Page 19 of Lily and her Mercenary (CHANGING OF THE GUARDS)

Declan MacGallan

I stood with a glass of champagne in my hand, watching Connor and Mia head out the door.

I envied my little brother’s happy-go-lucky, carefree attitude.

Sure, Connor was officially captain of the clan now, but I knew it would never truly work out.

That’s why I’d agreed to stay on with him as his partner.

I sighed as I scanned the room, half-listening to Wren at my side and Kat talking animatedly about flowers when my gaze landed on my cousin, Kane.

He was staring directly at Wren—not just staring, but eye-fucking her.

Rory slid up beside me and as I handed him my champagne glass he muttered, “Sucks to be him.”

I stalked across the crowded dance floor and planted myself in front of Kane. Grabbing him by the lapels, I snarled, “Keep your fucking eyes off my wife,” then smashed my fist into his face.

I weaved back through the crowd, flexing my right hand and trying not to wince. When I returned, Wren watched me curiously, her champagne flute balanced between her fingers.

“Where did you disappear to?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Just needed to handle something,” I replied, still shaking my hand.

Rory snorted, handing me back my glass. “By ‘something,’ he means Kane’s face. Nice right hook. I especially enjoyed the way his head snapped back.”

“Jesus, Rory,” I muttered, though a slight smile tugged at my lips as I sipped.

Wren’s eyes went wide. “You hit Kane?”

“He deserved it,” I said.

Rory cleared his throat and looked uneasy. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a cream-colored envelope. “Almost forgot. This was delivered for you earlier.”

I frowned, set my glass on a nearby table, and tore it open. Inside was a letter—my father’s handwriting. As I read, the color drained from my face.

“Is this some kind of joke?” I demanded, looking at Rory.

“What? No. What is it?” he asked.

My hand trembled. “It’s… it’s from my father. Dated two years ago.”

“Wasn’t that before his dementia set in?” Wren whispered, moving closer.

“Yes, it was,” I said, looking at Wren. “Around the time we met at the nursing home.” My mind raced as I recalled that day—before I knew she'd become the most important person in my life.

I glanced around the reception hall, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. The familiar faces of the ‘family’ were not so trusting now. “Outside. Now.”

Kat and Rory exchanged concerned looks but followed as I gestured toward the doors.

I placed my hand on the small of Wren's back, guiding her through the crowd, past the confused, and out onto the veranda of the country club.

The night air was cool against my face, stars puncturing the darkness above.

“Declan, what the hell is going on?” Wren asked, her voice tinged with worry.

I took a deep breath and unfolded the letter. “You, Kat, and Rory need to hear this.”

As they gathered around, I cleared my throat and began to read:

“'Declan, if you're reading this, I've passed on.

There are things I've kept from you—from all of you—that I can no longer bear to hide.

First, should something happen to me under unusual circumstances, I implore you to confirm that my body is actually in my grave.

And if you find I'm not there, then you must go to Ireland—specifically to our family's ancestral home in County Clare.

There, in the stone cottage on the western edge of our property, you'll find a lockbox beneath the floorboards of the main bedroom. The combination is your birthday.'“

I paused, looking up to see the shocked expressions on their faces.

“'What you discover there will explain everything. I've made enemies, —dangerous ones who've been looking for me for decades. I'm sorry for the burden this will place on you, but you're the only one I trust to handle what comes next.'“

My hands were shaking when I finished. The weight of my father's words settled over me like a shroud.

“Jesus Christ,” Rory muttered, running his hand through his hair. “You don't think—”

“I don't know what to think,” I said. “Dad was always paranoid, especially toward the end, but this... this was written before the dementia took hold.”

Kat moved forward, “You can't seriously be considering digging up our father’s grave?”

But as I looked at her, at all of them, I knew exactly what I had to do. “You’re fucking right I am.”

Wren's hand found mine in the darkness. “Declan, think about what you're saying.” Her eyes, wide with concern, reflected the faint moonlight. “This is... extreme, even for you.”

“Extreme?” I laughed, the sound hollow even to my ears. “My father just reached out from beyond the grave to tell me he might not be in it.”

Rory paced the length of the veranda, his shoes clicking against the stone. “It could be some sick joke. Someone messing with your head.”

“That's my father's handwriting,” I insisted, holding the letter up to the light spilling from the reception. “No one could forge it that perfectly.”

Kat crossed her arms, her elegant wedding attire at odds with her grim expression. “Even if this is legitimate, you can't just grab shovels and start digging. There are laws, permits—”

“Fuck permits,” I snapped, then immediately regretted my tone. “Sorry, but this isn't exactly something I can take to the authorities. 'Excuse me, officer, I'd like permission to exhume my father because a mysterious letter suggests he might not be dead.' How do you think that would go?”

