Chapter 2
Chapter Two
KIERAN
My muscles are on fire, and sweat drips into my eyes, but I only push harder, gritting my teeth and grunting like a wild animal as I finish my set of squats.
Music blares through the speakers in my home gym, though I barely register the lyrics.
I’m too busy focusing on the weight resting on my back. It’s more than I would normally lift, but I’m not about to give up now.
I can’t afford to become complacent in any area of my life and give my older brother another reason to doubt me.
After finishing my set and racking the bar, I lift up the hem of my shirt and rub it over my face to soak up some of the sweat. My chest is burning, and my quads might as well be a pair of tree trunks, but the pain only makes me smile.
Maybe that makes me a masochist, but I don’t care.
I don’t bother stretching. Instead, I shut off the music, grab my phone, and head down the hall toward the main living area of my penthouse.
The coffee pot is already empty, considering I’ve been awake since four A.M., and I could just beat myself to a pulp for not putting on a fresh pot before I did my workout. Sleep is something of a luxury these days, considering the fact that someone put a bright red target on my back.
The bomb beneath my car at Ronan’s wedding and the failed attack at the safe house have been playing on my mind for what feels like weeks.
Every waking moment I have is spent trying to track down the fucker who decided to mess with me. But joke’s on them because as much as I like feeling pain, I like dishing it out even more.
When I get my hands on them, I’ll make sure to make that fact known.
My stomach growls, but just as I turn to the kitchen to start making breakfast, my phone starts buzzing in the pocket of my workout shorts.
“Seriously, Ronan?”
But as I look at my phone, the notifications tell me the messages aren’t from Ronan but from some random girl I hooked up with the other night.
I don’t remember giving her my number. Didn’t even care enough to learn her name.
Blonde chick-The Salt Rock: The other night was fun, wanna do it again sometime? I’m off work tonight if you’re free? Xxx
I don’t consider replying. I’m not usually one for double dipping, so I delete the message before blocking the contact. I feel kind of bad for doing it, but it seems these girls don’t get the message any other way.
I’m not a relationship guy. I never have been, and honestly, I don’t think I ever will be. And that suits me fine.
Setting my phone down on the marble countertop, I open the fridge and start pulling out some supplies for breakfast.
It buzzes again.
“I swear to God…” I snatch it up.
Only, this time, it’s not a hookup I’ve forgotten about. It’s my security system letting me know that a black Mercedes has pulled into my underground garage.
It seems my oldest brother has decided to pay me an early morning visit.
I’m cracking my eggs into a pan when the elevator doors ping open, and Ronan strolls in, followed by Brennan.
Brennan scoffs. “Couldn’t have showered first?”
“I wasn’t expecting company.” I shoot Ronan a glare.
“Ciara needs the peace and quiet.” He shrugs before taking a seat on one of the metal stools tucked beneath the kitchen island.
“And I don’t?”
Brennan picks up the empty pot and waves it around. “You’re out of coffee.”
He opens it again and looks inside as if it might have suddenly magically refilled itself.
I narrow my eyes at Ronan. “You could have at least left him behind.”
“He’s like a sad puppy. He just gives me those eyes, and I can’t say no.”
I clap Ronan on the shoulder. “You’ve gone soft, brother. You’re going to have to work on that before those kids of yours arrive; otherwise you’ll be royally fucked. But at least you’ve gotten some solid practice in with this one over here.”
I snatch the coffee pot out of Brennan’s hand before he can break it and get to work fixing us a fresh pot.
From the serious look on Ronan’s face, I have a feeling we’re going to need it.
As he works, and I finish making my breakfast, I only half listen to their conversation. Most of the time, Ronan only talks about Ciara, which is both cute and nauseating.
I’m glad he’s happy, but I also wish he didn’t have to rub his happiness in my goddamn face all the time.
Brennan smirks. “I still can’t believe you’re going to have two kids. I would have put money on Kieran knocking someone up first.”
I plate up my food. “Ronan’s always got to be the first at everything.”
The fucker puffs up his chest. “Damn right!”
Brennan shakes his head. “Is Cormac on his way?”
“Cormac’s coming?” The words come out harsher than I intended, but I don’t care.
I’ve stopped trying to hide my distaste when it comes to Cormac.
“He is our brother, too, Kieran.”
“Like I give a fuck. What I don’t understand is how you two don’t have a problem with him. He disappeared for years, and then suddenly shows up the second our father is in the ground? A little too convenient if you ask me.”
Brennan shrugs. “Yeah, but I mean, it’s not like he’s going to take over as head of the family.”
“He could have if everyone else was out of the way.” I shoot Ronan a look, but he blatantly ignores me.
“So could you. And all it would take would be for Ronan to fall. Hm, this shit is good.” Brennan scarfs down another mouthful.
“Quit stealing my breakfast.” I snatch my plate away.
Ronan scoffs. “If you’re done playing chef, we need to get to work.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for His Highness to grace us with his presence?”
Ronan shakes his head. “No need. He’s just pulling into the garage now.”
“Remind me to change the code,” I say under my breath, and Brennan chuckles.
The coffee in my mug is cold, but I keep sipping it anyway.
I lounge back in my armchair, surveying Ronan as he stands with his arms crossed and his eyes fixed on the whiteboard behind my couch.
It's full of names and places and lines that connect what feels like everything and nothing at the same time.
"It still doesn’t make sense," Brennan mutters from where he perches on the arm of the other armchair. "Finn won’t talk to any of us. Not even after what Cormac did to his hand."
