Chapter 10
Kori
Sliding into the back seat next to a half-naked man I just dug out of the sand was definitely not on my Irish vacation bingo card. Yet here I am.
“So,” I say, trying to sound casual while my heart hammers against my ribs, “do you guys bury each other often, or is this a special occasion?”
Rory snorts from the driver’s seat. “Kane’s a special case.”
“I’m the black sheep of the family,” Kane explains, looking far too comfortable for someone wearing nothing but sand-crusted boxers and a t-shirt. “Every clan needs one.”
“And every black sheep needs a beach burial?” I counter.
“Only the alcoholic ones,” Rory calls back cheerfully.
I turn to study Kane, who’s busy shaking sand from his long hair. “So, your family’s solution to alcoholism is... attempted murder by sand?”
He grins, and I hate that it’s actually a nice grin—crooked and mischievous. “Technically, it’s more like extreme exfoliation.”
“With a side of psychological torture,” I add.
“You’re catching on quickly, airplane girl.”
The car bumps along the coastal road, and I suddenly remember I’m voluntarily sitting in a vehicle with mobsters. Despite their denial, the MacGallan name is well known. I clutch my metal detector tighter, wondering if it would make an effective weapon.
“So, um, when you said MacGallan family...” I begin carefully.
“We’re in import-export,” Rory says quickly.
“Right. And what exactly do you import and export?” I ask.
Kane leans in, his shoulder pressing against mine. “Hopes and dreams, Kori. Hopes and dreams.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not suspicious at all.”
“Look,” Kane says, suddenly serious, “we’re not going to hurt you. We’re just visiting the family castle to look for... something.”
“Something related to Russians?” I can’t help asking.
“You ask a lot of questions for someone who was sobbing on an international flight,” Kane observes.
I feel my cheeks burn. “I wasn’t sobbing. I was... dealing with allergies.”
“To what? Happiness?”
“To cheating husbands, and backstabbing sisters, actually,” I snap before I can stop myself.
The car falls silent. Rory meets my eyes in the rearview mirror with a sympathetic wince. Kane shifts beside me, his sandy leg brushing against my jeans.
“Sorry,” he says quietly. “That was a dick move.”
“It’s fine,” I mumble, turning to stare out the window at the passing landscape. Rolling green hills dotted with sheep stretch to the horizon, the perfect backdrop for my emotional breakdown with strangers.
After a moment, Kane clears his throat. “For what it’s worth, he’s an idiot.”
“Who?”
“Your husband. Anyone who’d cheat on you is clearly brain damaged.”
I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you rescued a strange man from a sandy grave instead of running away screaming. That says a lot.”
“It says I have terrible judgment,” I counter.
Kane grins. “Or excellent taste in men.”
Despite everything, I find myself smiling back. There’s something oddly comforting about Kane’s company—maybe because he’s so clearly a disaster himself that I feel less alone in my own mess. Yeah, that has to be it.
The lead car turns down a narrow lane, and Rory follows.
Through the windshield, I catch glimpses of a stone castle, now in ruins, perched on a bluff overlooking the sea.
It’s beautiful in that ancient, weathered way that only Irish buildings can manage—like it grew out of the very earth rather than being built upon it.
“Home sweet home,” Kane murmurs as we pull up behind the other car.
Everyone piles out, and I suddenly feel very out of place. A tall auburn-haired woman—Kat, I remember from the plane—does a double-take when she sees me.
“Kane, tell me you didn’t kidnap the crying woman from the flight,” she says, exasperated.
“I wasn’t crying!” I protest automatically.
“She rescued me,” Kane explains, gesturing to his sandy, half-naked state. “After they buried me and left me to die.”
“We left you to sober up,” Declan corrects, approaching with keys in hand. “Which clearly didn’t work since you’ve now dragged a civilian into family business.”
“I’m not dragging her anywhere,” Kane says, throwing an arm around my shoulders. Sand sprinkles down my neck, and I try not to squirm. “She’s my emotional support human.”
“I’m nobody’s emotional support anything,” I objected, ducking out from under his arm. “And I was promised this would only take an hour.”
Wren approaches, her expression kinder than the others. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve had a rough morning.”
“Finding him buried on the beach will do that,” I say dryly.
She smiles. “Fair enough. In case you forgot, I’m Wren, by the way. We met briefly on the plane.”
“Kori,” I reply, though she probably already knows this.
“Well, Kori,” Declan interrupts, “as lovely as this is, we have private family business to attend to. Kane can bring you back to your cottage once he’s put some actual clothes on.” He looks at Kane and points to the car he’d been driving. “Your clothes are in there.”
