Chapter 28 Sean
SEAN
She's gone.
I stand in the middle of the living room, staring at the door, and the words don't make sense. They won't compute. Maeve is gone. My wife is gone. The woman I pushed away, the woman I hurt because I was too fucking scared to admit what she means to me—she's gone.
And it's my fault.
My hands are shaking. I don't shake. I'm the Wolf of Dublin, I've killed men without flinching, I've stared down the barrel of a gun and smiled, but right now my hands are shaking like I'm some green kid on his first job.
I grab my jacket, gun, and phone, calling Flynn before I'm even out the door.
"Sean, it's one in the fucking morning—" In the background, I hear a feminine sound of protest, and he shushes someone.
"Maeve's missing." My voice sounds wrong, tight, and raw. "We had a fight and she… ran. Just now. I’ve got to find her…”
"I'm on my way." Flynn's voice sharpens instantly, all traces of sleep gone. "Where are you?"
"Home. I'm heading out now. I need you to start making calls. Everyone. I don't care who you wake up or what favors we have to call in. Find her."
"Sean." Flynn's voice is careful. Too careful. "What happened? What did you fight about?"
“I fucked up.” The words are bitter on my tongue. “I slipped up. Said some shit about marriage not feeling like the punishment the Council meant for it to be after all. I never told her about…” I swear in Gaelic, crushing the phone in my hand. “Fuck, Flynn—”
There's a pause. Then Flynn says, very quietly, "You're a fucking idiot."
"I know."
"We'll find her. I'm leaving now. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I can’t just sit here and wait on Flynn.
I head out, stalking the streets as I look for her, calling out her name despite the occasional odd look from a passerby.
I go as far as I can without getting too far away to be back when Flynn arrives, and I’m just circling back toward my street when Flynn pulls up and throws the passenger door open.
I jump into the car, the engine growling as Flynn jolts forward. “Where could she have gone?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“I don’t know. I have no idea how she got far at all. She was barefoot and wearing flimsy clothing, and—”
Every second that passes is another second she's out there alone. Another second something could be happening to her.
I can't think about that. If I think about that, I'll lose my mind.
But I can't stop thinking about it. About all the enemies I've made over the years.
All the people who'd love to hurt me by hurting her. All the ways a city can swallow a woman whole and never spit her back out. And most of all, I think about Brennan, and if he’s been watching, if he knows she left the safety of the apartment and has her.
Brennan. The slick politician with blood on his hands and a smile for the cameras. The man who used his own wife and child as human shields, keeping them in the car with him because he knew I wouldn't take the shot if there was a chance of hitting them.
I gave him Maeve. I might as well have.
When there’s no sign of her after we’ve driven further out than I expect she could have gone, we go back to the apartment to try to figure out what to do next. I take the stairs three at a time, hoping desperately that I’ll find her inside, that she came back, and everything will be all right.
But she’s not there.
Flynn follows me inside. “I made calls on the way here,” he says.
“I’ve got people checking hospitals, police stations, anywhere she might have gone.
" His voice is steady, as if he’s trying to calm me.
"I’ve got a friend calling our contacts in the taxi companies, seeing if anyone picked her up.
I've also got someone checking CCTV footage from around your place. "
"Not fast enough." I can't stand still. "We need more. Call everyone. I don't care what time it is. Wake them up. Tell them the Wolf's wife is missing, and I want every eye in this city looking for her."
"Sean." Flynn moves toward me. "We'll do everything we can. But you need to stay calm. We need you thinking clearly."
"Calm?" I round on him. "My wife is missing, Flynn. The woman I—" I stop, swallowing hard. "I can't lose her. I can't."
Something shifts in Flynn's expression, and it softens slightly. "I know. And we're going to find her. But I need you to focus. Think. What happened?”
“Brennan.” His name sounds like a curse as I spit it out. “It has to be. He probably has eyes on the apartment. He must have grabbed her.”
Flynn's quiet for a moment. Then he says, "If it's Brennan, he'll want you to know. He'll want you to come for her. It'll be a trap."
"I don't care."
"Sean—"
"I. Don't. Care." I meet his eyes. "If he has her, I'm going to get her back. I don't care what it costs. I don't care if it's a trap. I don't care if I have to burn this whole fucking city down. I'm getting my wife back."
