Chapter 12 Sean
SEAN
The call came while I was in the study, going through the Connelly business holdings for the umpteenth time and trying to make sense of all the numbers and legal jargon.
I’m no idiot, but I didn’t go to fucking business school.
I finished high school while I was training to be an assassin for the Council. I’m no CEO, that’s for sure.
I was only half paying attention when I picked up the phone, but the instant that Jack, my head of security, started speaking, everything else fell away.
“I got a call from Cole. Shots were fired out on the trail. Mrs. Flannery is safe but injured."
Everything stops, the world narrowing down to those words. Injured. My wife was injured. Someone shot at her.
Someone shot at Maeve.
I'm on my feet before I consciously decide to get up, the phone already at my ear. "How bad?"
“From what Cole said, just a graze. They’re on their way out to collect her and Eddie, then they’ll be headed back here.”’
My blood is pounding in my ears. I’m so angry it’s hard to think, a sort of raw fury that eclipses even what I felt yesterday, when that man came to the house demanding to have debts paid. “And the shooter?” I growl.
“Unsure. The focus was on getting Mrs. Flannery to safety. We’re sending more men out to sweep the area.”
My hand clenches around the phone so hard the case cracks. "Get her home. Now."
The moment I hang up, I immediately dial another number. "Flynn."
"Sean?" He sounds surprised. "Everything all right?"
"No. Someone just tried to kill my wife. I need you in Boston. Today."
A pause. "Your wife? Since when would someone—never mind. I'm booking a flight now. Text me your address."
"Flynn—"
"We'll talk when I get there. Let me get moving so I don’t miss the next flight out." He hangs up.
I stand there in the study with my phone in my hand, my heart hammering, rage building in my chest like a physical thing.
Someone tried to kill her. Someone knew she'd be at that stable. Knew which trail she'd take. Knew exactly where to set up for a clean shot.
Someone planned this. The thought makes my blood run cold.
I hear the sound of tires on gravel and head for the front entrance. Mrs. Brady appears from somewhere, her face pale. "Mr. Flannery, I just heard—is Maeve—"
"She's alive. They're bringing her back now." I don't stop moving. "Call Dr. Lewis. I want him here within the hour."
"Yes, sir,” she says quickly, hurrying out of the room without a second question. I run my hands through my hair, striding toward the front door. What if it's my fault? What if marrying her painted a target on her back because now she's connected to me? The Wolf's wife.
Christ. I should never have agreed to this marriage. I should have let Connor McBride put a bullet in me rather than chaining an innocent girl to me in wedlock.
But then she'd have been married off to someone else. Someone who might have put her in danger, too. Someone who might hurt her. At least with me, she's safe from violence behind closed doors, if not outside of them.
The rage builds in my chest, cold and jagged. Whoever did this is going to die. Slowly. Painfully. I'll make sure they understand exactly what happens when someone touches what's mine. Mine. The word echoes in my head, possessive and primal. She is mine. My wife. My responsibility.
And someone tried to take her from me.
The car finally pulls up, and I'm through the door before it fully stops. Eddie is climbing out, and I want to kill him for letting this happen. Want to put my hands around his throat and squeeze until—
No. Not now. Maeve first.
I see her on the other side of Eddie, alive and breathing, but pale as death, trembling all over, with blood soaking through a makeshift bandage on her arm. Something in my chest cracks at the sight.
"Out," I tell Eddie, my voice deadly calm. "Now." He moves, and I reach for her.
She's so small. So fragile. How is she even real, this girl who's supposed to be my wife? How am I supposed to keep her safe when she's so fragile and I'm made of violence?
I help her out of the car, as carefully as I can. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" I need to know. I’m fighting back the desire to check every inch of her to make sure she's really okay. "Tell me the truth."
Maeve shakes her head, her voice trembling. "No. Just my arm. It's not bad, it just grazed—"
"Someone shot you." The words come out harsh. "Someone shot my wife."
I carry her inside, ignoring everyone except the woman in my arms. I take her straight to the sitting room and set her down on the sofa, kneeling in front of her.
"Let me see."
She holds out her arm, and I carefully unwrap the bandage. The wound is shallow—Eddie was right, it's just a graze—but it's still a bullet wound. Still evidence that someone tried to kill her. I can feel my hands threatening to shake as I examine it.
I'm the Wolf of Dublin. I've killed thirty-four people. I don't shake.
