Chapter Seven
Flynn
I step into the warehouse, half-burned and rotting on the forgotten edge of the docks. We’d talked about rebuilding it once, but for now, it serves its purpose: a quiet place to drag the ones we need to erase. Or torture. Usually both.
“Flynn,” Declan greets with a smirk, while Connor and Kian flank a man standing stiff in a cheap, wrinkled suit.
“This is the fucker dealing at one of your clubs,” Kian says, nodding toward him.
I study the lad. He’s almost my height, with a fighter’s stance he probably thinks makes him look dangerous.
Dealing drugs in my clubs again. It’s nothing new; I try to keep them clean, but it’s never perfect. Still, when the drugs are laced with something that makes people collapse on the floor, that’s a different matter entirely.
Connor sifted through hours of security footage until he found him. Castor Mayfield. Some spoiled rich brat who thinks he can walk into my world, into The Irish Consortium’s world, and sell poison like he owns the place.
“You’re just pissed I was making more than you ever did in a night,” Castor mutters, peeling off his jacket like he’s not three breaths away from pissing himself.
We can’t kill him. He’s the prized son of one of our allies. But hurting him? That’s still on the table.
“You need us?” Connor asks, eyes flicking to Declan. I shake my head, gaze steady.
Declan’s watching me. Different this time. Measured.
“You two can go. I’ll stay and make sure he doesn’t kill the kid,” he says with a grin.
“Appreciate it, Connor.” I shake his hand and clap his back once.
“Anytime, mate,” he replies, and the two of them vanish. A moment later, the growl of their bikes echoes through the metal rafters, rattling the roof above us.
“How was the charity event?” Declan asks, turning to me as I shrug off my jacket and roll my sleeves up.
Castor remains frozen in place, trying to act unfazed, but his left leg twitches every few seconds, and he’s digging his thumbnail so deep into his palm he’s bound to draw blood.
This is the part I enjoy the waiting, the dread in their eyes. The not knowing.
“Same as always. Boring. Full of eejits.” I grunt, eyes shifting back to Castor.
Declan’s still watching me. And he hasn’t blinked once.
“Hm.” Declan hums, stepping back with that knowing glint in his eyes.
My focus stays on Castor, but her name is still carved into the front of my skull like a curse.
The charity event was two nights ago, but I swear I can still smell her.
Feel her. The soft weight of her thighs around me.
The way her cunt clung to me like it was meant to.
The shock of blood, fresh, sticky, unexpected.
And now? Silence. No reply to the voicemail. No answer to my text.
She vanished.
My jaw tenses.
“I can take you,” Castor spits, dragging me back to the present.
Perfect.
I need something to take the edge off. Kicking the shite out of this prick? That’ll do nicely.
“Can you?” I smirk and wave him forward. “Go on then.”
He throws a hard punch to my stomach. It connects. My body folds slightly, more out of surprise than pain. I let out a low laugh, straightening up as the sting fades into adrenaline.
Declan scoffs behind me, but there’s something off about it. It’s not amusement. Not really.
I advance before Castor can process the mistake he just made. I slam my fist into his right rib. He moves to block with his left, predictable. Amateur.
“Your dad might be an ally,” I bite out, grabbing his jaw with one hand and landing another punch square in his gut.
“But you broke the rules, kid. No one deals in my club.” Another blow, this time to his face.
His lip splits under the knuckles, and blood spatters on the concrete.
“Especially not with spiked fucking drugs.”
He grunts, swings wide at my head, but I duck easily and catch his wrist mid-air. I twist it sharply until I hear that satisfying pop. He drops to one knee with a yelp.
“Flynn,” Declan warns, low and controlled, but I can hear it; he’s wary. Watching me too closely.
“Not even one broken finger?” I mutter, eyeing Castor’s trembling hand.
Declan shakes his head once. I sigh, frustrated, and let go of the kid’s wrist. Then I punch him again, knuckles cracking against bone. He crumples to the ground, coughing blood and spitting onto his own shoes.
He’s breathing. Shame.
Declan steps forward slowly, like a wolf circling prey. He unbuttons his suit jacket with calm precision and crouches in front of Castor.
“If you’re ever caught dealing at a Brady club again, you’ll be executed. No calls. No warnings. You’ll disappear,” he says, voice a low, steady growl that makes even me glance his way.
Castor nods, wide-eyed, blood staining his teeth. He’s not faking bravery anymore.
Declan tosses Castor’s keys onto the ground, then turns. As he walks past me, I tilt my head, eyeing the kid on the floor. The image of his skull cracking open against the concrete flits through my mind. Just one stomp.
