Page 11

CHAPTER 11

DECLAN

P ain radiates from my shoulder down to my fingertips. Blood soaks through the crude bandage, a constant reminder of my sister’s betrayal. The bullet tore clean through muscle but missed anything vital—my sister was never a good shot. Thank fucking God for small mercies, and her shaky hands.

I test the zip ties binding my wrists to the chair. They cut into my skin but don't give. The fishing cabin reeks of mold and dead fish, a place our grandfather took us when we were kids. Siobhan picked this location on purpose—a reminder of when we were all something resembling a family.

My phone and gun are gone. No way to warn Maeve. No way to call Cormac. I'm trapped here until my sister decides what to do with me or someone else finds me.

I scan the room for anything I can use. A table with whiskey bottles. A woodstove in the corner. Fishing gear hanging on hooks. Nothing within reach.

The door opens and Siobhan walks in, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She looks thinner than I remember, her face gaunt, eyes wild. The seven years since I left have carved lines into her face that match our father's.

"Awake already? You always were hard to keep down." She kicks the chair leg, making me wince as the movement jars my wound.

"What's the plan here, Siobhan? You can't keep me forever."

She blows smoke in my face. "I don't need forever. Just long enough to make Cormac give me what I want."

"And what's that?"

"My rightful place. Control of the south side operations. The power our father promised me before you fucked everything up."

I laugh, can't help it. "Dad was never going to give you anything. You know that."

She slaps me, hard. "You think you know everything. You ran away, Declan. You don't get to talk about what Dad wanted."

"I know he pitted us against each other for sport. Made us compete for scraps of his approval." I lean forward, ignoring the pain. "He's dead. Let it go."

"Let it go?" She puts out her cigarette on the table, inches from my bound hand. "While you played fight-club, I was stuck here. Watching Cormac take everything."

"So, this is about jealousy? Christ, Siobhan, grow up."

Her face contorts. "This is about what's mine. And I'll use whatever leverage I need to get it." She smiles, all teeth and malice. "Your little family makes excellent leverage."

"Leave them out of this."

"Too late. The boy looks just like you, doesn't he? Those Donovan green eyes."

I strain against the ties. "If you touch them?—"

"You'll what? You're not in a position to make threats." She circles behind me, her fingers brushing my injured shoulder. I grit my teeth against the pain. "Cormac will give me what I want, or I'll start sending pieces of you back to him. Maybe I'll start with your trigger finger."

"Cormac won't play games with you. You know that."

"Then I'll move on to the boy."

Rage builds inside me, hot and bright. "He's your nephew."

"He's a means to an end." She shrugs. "Nothing personal. I fucking hate kids, little germ factories."

She goes to the table, pours whiskey into a dirty glass. "I expected more from you, Declan. The mighty fighter. The one who got away." She drinks, grimacing at the burn. "But here you are, bleeding in a chair because you cared too much. Dad was right—caring makes you weak."

"Dad was a monster who destroyed everything he touched. Including you."

She throws the glass against the wall. It shatters, sending shards across the floor. "Don't talk about him like that!" She idolized him, and he made her think she was special.

"Why defend him? He treated you like shit. Treated all of us like we were nothing but pawns."

"He made us strong."

"He made us broken."

Siobhan paces the small cabin, agitated. "You think you're so different? Better than the rest of us? You've got blood on your hands too, brother. I know what you did in Barcelona, in London. The fights that weren't just fights."

"I'm not denying what I am."

"And what's that?"

"A Donovan." I meet her eyes. "But I want more for my son."

She laughs, bitter and sharp. "There is no 'more.' There's just survival. Power. Control." She picks up her phone. "Time to call big brother. See what he'll trade for your life."

I hear her call Cormac, making demands. Territory. Money. Recognition as equal partner in the family business. Her voice rises as she argues, revealing the desperation beneath her anger.

When she hangs up, her face is flushed. "He says he needs proof of life."

She takes a photo of me, the flash temporary blinding. "And now we wait."

Hours pass. The pain in my shoulder becomes a dull throb as blood dries and stiffens the bandage. Siobhan drinks more, growing more unstable with each glass. She rants about our father, about Cormac, about family loyalty—a twisted view warped by years of manipulation. She truly is mad in the head.

I work at the zip ties while she talks, rubbing them against a rough edge of the chair behind my back. The plastic cuts into my wrists, blood making them slick.

"You could join me," she says suddenly. "We could take Cormac down together. Split everything fifty-fifty."

"I don't want any part of it."

"Liar. It's in your blood."

"I want my son. My girl. That's all."

She snorts. "That nurse? Really, Declan? She's so... ordinary."

"That's why I love her."

Siobhan's face darkens. "Love is a fantasy. Power is real."

"You sound like Dad."

"Good."

Night falls. Siobhan's phone remains silent. No word from Cormac. She grows more agitated, pacing and muttering. I keep working at the ties, feeling them weaken slightly.

She points a gun at my head. "Maybe I should just kill you. Send your body to Cormac in pieces."

"You won't."

"Why not?"

"Because then you have nothing to bargain with."

She lowers the gun. "True." She checks her phone again. "Where are his men? He should have sent someone by now."

"Maybe he doesn't care if I live or die."

"No. He cares. The hypocrite." She tosses the phone onto the table. "He'll come. Or send someone."

I think of Maeve and Conor, safe in Kerry. At least they're far from this mess. I picture Conor's face, those eyes so like mine. The son I barely know. I can't die here, not when I've just found him.

