "I need you to pack a bag. Clothes, essentials, anything important you can't leave behind. Do it quietly. Don't let your aunt know."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "What? Ciarán, what's going on?"

"I'll explain everything soon. I promise. But right now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

Another pause, longer this time. I can almost hear the gears turning in her head, weighing her options. Finally, she speaks. "Okay. How long do I have?"

"Twenty minutes," I tell her, glancing at Travis, who nods in agreement. "I'll be there to pick you up. Remember, be quiet and don't let your aunt know you're leaving."

"Okay," Caoimhe says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be ready."

I end the call and turn back to Travis. "What's our next move?"

Travis is already moving, grabbing a duffel bag from a closet and filling it with cash, weapons, and what looks like fake IDs.

"We need to get her out of Dublin," he says, his voice grim.

"I've got a safe house up north, near the border. We'll head there first, then we’ll figure out our next steps. She’s the one we need to keep safe. "

I nod, my mind racing. "What about the package? The information?"

Travis pauses, his hand hovering over the duffel bag. "It's not safe to keep it with us. I've got a secure location where I've hidden a copy. We'll retrieve it when the time is right."

As we prepare to leave, I can't help but think of Dylan. My best friend, gone in an instant. And now I'm responsible for his sister's life. The weight of it all threatens to crush me, but I push it down. There's no time for grief or doubt now. We need to move.