Ronan looks at Cormac. “What the hell did you do to his hand?”
Cormac just leans against the bar with a bored look on his face.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from grinning like a Cheshire cat.
One thing I love more than giving Cormac a hard time is Ronan giving Cormac a hard time.
But Cormac doesn’t even blink at the murderous glare Ronan is giving him. "I didn’t break anything."
Brennan’s chin almost drops to the floor. "You dislocated two of his fingers.”
"So? I reset them again. I think he’ll survive.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The headache is already building behind my eyes—not the kind I normally get from too much booze or too little sleep.
It’s the kind that comes with dealing with my brothers’ shit for way too long.
"Focus. Sean O'Keefe is the only one who makes sense for Finn to be linked to. "
Ronan holds up a finger. "He’s the only one who almost makes sense. We don’t have anything solid on him, just speculation and the fact that he used to work with Liam Kelly."
Brennan frowns. "Liam Kelly… The one who kidnapped Mila?”
“The very one.” Ronan’s expression darkens.
No doubt he’s remembering how close Ciara came to being the one to shoot him dead.
“So, you just want to assume Sean is innocent because we don’t have solid proof?” I scoff.
Ronan shakes his head. "I’m not saying Sean’s innocent. But Finn hasn’t confirmed a damn thing. He hasn’t denied it either, which tells me he’s scared."
"So, scare him more."
Brennan laughs under his breath.
"We already tried that, Kieran,” Cormac retorts. “He’s more scared of whoever he’s working for than us."
"Then we bring in Lorcan."
Ronan’s voice turns sharp. "Lorcan’s in Ireland. He left two days ago.”
What? “Why?”
“Some great-aunt is dying, and he wanted to say his goodbyes to her.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah. He’ll be home in a week, so if we haven’t gotten through to Finn by then, we’ll bring in Lorcan.”
“I understand the need to be there for family, but the timing sucks.” I shake my head. “A week might be too late."
Ronan narrows his eyes at me. "Then we make the week count, instead of bitching about it."
My fists clench, but I force myself to keep quiet, to hide my annoyance.
No matter how good of a point I make, Ronan always has to be the one to make the final call, and I’m sick of it.
It’s always like this with him. The barking tone, the orders, the assumption that we all fall in line because he said so. Because he’s the oldest. Because our father put him in charge.
Never mind that I’ve bled just as much as him and fought just as hard, maybe harder.
I was the punching bag, the one expected not only to dish out the punishment but also to bear it.
Every bruise, every cut, every bullet hole, I wore them with pride because Ronan and I were a family. A team.
But as time went by, my father kept making sure I knew my place was beneath my brother.
He is the oldest, the only one who is worthy of notice.
I’ve lived every year of my life trying to prove I’m not second best, that I’m here too, that I deserve a chance at being seen. But it never mattered.
To our father, I was always the second son, nothing more than the backup. The spare to the heir.
Sure, I could fight, but I’ve never been the one trusted to lead. Ronan was the one who got that particular crown.
And though deep down I know it’s not his fault, the truth is, the fact that he stayed silent and allowed it to happen was like a betrayal. And the resentment has only grown with time.
The fact that he now acts like our leader, our boss, instead of our brother, our equal, our partner, only makes me resent him more.
Cormac looks at Ronan. "So what? We keep watching O’Keefe?"
"Exactly. Cormac, Brennan, I want you to tail him. Don’t let him out of your sight.”
"And what about me? What's my task, big brother?"
Ronan levels me with a look. "You? You keep your damn head down."
I stare at him, stunned for a second. Then I laugh. "You're joking."
"You’ve been targeted twice in the past month, Kieran. Whoever’s pulling strings is aiming for you. You need to start locking your doors."
"I am the fucking door."
"This isn’t about pride. This is about staying alive."
"You think I give a shit about dying? Let the fuckers come. In fact, I want them to come. I'm not afraid."
"That’s exactly the problem."
"What about Declan’s crew?" Brennan, always trying to keep the peace, steers the conversation back to business. "Any noise from his kid?"
Ronan shakes his head. "Oscar’s been silent, and I expect him to stay that way. He won’t make a move."
I look him straight in the eye. "Are you sure about that?"
He shrugs. "Oscar’s not built for war."
"I wouldn’t be so sure. The death of a parent changes you."
The silence that follows is heavier than before.
They know I’m right. We all felt that in our soul when our father was murdered in front of us.
Well, not Cormac. He wasn’t there, of course.
Apparently, he is too good to stay close to us, and as soon as Dad dies, he waltzes right back.
Like we’re supposed to just let him take his place as if he was here all along.
Brennan lowers his eyes. "I still hear him, sometimes.”
Cormac doesn’t speak, but his expression turns solemn. He might not have been here, but he feels the loss, too.
Ronan stares into space, as if lost in his own grief for a moment.
A familiar weight settles on my chest, and as grief swallows me, an even more suffocating pressure that I can’t seem to shift pulls at me.
I carry this family on my back just as much as Ronan does, but it’s never enough. I’m never enough.
Never will be fucking enough.
I look around the room at my brothers, at the maps and lists and half-drunk whiskey glasses, at the cluttered violence of our lives, and something twists in my chest.
This used to be easier, but lately, it feels like we’re barely keeping our heads above water.
"If we’re done here, I’ve got shit to do." I climb to my feet.
Ronan doesn’t stop me. After all, he's given me my orders and expects me to just blindly follow them.
But at some point, he’s going to learn that he’s not always right, and I just have to hope that I’ll still be standing when it all falls apart.