Dirty Delivery (Bound & Delivered #1)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rylan

The warmth of the pub wraps around us like a familiar embrace, the lively hum of conversation filling the air. Savannah sits across from me, looking around with a curious expression, her eyes dancing over the rustic charm of the place. For a moment, I feel at ease—until I spot Declan striding toward us.

“Well, well,” Declan begins, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. “So this is the girl who’s got my little brother dragging his arse in here like a proper gentleman.”

Savannah blinks and glances between us as Declan claps me on the shoulder. “Pleasure to meet you, Savannah.” Declan’s grin widens. “Don’t let Rylan fool you—he’s been trouble since the day he could walk.”

I roll my eyes and groan. “Don’t you have a bar to run?”

“This is running the bar,” Declan counters, smirking. “Making sure my baby brother doesn’t scare away the clientele.”

Savannah chuckles softly. A blush creeps up her cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Declan. The pub is beautiful.”

“Ah, she’s got good taste,” Declan says with a wink. “Take care of her, Rylan—or I’ll do it for you.”

With that, he saunters off, leaving a trail of laughter in his wake. Savannah turns her attention back to me with a soft expression. “Tell me about this place,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “It feels . . . special.”

I take a sip of my beer, my gaze sweeping the room, and I’m still captivated by the magic of this place, even after all these years. “It’s been in our family for generations. My grandpa built it after immigrating from Ireland. It was his dream—something he wanted to leave behind for his family. When he passed, it became my dad’s.”

Her eyes widen, genuine interest lighting up her face. “And now Declan runs it?”

“Yeah,” I reply, my voice softening. “After Da passed, Declan stepped up. I worked here for a while, but . . . it wasn’t really my thing. Declan turned it into more than just a pub—it’s become a safe haven for the family’s operations.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “You don’t talk about your family much.”

“There’s not much to say,” I deflect, shrugging. “But this place? It’s the heart of what we are. Good memories. Bad ones, too. It’s all here.”

Savannah nods, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. The tension between us feels lighter—like maybe, just maybe, we can steal this moment away from everything that’s chasing us.

But out of the corner of my eye, I spot someone who doesn’t belong. A man with slicked-back dark hair, dressed far too sharply for the rustic charm of the pub, is talking to Savannah’s friends. His suit screams money, but it’s his presence that sets me on edge.

Our gazes lock, and the man’s lips curve into a smug, knowing grin. A chill races down my spine.

Savannah notices my change in demeanor. “What’s wrong?” Her voice is tinged with concern.

“We need to leave. Now,” I say, my voice tight.

“What? Why?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I lock eyes with Declan, who immediately stiffens. He gives me a subtle nod before disappearing toward the back, his jovial demeanor replaced with sharp focus.

Standing, I grab Savannah’s hand and pull her to her feet. “Stay close to me, mo stóirín,” I mutter, my tone leaving no room for argument.

She stumbles slightly as I weave us through the crowd toward the kitchens, her confusion and alarm evident in the way her large eyes dart around. Her hand tightens on mine, a silent plea for explanation or reassurance, but I press forward urgency driving my every step . The noise of the pub fades as I push open a hidden panel disguised as part of the kitchen wall. Behind it, a narrow staircase spirals downward, the air growing cooler with each step.

At the bottom, Declan is already waiting, his expression grim. He tosses me a set of keys. “Take the Rover,” he says curtly. “It’ll hold.”

I nod and guide Savannah toward the SUV Declan had our guys deck out and all but turn it into a military grade tank. The black Range Rover is parked in the last spot of the underground garage. She hesitates. Her body trembles as she climbs into the passenger seat. Her eyes search mine, desperate for answers.

“Rylan,” she whispers. “What’s going on?”

I pause, my hand on the doorframe. Meeting her gaze, I soften my tone. “They found us. That guy at the bar—he’s with the Castillos.”

Her breath catches. “The ones looking for me?”

“Yeah. But you’re safe with me. I promise.”

As I round the front of the car and slide into the driver’s seat, I catch Declan scanning the road the garage exits onto to ensure it's clear, but his body language shifts abruptly into something all too familiar—the "someone's about to die" vibe that can make even the toughest man piss his pants. He's already reaching for his phone, his movements sharp and deliberate. The moment we pull out of the garage, tension consumes my body. In the rearview mirror, a pair of headlights appear, too close and too deliberate.

“Are we being followed?” Savannah asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” I say grimly and grip the wheel tighter. “Hold on, mo stóirín. This isn’t over.”