A noise outside makes Siobhan freeze. She grabs her gun, moving to the window.

"Stay quiet," she hisses.

I hear it too now—footsteps on the gravel path.

"Cormac?" she calls. "Is that you?"

No answer.

She backs away from the window. "Fuck."

"Expecting someone else?"

"Shut up."

More sounds—whispers, the crunch of boots. Siobhan aims her gun at the door.

It crashes open.

Jack, Cormac's man, surges in first, gun raised. Behind him—Maeve.

My heart stops. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Siobhan turns her gun on Maeve. "Well. Isn't this interesting."

Jack keeps his weapon trained on my sister. "Put it down, Siobhan."

"I don't think so." She steps closer to me, pressing the barrel against my temple. "One move and he dies."

Maeve stands frozen in the doorway, eyes locked on mine. She looks terrified but ready to fight.

"Where's Conor?" I ask her.

"Safe. With Fiona."

Siobhan laughs. "Fiona? You trusted Fiona with your kid? That's stupid."

Maeve pales. "What do you mean?"

"Fiona's been helping me for months. She's the one who told me about your son in the first place. Spotted you at some mother-son school outing."

My blood runs cold. "Maeve, call the house. Now."

She fumbles for her phone, but Siobhan clicks her tongue. "Too late for that."

"If anything happens to my son—" Maeve starts.

"You'll what? You're nothing. A nobody who spread her legs for a Donovan, and got knocked up." Siobhan's smile is cruel. "But your kid—he's got potential. Donovan blood."

Something snaps inside me. With a roar, I throw my weight backward, breaking the chair against the floor. The zip ties cut deep but give way as the wood splinters. I lunge for Siobhan, ignoring the explosion of pain in my shoulder.

The gun goes off. I feel the bullet graze my side but don't stop. I tackle her to the ground, wrestling for the weapon. Jack moves in, trying to get a clear shot.

"Back off!" I yell at him. This is between me and my sister.

Siobhan fights like a wild animal, clawing at my face, my wound. But I'm bigger, stronger, driven by more than her hate. We fight like we’re ten years old, wrestling for the TV remote. She screams, and scratches, and calls me names.

I pin her down, knocking the gun from her hand. It skids across the floor.

"It's over," I tell her.

"It's never over," she spits. "Not until I get what I want." Still a brat, even now.

"There's nothing here for you. Not anymore."

I look up at Jack. "Call Cormac. Tell him I have her."

Maeve rushes to my side, hands going to my bleeding shoulder. "You need a hospital."

"I need my son." I grab her arm. "Call the house. Now."

She dials with shaking hands, puts it on speaker. It rings. And rings.

"No answer," she whispers, panic rising.

"Try again."

She does. A voice answers—Fiona.

"Hello?"

"Where's my son?" Maeve demands.

"Right here. Playing video games." A pause. "Is everything okay?"

"Put him on. Now."

I hear shuffling, then Conor's voice. "Mom? Are you coming back soon?"

Relief floods through me. "Hey, buddy," I call out. "We'll be home soon."

"Declan! Did you fight the bad guys?"

Maeve and I exchange a look over Siobhan's bound form. "Yeah, kid. I did."

After we hang up, Jack secures Siobhan to the metal table where the old man used to gut fish. Her eyes burn with hatred, but she's silent now.

Maeve helps me to my feet, supporting me as pain and blood loss make the room spin.

"You came for me," I say, leaning on her.

"I'm an idiot."

"You're brave."

"I'm furious." She inspects my shoulder. "This needs stitches."

"I know a guy."

"A real doctor, not some Donovan vet. No arguments."

I don't have the strength to fight her on this. "Fine."

Jack's phone rings—Cormac. He steps outside to take the call, leaving us alone with Siobhan.

"You should have run," I tell Maeve. "Taken Conor and disappeared."

"I thought about it."

"Why didn't you?"

She looks at me, those ocean-blue eyes swimming with emotions. "Because he needs his father. And because... I need you too."

Siobhan makes a disgusted noise. "Fucking pathetic."

Maeve ignores her. "Don't think this means I forgive you. Or that I'm okay with any of this."

"I know."

"And when we get back, we're having a serious conversation about our future. About what happens next."

"Anything you want."

Jack returns. "Cormac's sending men. They'll be here in thirty minutes to collect her." He nods at Siobhan. "He says to get you to a doctor."

I look at my sister, slumped in the chair, defeat and rage warring on her face. "What will he do with her?"

Jack shrugs. "Not my business to know."

But I know. Cormac doesn't forgive betrayal. Especially not family betrayal. We have a few brothers in shallow graves.

"Tell him not to kill her," I say.

Maeve stares at me. "After what she did? She threatened our son! You have lost a lot of blood, do you feel okay?"

"She's still my sister."

"She shot you!"

"I know." I hold Maeve's gaze. "But I'm not becoming my father. And I won't let Cormac become him either."

Siobhan looks up, confusion breaking through her anger. "Why?"

"Because that's what he would want. Us destroying each other. And I'm done playing his game."

I take Maeve's hand, squeezing it tight. "Let's go home."

As we walk to the car, my arm around Maeve's shoulders, I think about what I just did. I could have let Cormac kill Siobhan. Maybe I should have. But I'm tired of Donovan’s killing Donovan’s. Tired of being what my father wanted me to be.

"Thank you for coming for me."

She kisses me, quick and fierce. "Don't get used to it. I'm not making a habit of rescuing your ass."

But her eyes tell a different story. One I never expected to read again.