“Fine by me,” I say, relief washing over me. What was I thinking, coming here with these people?
But as everyone heads toward the ruins, Kane hangs back, grabbing my hand. His rings are cold against my skin.
“Don’t leave yet,” he says quietly. “Please.”
“Why not?” I ask, confused by his sudden intensity.
He glances toward the castle, then back to me. “Because I have a horrible feeling about what we’re going to find in there, and I could use someone on my side when it all goes to shit.”
There’s something vulnerable in his eyes that catches me off guard—a glimpse of the man beneath the drunken bravado. Before I can respond, Declan calls from up ahead.
“Kane! Get in the car and put some damn pants on!”
He gives my hand a quick squeeze before releasing it. “Just wait? Ten minutes, tops.”
I should say no. I should demand to be taken back to Wavecrest immediately. Instead, I find myself nodding. “Ten minutes. Then I’m hitchhiking back if I have to.”
He flashes that crooked grin again. “That’s the spirit, airplane girl.”
As he jogs toward the car, I lean against the rental that Rory was driving and wonder what exactly I’ve gotten myself into. The wind whips my choppy hair around my face, and I pull my jacket tighter around me.
Ten minutes later, he emerges from the back seat of the car, and my breath catches in my throat.
I’m not prepared for the transformation.
The man who emerges from the backseat looks nothing like the sand-encrusted disaster I dug up.
Kane has traded his wet boxers for dark jeans that hang just right on his hips, and a charcoal Henley that stretches across his shoulders, making my mouth go dry.
His dark hair, now free of sand, falls in damp waves around a face that belongs on the cover of ‘Irish Bad Boys Monthly’ — if such a magazine existed. Which it absolutely should.
“Better?” he asks, spreading his arms for inspection.
“You’re wearing pants,” I manage to say. “So that’s an improvement.”
He grins, and I notice a dimple I hadn’t seen before.
Great. As if I needed another reason to stare at him.
The man is walking trouble wrapped in tattoos and blessed with cheekbones that could cut glass.
And I’m noticing all this while still technically married to a cheating scumbag. What does that say about me?
“You’re staring,” he points out, looking far too pleased with himself.
“I’m making sure there’s no sand in your ears,” I lie, feeling heat creep up my neck. “Wouldn’t want you getting an infection.”
“Right. My ears. That’s definitely where you were looking.”
“Shut up and take me to your castle, Murphy,” I say, pushing off from the car. “Your ten minutes started five minutes ago.”
He laughs and gestures toward the ruins with an exaggerated bow. “After you, m’lady.”
“I’m nobody’s lady,” I mutter, but start walking anyway.
The ruins are more impressive up close—ancient stone walls reaching toward the sky, archways that have somehow withstood centuries of Irish storms. The ground is uneven beneath my feet, and Kane catches my elbow when I stumble over a loose stone.
“Careful,” he says, his hand lingering longer than necessary. “Place is a death trap.”
“Comforting,” I reply, trying to ignore how warm his fingers feel against my skin.
We find the others gathered in what must have once been the great hall. A massive fireplace dominates one wall, easily large enough for me to stand in. Everyone is clustered around it, staring at something on the ground.
“What’d I miss?” Kane asks as we approach.
Declan turns, his expression grim. “We found a loose stone.”
I hang back, suddenly feeling like the intruder I am. These people are clearly dealing with something serious, and here I am, tagging along like some tourist who wandered off the path.
“What’s under it?” Kane asks, moving closer.
Wren looks up, her eyes widening slightly when she notices me. “Kori, you’re here!”
“She’s fine,” Kane says dismissively. “What did you find?”
Rory gestures to the stone floor where a rectangular slab has been pushed aside, revealing stone steps that disappear into the darkness.
“Have any of you ventured down there?” Kane asks, kneeling beside the opening.
“We were waiting for you,” Declan says. “Since you’re the one who saw my dad with the Russian.”
Kane stands up, pulls his cellphone from his pocket, turns on the flashlight, then puts his foot on the first step, but hesitates as he glances back at me. “Maybe you should wait here for this part.”
“Why?” I ask, crossing my arms. “Afraid I’ll see something I shouldn’t?”
“Yes, actually,” he admits with surprising honesty.
“Nothing can top finding a man buried alive,” I remind him. “I think I can do dark steps.”
The others exchange looks, having one of those silent family conversations that exclude outsiders. Finally, Declan sighs.
“Fine. But anything you see or hear stays between us. Understood?”