Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CIAR
The glass from the window digs into my hand as I vault out of the first-floor window after Liam. It’s not the biggest drop I’ve launched myself out of. My boots hit the muddy grass as I land in a crouch with a thud, looking up to see Liam sprinting away.
“Fucker,” I growl and break out into a run that would’ve made me win cross country the way I should’ve.
He’s fast. Faster than I expected for someone who looks like he survives on charm and cheap vodka. But I’m faster. Adrenaline and rage are a hell of a cocktail, and right now, I’m drunk on both.
Liam cuts left, heading towards the tree line that borders the campus. Smart. He thinks he can lose me in the woods. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve hunted men through worse terrain than this. Men who were better trained, better armed, and a hell of a lot more motivated to survive.
I push harder, closing the distance. He doesn’t glance back, meaning he’s a pro. He isn’t some lowlife crim that Sorcha picked up on the streets. He has been playing her this entire time. The question is, does she know? I wasn’t hanging around waiting to find out.
Liam hits the tree line and plunges into the shadows. I’m seconds behind him, the branches whipping at my face as I barrel through. The light dims instantly, the canopy overhead blocking out the gloomy daylight.
Everything goes silent, except for me crashing through the trees.
I slow my pace, letting my breathing even out and come to a stop to listen. No crunch of leaves, no snap of twigs. Nothing. Either Liam’s gone to ground or he’s circling back, and I don’t like either option.
I scan the dense undergrowth, my eyes adjusting to the gloom. The trees are ancient here, their trunks thick and gnarled, offering a thousand hiding spots. Rain drips from the canopy above, a steady patter that masks any sound he might make.
A flicker of movement to my right catches my attention. I turn, but it’s just a branch swaying in the breeze. My jaw clenches. He’s toying with me, or he’s already gone. Either way, I’m not leaving empty-handed.
I move deeper into the woods, my footsteps deliberate and quiet now.
The MacMahon family didn’t build an empire by being sloppy, and I sure as fuck didn’t earn my ink by losing targets.
Every kill I’ve made is carved into my skin, a permanent record of my brutality. Liam is about to become the next notch.
A sound behind me makes me spin, but there’s nothing there. My pulse kicks up. He’s better than I thought. The realisation pisses me off more than it should.
I spin at the sound of an approach, but it’s just Axl. “Is he dead?”
“Nah, he’s gone. He’s not a street rat, that I can tell you for free.”
“He’s an Ahearne,” Axl replies. “Sorcha just confirmed.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “That bastard.”
“Yeah, and our suspicions were correct. They’re trying to pin down the only Gannon female without an affiliation.”
“If they are, then others will be coming, if they haven’t already.
” The Ahearne name carries weight in this world.
Almost as much, if not more than, the Gannon name.
They are old blood, old brutality, the kind of family that’s been carving up Ireland for centuries.
If they’re making a play for Sorcha, we’re not just dealing with some opportunistic prick trying to get his dick wet. This is strategic. Calculated.
“Cillian?” I ask, already moving back out of the woods. Liam is long gone; there is no point wasting any more time tracking him in here.
“With her.” Axl falls into step beside me, his expression unreadable, but his body language screams violence barely contained. “She’s pissed off but unhurt. Apparently, Liam got handsy, she pulled a knife on him, then we crashed the party.”
“Good girl,” I mutter, pride swelling in my chest despite the fury still pumping through my veins. She held her own, just like I knew she would. “We need to get her back to the townhouse. Now.”
“Agreed. If she is the prize to be laid out on a silver platter, this also brings up the question of those willing to pay for her.”
My stomach twists. I’d also had the same thought. She is a sitting duck, waiting for anyone to snatch her and hold her up for auction.
We emerge from the tree line and set off at a jog back to Sorcha’s flat.
We find Cillian boarding up the window with bits of cardboard he must’ve found in the skip at the back of the building.
It’s not perfect, but it will stop the elements from coming in and causing more damage.
It’s practical. It’s Cillian all over. He is a silent storm ready to snap, but this work occupies his hands and his mind while Sorcha paces up and down.
She stops when she sees us enter the flat. I see the tension in her shoulders ease slightly when she recognises me, though her eyes are still wild with adrenaline. “Did you get him?” she demands, her voice sharp.
