Page 33 of Dark Succession (The O’Malleys #1)

Aiden slouched in his seat, his back popping. “Someone has to get out, Devlin. It might as well be you.”

“You say that like all your future is set in stone. It isn’t.” Devlin set his beer back on the table, untouched. “You can change things. All of you can.”

The only changing going on these days was for the worse.

Aiden was turning into their father, Teague was almost drowning in a war he couldn’t seem to get ahead of, and Cillian…

Well, with Teague married and safely positioned for the glory of the O’Malley clan, their father would turn his gaze onto the next eldest child.

Cillian’s days of freedom were nearly at an end, even with his plans to step up and take over the family books .

He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until Cillian laughed, sliding sideways in his chair. “That just means I have to enjoy life to the fullest before it all starts crashing down around me.”

Devlin shook his head. “You’re hopeless. All of you. What happened to our sticking together, to us versus the world? You sound like you’ve given up.”

“And you sound like you haven’t been drinking nearly enough.” Teague peered into his brother’s beer. It blurred for a moment before snapping into focus. “Are you sober ?”

“Someone has to be there to make sure you lot don’t end up lost and passed out in a back alley.”

Teague turned to Aiden. “You hear that? He’s not even drunk.” Hell, he shouldn’t have drank so much tonight—he hadn’t planned on it when he’d agreed to this—but the nostalgic feeling of being surrounded by his brothers had made him careless. He shook his head. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to get a watch.” Cillian snickered. “God, I crack myself up.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot.” Teague flicked a peanut shell at him. He glanced at his phone and grimaced. It was well after one in the morning. “We have Mass in seven hours.”

They all exchanged looks. Cillian shrugged. “Not like I haven’t shown up hungover for Mass before.”

“There’s a difference between showing up hungover and showing up still drunk.” Aiden rose, wobbled a little, and then straightened. “I’ll take care of our tab.”

“I guess that’s that.” Cillian drained his beer and stretched. “I’ve got to use the pisser.”

Teague watched him stumble off. “Our brother is a serious winner. ”

“Leave him alone. We each deal with this stuff in our own way.”

That was the damn truth. It just seemed like stress, and their family bullshit didn’t touch Cillian the way it did the rest of them.

But what did he know? He and Cillian had never been particularly close—responsibility weighed on Teague too heavily and his younger brother too lightly for them to do more than aggravate the hell out of each other.

He glanced at Devlin. Maybe he was right. “How’d you get so smart?”

“I learned from the best.” He grinned. “Now, let’s get you home so you’re not a mess for your woman tomorrow.”

They’d specifically picked a pub they could walk back from, though he wasn’t sure the few blocks would be enough to sober them up before they got there.

Teague collected Cillian and handed him off to Aiden.

The walk through the brisk night air would hopefully balance out the short distance before they actually reached the front door.

His mother didn’t bother to yell at them, but she could send all four of them to their knees with a look of profound disappointment.

“I’d like to be able to do that someday. ”

Devlin looked over. “Do what?”

“That thing our mother does with her face when we’ve screwed up.”

Aiden snorted. “Good luck with that. She’s had an entire lifetime to perfect that look.” He cursed when Cillian swerved and started singing “Kiss Me, I’m Shitfaced” at the top of his lungs. “Damn it, shut up. You’ll get the cops called on us for sure.”

“That’s sure to get us the look from Mother.” Teague laughed. Headlights cut through the night, blinding them. Devlin yanked him back onto the sidewalk, waiting for the truck or whatever it was to drive past.

Except it didn’t.

A car door opened in the sudden silence of the night.

Behind him, Aiden cursed, but Teague still didn’t get it…

until a man stepped in front of the headlights, a gun in his hand.

Shit . He backpedaled, keeping a death grip on Devlin’s arm.

He was vaguely aware of Aiden doing the same thing with Cillian, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the man.

“Don’t do this.” He raised his voice. “This is a mistake.”

“The mistake is yours, fuckers.”

The first bullet tore into the brick next to him, surreally loud. He dropped to the ground, dragging Devlin with him, cursing himself to hell and back for not getting them a damn cab. The shots kept going for what felt like an eternity, but was most likely a few seconds.

A second voice joined the first. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“I need to—” A footstep in their direction.

“ Now .”

The door slammed and the SUV peeled out, flying down the street just as sirens cut through the night. Teague slowly pushed himself up. His ribs hurt like someone had dealt him a vicious blow to the chest, but nothing felt worse than bruises. “Aiden?”

“We’re good.”

“Thank Christ.”

A low groan brought his attention around to Devlin.

He frowned. “You okay?”

Another groan, this one eerily wet sounding. It took his brain a second too long to process what he was hearing. He crawled to Devlin’s side, nearly falling over himself in his hurry. “Devlin?”

He lay on his back, his hands clutching his chest. Teague lifted one, finding it soaked with red. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Aiden!”

His oldest brother was there in a flash, covering Devlin’s hands with his own and pressing down. “9-1-1, Teague, now.”

His fingers, slick with blood, slid over the screen of his phone. Teague had to take a deep breath, wipe them off, and then dial. He gave their location and information to the operator and then tossed the phone to Cillian. “Keep talking.”

Teague dragged off his shirt. “Here, use this.”

They moved Devlin’s hands and put more pressure on the wound. In the streetlights, his eyes looked strange and glassy, like he wasn’t seeing them at all. His hands fluttered against Teague’s, the little spasms ripping his heart to shreds. “Hang on, just hang the fuck on. The ambulance is coming.”

“Cillian, tell them to hurry the fuck up!” Aiden’s hands joined Teague’s. “Devlin, it will be okay. It’s got to be okay.”

The fear and dread in his brother’s voice hit Teague almost as hard as the blood now trickling from the corner of Devlin’s mouth.

He took one last wet gasping breath, and then lay still.

“No. No, no, no, no, no.” He stopped clutching the now-soaked shirt and lifted his youngest brother’s head. “Stay with us. Goddamn it, Devlin. No!”

This couldn’t be happening.

It had to be a nightmare. In a second he’d wake up, shudder at his overactive imagination, and reassure himself that reality would never be so cruel.

Except he didn’t wake up.

Red and white lights flashed over Devlin’s still face, and then Teague was pulled away by men in white uniforms. He struggled, fighting off their hands. “Not me, not me . Help Devlin.”

A third man looked up from where he knelt, his fingers against Devlin’s neck. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.”

Teague’s legs went out from under him, and he slumped to the ground. “Where were you? Why didn’t you get here quicker?”

One of the paramedics shook his head. “We got here in record time—” His partner stopped him with a hand on his arm.

Aiden dropped next to Teague. “I…”

“I know.” He couldn’t stop looking at Devlin, half expecting him to sit up.

The sound of throwing up finally made him tear his gaze away, only to find Cillian puking in the street.

That got him moving—anything to hold off reality for a little while longer.

He knelt next to Cillian and put his hand on his back. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it’d never be okay again.

Tears streamed down Cillian’s face. “He’s gone. Goddamn it, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not Devlin .”

Not Devlin. The only one of them who might have actually succeeded in getting free. Not Devlin, the kindest, smartest man he knew. No, not even a man. He was barely twenty. He couldn’t even legally drink yet. His life had been laid out before him, there for the taking .

Now he was gone forever, snuffed out in a war that wasn’t his.

Cillian’s head hung between his shoulders, hiding his expression. “It was the Hallorans.”

“Not now.” He couldn’t deal with talk of the future, not when their entire present was being systematically ripped to shreds. Something occurred to him. “Someone has to call our parents.”

And tell them Devlin was dead.