“Brady!” Declan snaps.
I roll my eyes, grinding my jaw. “You are no fun, Dec.”
I wipe my bloodied knuckles on a damp cloth, grab my jacket, and follow him out. The cold air slaps my face as we step into the dying light.
We’re almost to our bikes when I grab his arm.
“What the fuck is going on, Dec?”
He freezes. Glances down at my hand, then up to meet my eyes. There it is, that look.
He’s holding something back.
I let go but step in, inches from him now, our shadows tangled on the pavement.
“You’re not pissed,” I say quietly. “So what is it?”
His throat works as he swallows, then runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Fuck, Flynn. I promised Vi.”
That makes me pause. My stomach knots. My mouth tastes like rust.
“What the fuck does Viviana have to do with this?” I step closer again. “You’d better start talking. We don’t keep secrets. Not between us.”
He stares at me for a long beat before letting out a breath.
“We know,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “About the charity event.”
I go still. Frozen. What the fuck does that mean?
Knows about…fuck.
“How?” Though deep down, I already know. Only one person knew besides Autumn and myself. Kaden, and he’d never say a word, not even to the Callaghans.
“Autumn,” I whisper.
“She didn’t want to tell,” Declan says, stepping closer, softer now. “But you know how Viviana is.”
Of course I do.
“There’s something else you should know.”
It’s the way he says it. The weight in his voice. The look in his eyes.
“What?” My heartbeat kicks up, fast and unsteady.
“You can’t react. Don’t do or say a fucking thing. You hear me?” Declan’s tone drops. Urgent now. “Viviana will kill us both.”
I nod. Tight. Silent.
“What the fuck, Dec?” The question comes out rougher. My hands curl into fists. “Tell me.”
“Autumn… she—” He stops. Hesitates. Like the words catch in his throat.
“She’s what?” My voice breaks. “Is she hurt? Did I hurt her?”
The blood. That fucking blood. It flashes in my mind again.
“She was a virgin, mate.”
I stumble back like he punched me. My chest caves in on itself.
“No,” I whisper. Not to him but to myself. A denial I don’t believe.
The blood.
“Flynn.” Declan tries to pull me back, but I’m already inside that night. Every second of it. The way she moved, the way she touched me. Her voice, so soft and sultry like sin. How she pulled me into the dark.
“I didn’t know.” My words come out hollow.
“I know. She said she didn’t want you to.”
I frown, confused. “So she told you? And Viviana? But not me?”
Anger coils hot in my gut, twisting through my ribs.
She should’ve told me.
That’s why she ran. That’s why she didn’t want the lights on. She knew I’d see it the second I was inside her. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“She didn’t fucking tell me!” Rage surges through me like wildfire. “She planned it.”
“I talked to Viviana after Autumn left,” Declan says, quieter now, like he’s walking over broken glass. “We think she was just… tired of it. Vi said she always blushed around you.”
I scoff, the sound bitter. I can’t laugh, only burn.
“So she made a plan to fuck me in the dark.”
“It’s not your fault,” Declan says firmly, gripping my shoulder. “She wanted it, Flynn. We told her to tell you, but she refused. I’m telling you now because I know what you feel for her, even if you pretend you don’t.”
I look him dead in the eye.
“She’s a nice girl. That’s all.”
The words fall out flat. Empty, and I know I’m not convincing either of us.
The bike waits like a beast beside Declan, silent and hungry. One swing of my leg and I straddle it, the engine roaring to life beneath me, rumbling so loud it rattles the shattered warehouse glass. Power hums through the frame, and for a second, it’s the only thing grounding me.
“Flynn, don’t do anything stupid, mate,” Declan calls out.
A flick of the wrist and the throttle snarls.
The bike launches forward, tyres screaming across wet concrete, the black helmet swallowing my face.
Wind claws at my suit jacket, dragging it open like a warning, while cold rain pelts down, soaking through the fabric like needles.
I want it. Every sting. Every sting is her.
The way she set it up, like some twisted game. She always seemed so innocent, but apparently there is a little dark side in those pretty eyes.
Sex, fine. But losing her virginity like that? On the floor, in a stranger’s mansion, no lights, no words? That wasn’t seduction. That was something else entirely.
Now the memory turns. Her face twisted in pain. She wasn’t just overwhelmed—she was hurting. Because she’d never done it before.
Could’ve taken my time. Could’ve made it easier for her.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
No. That’s not who I am.