Page 15

CHAPTER 15

DECLAN

"W hat do you mean she's gone?" I slam my fist on Cormac's desk, sending papers flying. Pain shoots through my injured shoulder, but I ignore it. "Where the fuck is she?"

Cormac's face is stone-cold, but I see the concern in his eyes. "She took one of my cars. The gate guard thought she was running an errand."

"She's gone to the docks." I check my watch. Thirty minutes until the deadline. "She's going after Conor herself."

"That's suicide."

"You think I don't know that?" I grab my gun and check the clip. "She watched her son get kidnapped. She blames me. Us. The whole fucking Donovan family."

"And she's right."

I stop and look at my brother. For once, he drops his mask, showing the guilt underneath.

"We need to move." I tuck the gun into my waistband. "Now."

Cormac nods. "My men are already in position around the shipyard. But if we storm in?—"

"They'll kill Conor and Maeve on sight." I pace the room, mind racing. "I need to go in first, alone, like they wanted. Create a distraction."

"That's exactly what Petrov wants."

"I don't give a fuck what Petrov wants. This is about my son. My woman."

Cormac looks at me for a long moment. "You love her that much? After all this time?"

"I never stopped."

He picks up his phone. "I'll tell the men to hold position until you're inside. Ten minutes, then we move in."

"Make it five." I check the bulletproof vest under my shirt. "I've got a feeling we're running out of time."

The ride to the docks is silent. Finn drives, his face grim in the rearview mirror. I load extra ammo into my pockets, ignoring the throbbing in my shoulder. The doctor wanted to give me painkillers. I refused. I need a clear head.

"Declan." Cormac's voice breaks through my thoughts. "If it comes down to a choice?—"

"I know." I cut him off. "Conor comes first. Always."

He nods, satisfied. We understand each other in this, at least. Family above all.

We park a quarter-mile from the shipyard entrance. I check my phone one last time—still no word from Maeve.

"Five minutes," I remind Cormac. "Not a second longer."

"Be careful." He grips my good shoulder. "Bring them home."

I walk toward the entrance, hands visible, gun hidden at my back. Two men step out of the shadows to meet me, weapons drawn.

"Donovan," one of them says with a thick Russian accent. "You came alone. Smart man."

"Where's my son?"

He smiles, revealing a gold tooth. "Inside. Mr. Petrov is waiting."

They pat me down, finding the gun at my back.

"Insurance," I say with a shrug.

The gold-tooth man laughs and takes it. "You won't need this."

They miss the knife in my boot. Amateurs.

The main warehouse is dim, the high windows filthy from years of neglect. I look around for Conor and Maeve. Nothing but an empty chair is in the center under one light.

A tall figure walks out from the darkness. Andrei Petrov. Photos don't do justice to the ice in his eyes.

"Declan Donovan." His English is perfect, no trace of an accent. "At last, we meet properly."

"Where's my son?"

He tilts his head. "Straight to business. Very well." He nods to someone behind me. "Bring the boy."

I wait, muscles tense, for Conor to appear. But the man who steps forward is empty-handed.

"He's gone," the man says in Russian, which Petrov doesn't know I understand. "The woman took him."

Petrov's face darkens. "What woman?"

"The mother. She broke in, shot Yuri, and took the boy."

Relief hits me hard. Maeve got Conor out. They're gone. They're alive.

I hide my reaction and laugh instead.

"Looks like you just lost your leverage," I tell Petrov. "My son's not here. My woman took him back."

"Impossible," Petrov snaps, but I see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"She's a mother protecting her child." I take a step toward him. "You fucked with the wrong family."

Petrov pulls a gun, aiming it at my chest. "You still came. That means I still have something to bargain with."

"I didn't come to bargain." I move closer. "I came to end this."

Five minutes. That's what I promised Cormac. I need to keep Petrov talking until then.

"Do you know what your sister meant to me?" Petrov asks, his voice dropping. "She was the only person who understood what it means to be cast aside, overlooked."

"Siobhan's insane. She always was."

"She's brilliant. Visionary. She saw what your brother couldn't—that the future belongs to those bold enough to take it."

I scoff. "She's a jealous bitch who couldn't stand that our father chose Cormac to run things instead of her."

Petrov's face hardens. "Your father was a fool. Just like Cormac. Just like you."

"Maybe. But I'm still standing here. And soon, you won't be."

Confusion crosses his face. "What are you?—"

The windows explode inward. Smoke grenades hit the floor, hissing as they release thick clouds. Cormac's men, right on time.

I dive for cover as gunfire erupts. Petrov fires wildly, the bullet hitting the concrete where I stood a second ago. His men scatter, yelling in Russian and firing blindly through the smoke.