Flynn studies me for a long moment. Then he nods. "All right. Then let's find out where he's keeping her."
The next four hours are a blur of phone calls filled with both threats and promises. I call in every favor I've ever been owed. I offer money, protection, favors, anything and everything to anyone who might have information.
Connor McBride assists, with the other members of the Council, as the night turns into early morning, and I manage to get hold of them. They want Brennan dealt with as much as I do, maybe more. But I don't trust them to move fast enough. I don't trust anyone but myself and Flynn.
This isn’t just about the assassination attempt any longer.
This isn't just Council politics or territory disputes or any of the usual bullshit.
This is Maeve. This is my wife. This is the woman who looked at me like I was something more than a killer, something worth saving, and I'm not going to let her down again.
I swear to God, if I get another chance, I’m not going to fuck it up again.
With every moment that passes, I think about last night. About the way she felt in my arms. I think about all the things I should have said and didn't. All the ways I should have protected her and failed.
I think about what Brennan might be doing to her right now, and I have to physically stop myself from putting my fist through the window.
"Sean." Flynn's voice cuts through the red haze. "I've got something."
I cross the room in two strides. "What?"
"One of our contacts saw a van matching the description heading toward the docks. There are lots of abandoned warehouses there. It's the kind of place Brennan would use—it’s isolated."
I'm already moving before he’s finished speaking, checking my gun, and grabbing extra magazines from a drawer. I don’t want to waste another second. “I tracked him to one of those recently. That’s definitely where he’s got her, then.”
"Sean, wait." Flynn catches my arm. "This is obviously a trap. You know that, right? He wants you to come. He's probably got a dozen men waiting."
"I know."
Flynn huffs out a breath. "And you're going anyway."
"I'm going anyway." I meet his eyes. "She's my wife, Flynn. I'm not leaving her there."
Flynn's quiet for a moment. Then he starts checking his own weapon. "Then I'm coming with you."
"No. This isn't your fight." I shake my head. “I’m not getting you hurt—”
"Bullshit." Flynn's voice is hard. "You think I'm letting you walk into this alone? Fuck that."
"Flynn—"
"No." He cuts me off. "You don't get to play the martyr here. You don't get to sacrifice yourself and leave the rest of us to clean up the mess. I'm coming with you, and that's final."
I want to argue, to tell him to stay safe and stay out of it. But the truth is, I'm grateful to have someone I trust at my back. And I’ll probably need it.
"All right," I say quietly. "Let's go get my wife."
The drive to the docks takes forty minutes, and every second feels like an eternity. I keep seeing Maeve's face in my mind—the way she looked when I touched her, when she snuggled into my arms.
The way she looked when I admitted she was a punishment the Council dished out to me.
The way she might look now, scared and hurt and wondering if I'm coming for her.
I'm coming, I think. I'm coming, Maeve. Just hold on.
We park two blocks away from the warehouses and approach on foot, moving through the shadows, using every bit of training and instinct we've honed over years of this life. I pinpoint the warehouse I went to last time first, and sure enough, there’s a van parked out back.
There's a single light on inside, visible through the gaps in the boarded-up windows. And there are guards, unsurprisingly—three outside the main entrance. More scattered around, I’m sure.
"There," Flynn whispers, pointing. "There’s a side entrance. Looks less guarded." He looks at me. “This is a trap,” he says again.
"I know."
"He wants you to walk in there."
"I know.”
Flynn looks at me, and I can see the bond forged over decades of watching each other's backs. "We're doing it anyway."
We move quickly and quietly, slipping toward the side entrance.
It’s unguarded because it’s locked, but Flynn grew up as a starving kid that had to steal, and he has a number of skills that require being quick, silent, and sneaky.
One of those is that he knows how to pick a lock.
He has it open in seconds. We slip inside, guns drawn, every sense on high alert.
The warehouse is mostly empty, just concrete floors and metal support beams and shadows. But there's light coming from the back, and voices. I can hear them now—male voices, rough and casual. And underneath it all, I hear a sound that makes my blood run cold.
Crying. Quiet and muffled, but unmistakable.
Maeve.
I move before I can think, before Flynn can stop me. I head toward that sound like it's the only thing in the world that matters, because it is. She is.
We round a corner, and I see her.
My wife. Maeve. Tied to a chair in the middle of an open space, blood on her face, her clothes torn, her eyes—