“He’s gone,” I admit. “But we know who he is now.”
“Fucker,” she spits the name like poison. “He played me from the fucking start.”
I cross the room to her, my hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her close enough that I can feel her trembling. “He made a mistake showing his hand.”
Her hand rests loosely around her throat, and I frown, pulling it back. There are red marks where he must’ve gripped her. “He hurt you. I’m going to rip his fucking spine out through his mouth,” I growl.
“Get in line,” Sorcha says, pulling back to look at me. Her blue eyes are ice and fire.
I’ve never seen her like this. Pure, undiluted rage simmers beneath the surface of her skin.
It’s not the defensive anger she wields like a weapon when she’s backed into a corner.
This is something colder, more calculated.
This is a woman who’s just realised she’s been played, and she’s ready to burn the underworld to the ground.
“We need to move,” Axl says, his voice cutting through the tension. “This flat’s compromised. If Liam knows about it, others do too.”
Sorcha nods. “Agreed. This is bigger than I thought. There could be…” She trails off.
“Yeah, we already thought about that,” I state, not sugar-coating shit for her. “You are a target not just for the families but for those creeps looking to make a quick and very large amount of money.”
“I wish I’d never started this,” she mutters quietly, but I hear her anyway.
“What? Chose to become a Gannon?”
She nods, avoiding my gaze. “It’s done nothing but cause me trouble. I thought it would open doors, instead, all it’s done is paint a target on my back.”
“It’s your name,” Axl says. “It’s who you are, regardless of whether you were brought up in Oisin’s house or not. You have every right to it.”
“That’s not really the point, though, is it?” She chews the inside of her cheek. “I’m in over my head.”
“Yeah, you are,” I say bluntly, because lying to her serves no purpose. “But you’re not drowning. Not on our watch.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, something raw and vulnerable flickering across her face before she locks it down. “I’m sorry I brought this to your doorstep.”
I stare at her, my chest tightening at the apology. She thinks this is her fault. Like she asked for any of this shit. Like choosing her own fucking name is something she should regret.
“Don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t apologise for being who you are. This isn’t on you. This is on every bastard who thinks they can use you as a bargaining chip.”
“Ciar’s right,” Cillian says, finally turning away from his makeshift window repair. “You didn’t bring this to us. We chose you. We claimed you. That makes this our fight.”
“Our war,” Axl adds. “And we don’t lose wars, we start them.”
Sorcha looks between the three of us, and I watch the internal battle play out across her face. Pride warring with pragmatism. Independence fighting against the reality that she needs us. Finally, she exhales, long and slow. “I don’t want to be locked away. Please don’t make that choice for me.”
Her plea makes me frown. “Why would you think we’d do that?”
“To keep me safe…” She trails off as her words don’t seem to make sense to her either.
“We will never dim your flame, Sorcha. When will you get it through that pretty, yet very thick head of yours?” I ask, feeling weary with this attitude she has, where she is still fighting us, not trusting us.
“If you decide to go about your normal life, we aren’t going to stop you.
But what you need to realise is that you can’t stop us from protecting you.
If we have to follow you to the bathroom, then that is what’s going to happen. ”
“Hardly a normal life then, is it?” she scoffs. “What’s the alternative? I hole up in the townhouse, and Axl brings me my homework?”
I shake my head, frustration mounting. “The alternative is you accept that your life has changed. That you’re not some lone wolf scrapping for survival in Dublin anymore. You’re a Gannon. You’re ours. That means protection, whether you like the aesthetics of it or not.”
“You can still go to lectures,” Axl says, ever the pragmatist. “You can still train, still eat in the dining hall, still do whatever the fuck you want. But one of us will be with you. Always.”
She closes her eyes, her jaw working as she processes. When she opens them again, something has shifted. Not surrender exactly, but acceptance. “I get it. Nothing’s changed with regard to you training me. If there’s a war coming, I want to be ready for it.”
“Good,” Cillian says, a dark satisfaction in his voice. “Because we’re going to train you until you can drop any fucker who comes at you with your fists alone.”
I lock gazes with him, and he nods. I turn to Axl, and he nods too. We know what we have to do.
“You are ours, Sorcha. No one will take you away from us. But St. Bart’s needs a clear message.”
“What’s that?”
“That this three-headed demon just grew a fourth head.”