I pull the knife from my boot and move through the smoke. I spot one of Petrov's guards just ahead of me. I drive the knife into his neck before he even knows I'm there. He drops without a sound.

Around me, Cormac's men fight Petrov's, precise and deadly. I stay low, looking for Petrov in the chaos.

I spot him heading for a side door, two guards covering him. I follow, ducking behind shipping containers and old equipment.

Outside, the night air is crisp, the sounds of gunfire muffled behind us. Petrov moves toward a waiting car, his guards checking the perimeter.

I strike the first guard from behind, using my knife to slash across his hamstring. He crashes to the ground with a howl. Before the second guard can turn, I'm on him, driving my fist into his throat. He staggers back, choking.

Petrov pulls his gun again, but I'm already moving. I tackle him to the ground, the impact sending a wave of pain through my injured shoulder. We roll across the gravel, fighting for control.

He's strong, but I've spent years in fighting rings. I pin him down, my knife at his throat.

"Wait," he gasps. "We can make a deal."

"I don't make deals with men who threaten my family."

"Your sister—I can tell you where she is. Cormac lied to you."

I press the knife harder, drawing blood. "What are you talking about?"

"She's not in any facility. He's keeping her at the old hunting lodge. Ask yourself why."

My hand stops. Could Cormac have lied? No. This is just Petrov trying to save himself.

"You're lying."

"Am I? Why would I lie when I'm about to die? Think, Donovan. Why would Cormac keep her alive when you asked him not to kill her? What does she know that he wants?"

The doubt creeps in. Cormac's always had his secrets, his own agenda. But he wouldn't lie to me. Not about this.

"You're out of time," I tell Petrov.

Fear flashes in his eyes. "Your brother's empire is built on blood. Your father's, his rivals', even family. You think you're different? You have the same darkness in you. I see it right now."

"I never claimed to be different." I lean closer. "But I protect what's mine."

His eyes widen as I drive the knife home. A quick, clean death. More than he deserves.

I stand, wiping the blade on my jeans. The gunfire inside has stopped. Either Cormac's men won, or they're all dead.

My phone rings—a number I don't recognize.

"Hello?"

"Declan." Maeve's voice, breathless with relief. "We're safe. Conor's with me."

"Where are you?"

"At a friend's house on the coast. Sarah's place, remember her?" She pauses. "I got him out. Before you arrived."

"I know. You scared the shit out of me."

"I couldn't wait. I couldn't let you walk into that trap alone."

"Where did you get a gun?" I ask, remembering what Petrov's man said.

She laughs, the sound tinged with hysteria. "From one of their offices. I climbed through an air vent like a fucking action movie."

"Jesus Christ, Maeve."

"I did what I had to do." Her voice hardens. "For our son."

Behind me, Cormac walks out of the warehouse. His men haul corpses. None of our guys are dead, thank fuck.

"It's over," I tell her. "Petrov's dead."

"Good."

"Stay where you are. I'll come to you."

"Declan." She hesitates. "Is it really over?"

I think of what Petrov said about Siobhan, about Cormac's lies. But now's not the time for those doubts.

"Yes," I say. "It's over. We can go home."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

I hang up and walk to Cormac, who's directing the cleanup. Bodies disappearing, evidence erased. The Donovan way.

"Maeve has Conor," I tell him. "They're safe."

Relief flashes across his face. "Good. Where?"

"Somewhere safe. I'm going to them now."

He nods. "And Petrov?"

I gesture to the body. "Done."

"Clean." He looks me over. "You're bleeding."

I look down at my shoulder. The stitches have torn, blood soaking through my shirt.

"It's fine."

"Get it looked at before you see the boy. He doesn't need more trauma."

I nod, though my mind is already racing ahead to Maeve, to Conor. To the questions Petrov planted.

"Cormac." I stop him as he turns to leave. "Siobhan. Where is she really?"

His face gives nothing away. "In a secure facility, like I told you."

"Which one?"

"Does it matter?"

"It might."

He looks at me for a long moment. "Let it go, Declan. She's where she needs to be."

"I want to see her."

"Why? After what she did to your family?"

"Because she's still our sister."

Cormac sighs. "Fine. When this is all cleaned up, I'll take you to her. But you won't like what you find."

I nod, satisfied for now. "I need to go to Maeve."

"Take Finn. And get that shoulder looked at first."

I drive toward the coast, Finn following in another car. Cormac's doctor patched me up and shot me full of painkillers I didn't want. My head feels foggy, but I push through it. I need to stay sharp. For Maeve. For Conor.

The address leads to a small cottage overlooking the sea. Lights glow in the windows, warm and welcoming. I park and sit for a moment, gathering my strength.

What do I say to them? How do I make this right?

The front door opens before I reach it. Maeve stands in the doorway, her face bruised, eyes red from crying. But she's alive. She's whole.