The music from the reception drifted through the closed doors, the celebration continuing obliviously while my world tilted on its axis.

“I can help,” Wren said quietly. When I turned to her, she continued, “I have a contact at the hospital. A medical examiner who owes me a favor. We could... verify things, without necessarily disturbing the grave.”

I stared at her, momentarily speechless. This was why I loved her—she didn't try to talk me out of the madness; she found a way to navigate through it.

“As much as I appreciate that little goose. This can’t wait,” I said, loosening my tie.

“And if he's not there?” Kat asked, voicing what we were all thinking.

“Then we book tickets to Ireland,” I answered firmly.

Rory stopped pacing, his expression hardening into something I recognized—the look he got before a dangerous job. “If someone did something to Tomas, they'll answer for it.”

“First things first,” I said, folding the letter carefully and tucking it into my jacket. “We need to get through tonight without raising suspicions. Tomorrow, we will start digging—literally.”

Kat nodded reluctantly. “Connor can't know about this. Not yet. He's got enough on his plate with taking over and the honeymoon.”

“Agreed,” I said. “This stays between us until we know more.”

The reception doors burst open, flooding the veranda with light and music. Kane stood there, a handkerchief pressed to his bloodied nose, his eyes narrowed with malice.

“Family meeting without me?” he slurred, clearly having found the bar after our encounter.

I moved forward, positioning myself between him and Wren. “Go sleep it off, Kane. Unless you want another loosened tooth.”

He laughed a bitter sound that cut through the night air. “Always the protector, aren't you, Declan? So concerned with your precious little family.” His gaze slid to the letter in my jacket pocket. “What's that? More secrets?”

“None of your business,” I growled, feeling my fist clench again.

Kane swayed slightly, pointing an unsteady finger at us. “That's the problem with you. Always thinking you're above the rest of us. Your father was the same way.”

I froze. “What do you know about my father?”

“More than you think,” he muttered, then seemed to catch himself. His eyes darted between the four of us, suddenly more alert despite his drunken state. “Nothing. Forget it.”

Wren moved with surprising speed, grabbing Kane by the tie and pulling him further onto the veranda, away from the reception doors. “What did you just say about Tomas?”

Kane's face drained of color. “I didn't say anything.”

“Like hell,” Kat hissed, stepping closer. “You know something.”

I placed a restraining hand on her as I started forward. She glanced at me, and she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Reading her perfectly, I relaxed my stance but kept my eyes locked on Kane.

“Kane,” Wren said, her voice gentle but firm, “if you know something about Declan's father, now would be a good time to share it.”

He looked at her, then back at me, calculating in his bloodshot eyes. “What's it worth to you?”

Before I could respond, Rory grabbed him by the collar. “How about your continued ability to breathe without a tube? That valuable enough?”

“Easy,” I murmured, though part of me wanted to let Rory continue. “Let's hear him out.”

Kane straightened his jacket when Rory and Wren released him. “Three weeks before your father died, I saw him meeting with someone at the docks. It definitely wasn't someone who was family.”

“How?” Kat scoffed. “Wherever he went, Connor went.”

“I never saw Connor,” Kane insisted. “But what I did see was this guy was… different,” Kane insisted.

“Foreign. They argued. Your father looked scared—I'd never seen him scared before.” He swallowed hard.

“The next day, I overheard my father talking on the phone to someone.

Declan, it sounded like your dad saying, 'They've found me' and 'contingency plan’.”

The night seemed to grow colder around us. I exchanged glances with Kat and Rory, seeing my shock mirrored in their faces.

“And you never thought to mention this?” I asked, my voice was dangerously quiet.

Kane shrugged. “By the time I figured it might be important, he was already gone. Besides, who'd believe me? I'm just the drunk of the family.”

“Brace yourself, because you're about to experience detox the hard way,” I said, enjoying the look of terror on Kane’s face.

“Wha... what does that mean?”

“We’re going grave digging.”

BLINDSIDED

And now a glimpse of Royal and Eden’s adventures.

Royal O’Toole

It was a rainy night when he was heading home, minding his own business, when some whack job in a van cut him off.

He took it personally and chased them down to a seedy hotel on the edge of the nearest town.

What he wasn’t expecting was to have a pistol pointed at his chest and a pint-sized wildcat whipping around.

The steadiness of her hand told him she knew how to use it and wasn’t afraid to do so.

“Back off,” she warned, her voice steady despite the wild look in her eyes. “I don't have time for this.”

That’s when he heard it, a soft whine coming from the back of the van. Good thing for her he’s a sucker for dogs, guns, and women in distress.