But looking at this wound, at the blood on her pale skin, at how close she came to dying…
"It really isn't bad," Maeve says softly. "I've had worse from falling off Atlas."
"This wasn't a fall." I drop my hands, fighting off the urge to keep touching her. "This was a professional hit. Someone was positioned on a trail they knew you'd be riding."
She pales further. "How did they know I'd be there?"
"That's what I'm going to find out."
Mrs. Brady brings a first aid kit, and I take it, nodding my thanks as I open it and find an antiseptic cream. Maeve is looking at me strangely as I carefully apply it to her arm, but she doesn’t move. Still in shock, probably.
I finish bandaging her arm properly. My hands are steady now, muscle memory taking over. I've patched up wounds plenty of times. Just never on someone I—
On my wife.
"Dr. Lewis is on his way," I tell her. "He'll check you over properly. Make sure there's nothing I missed."
"I told you, I'm fine—"
"You were shot." I look up at her, and whatever she sees in my face makes her fall silent. "You're not fine. You'll never be fine until I find whoever did this and put them in the ground."
She flinches.
I feel my jaw tighten. I'm scaring her. Again. Just like I did yesterday with the man who came to the house—just like I've done since the moment we met.
But I can't help it. I can't be anything other than what I am.
And what I am is someone who will kill anyone who threatens her.
"I need to speak with Eddie," I say, standing. "Stay here. Don't move. Mrs. Brady will stay with you."
"Sean—"
But I'm already walking away, the rage that's been building since that phone call finally homing in on a target.
—
I find Eddie outside, briefing the other security personnel. They all straighten when they see me, reading the violence in my expression.
"Mr. Flannery—" Eddie starts.
"Who was supposed to sweep the trail before she rode?"
His face goes carefully blank. "That would be Davis, sir. He reported it clear before we went out."
"Where is he?" My voice is sharp as a knife.
"I'm here, sir." A younger man steps forward, trying to look confident and failing. "I swept the entire trail like I was instructed, along with Cole. There was no one—"
"Obviously, there was someone." My voice is still that deadly calm. "Someone with a rifle and enough time to set up a perfect ambush position. So either you're incompetent, or you're compromised."
Davis's eyes widen. "Sir, I swear, we did a thorough—"
"Not thorough enough,” I snarl. “My wife was shot."
"It was a professional," Eddie interjects. "He would have found a spot to hide when he heard Davis sweeping. Waited until—"
"I don't care." I turn on him now. "Your job was to keep her safe. You failed."
Eddie’s jaw tightens. "I got her out alive—"
"After she was shot!" The control I've been maintaining snaps. I grab Eddie by his jacket, slamming him back against the car. "You let someone take a shot at my wife. You let her get hurt. Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you right now."
To his credit, Eddie doesn't flinch or fight back. He just meets my eyes steadily. "Because I'm good at my job. And because you know this wasn't my fault."
He's right. I do know that. But knowing it doesn't ease the rage or erase the image of Maeve's blood soaking through that bandage.
"Sean!"
I hear Maeve's voice, small and frightened, from behind me.
I turn, and she's standing in the doorway, watching me with those wide blue eyes, and I can see the fear in them.
Fear of me.
I release Eddie, stepping back. "You're fired. Both of you. Pack your things and be gone within the hour."
"Mr. Flannery—" Davis starts.
"That's final." I don't look away from Maeve. "New security detail starts tonight. I don't trust anyone who was here today."
I stride past Maeve, back into the house, and hear her soft protest behind me. "Sean, wait—"
But I can't stop—can't stand there and see that look in her eyes.
I can't face the reality that I'm something she should be afraid of, just as much as anyone else.
—
I'm back in the study, trying to get my rage under control, when Jack appears.
"You can't just fire your entire security detail," he says without preamble, clearly unafraid of me. It partially pisses me off, but the part of my brain that’s still functioning tells me that it’s good to have someone who will tell me things as they are, not suck up to me out of fear. "You need those men."
My jaw clenches. "I need men I can trust. Men who won't let my wife get shot."
"It wasn't their fault, and you know it." Jack holds his ground. "You're angry. I get it. But taking it out on them won't help."
“Fuck that.” I glare at him. “You think I shouldn’t be angry?”
He shakes his head. “Of course not. That girl was nearly killed today. You have every right to be angry. But nothing’s going to be accomplished by getting rid of good men.”