"Declan." My name on her lips is both a prayer and an accusation.

I cross to her and pull her into my arms. She tenses, then relaxes against me.

"I thought I'd lost you," I murmur into her hair. "Both of you."

"We got lucky." She pulls back to look at me. "You're hurt again."

"It's nothing."

She touches my face gently. "You look like hell."

"Feel like it too."

"Dad!"

Conor barrels into me, nearly knocking me over. I lift him with my good arm, holding him tight against my chest.

"Hey, buddy." My voice breaks. "You okay?"

He nods against my shoulder. "Mom saved me. She shot the bad guy, and we crawled through a tunnel. It was super dark."

I meet Maeve's eyes over his head. "Your mom's a hero."

"A crazy hero," she says with a tired smile. "Come inside. Sarah's making tea."

The cottage is small but cozy, with mismatched furniture and seashells on every surface. A woman with bright red hair waits in the kitchen, the kettle whistling.

"So, you're the famous Declan," she says, eyeing me up and down. "I thought you'd be taller."

"Sarah," Maeve warns.

"What? After all the drama, I expected something more impressive."

I can't help but laugh. "Sorry to disappoint."

"He's bleeding again," Maeve says, pointing to my shoulder. "Sarah, do you have a first aid kit?"

While Sarah patches me up, Maeve puts Conor to bed in a small room off the kitchen. He's exhausted, emotionally and physically, but refuses to sleep until I promise to stay.

"You won't leave again?" he asks, his small voice making my chest ache.

"Never." I kiss his forehead. "I promise."

Once he's asleep, Maeve leads me to a tiny living room overlooking the sea. The moon casts a silver path across the water. She stands at the window, arms wrapped around herself.

"Is it really over?" she asks, not turning around.

I move to stand behind her, resting my hands on her shoulders. "Petrov's dead. His men are scattered."

"What about your sister?"

"Cormac has her contained."

She turns to face me. "Contained how?"

"I'm not sure yet." I push her hair back from her face. "But I'm going to find out."

"And then what?"

"Then we start over. Somewhere new. Somewhere safe."

"Safe?" She shakes her head. "Your last name is still Donovan. That follows us everywhere."

"Then I'll change it. Or we'll move so far away nobody's heard of us. Whatever it takes."

She stares at me, looking for something in my face. "I killed a man today. For my son."

"I know."

"I'd do it again."

"I know that too."

She rests her head on my chest. "What does that make me?"

"A mother. A fighter." I tip her face up. "Mine."

"Yours." She sighs. "God help me."

I pull her to me and take her mouth. Hard. She bites my lip, drawing blood as she yanks me closer. I shove her against the wall, my hand finding its way under her shirt. Her skin burns against my palm. She moans into my mouth as I push my thigh between her legs.

"Fuck, I missed you," I mutter against her neck, tasting salt and fear on her skin.

She pulls my hair, forcing my head back. Her eyes are wild, pupils blown. "Don't leave me again."

We break apart at the sound of footsteps. Sarah stands in the doorway, arms crossed.

"If you two are going to tear each other's clothes off, at least wait until I'm asleep. The walls in this place are thin."

Maeve laughs, the sound surprising both of us. "We'll behave."

"Speak for yourself," I mutter, earning an elbow in the ribs.

Sarah rolls her eyes. "There's a guest room upstairs. Try not to bleed on my sheets."

After she leaves, Maeve leads me upstairs to a tiny room with a sloped ceiling and a bed that's barely big enough for both of us.

"Your friend doesn't like me much," I say as we settle under the covers.

"She doesn't trust Donovan’s." Maeve curls against my side, careful of my injured shoulder. "Can't blame her."

"And you? Do you trust me?"

She's quiet for a long moment. "I trust that you love us. That you'll try to protect us. But your world..." She shakes her head. "I don't know if I can live in it."

"Then we'll build a new one."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

She traces patterns on my chest, her touch sending warmth through my veins despite the exhaustion. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow. After I see Siobhan."

She lifts her head. "Why? After everything she did?"

"I need to know the truth. About her, about Cormac. About what I'm bringing you and Conor into."

"And if you don't like what you find?"

"Then we leave."

She settles back against me. "I want to go with you. To see her."

"Maeve—"

"She tried to take my son. I need to look her in the eye."

I know better than to argue. "Fine. But Conor stays with Sarah."

"Agreed."

We go quiet. Waves crash on the shore, pulling us toward sleep. But I need to tell her something first.

"Maeve?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for saving our son."

She presses a kiss to my chest. "We saved him together."

And in that moment, I believe her. We're a team now. A family. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together.

But as sleep claims me, Petrov's words echo in my mind. Why would Cormac keep Siobhan alive? What truth is he hiding?