Chapter Nine
Flynn
“That little liar.” I pace the back office of the hotel. “She fucking lied to my face.”
“Maybe she lied to the Callaghans?” Kaden’s voice is careful as he leans against the wall beside the door.
“Right, because telling two people—especially Declan—that you’re a virgin is the logical thing to do.” I shake my head. “No, she lied.”
I’m fuming. I was already on edge with the little plan she pulled that night, but now, knowing she’s hiding the truth—
“Brady.” Flanaghan walks in, Doyle at his side, followed by the Keeffes.
I nod once and drop onto the couch. Kaden stays alert by the wall, Doyle mirroring him. The rest of the security these three like to drag around remain posted outside.
Since last year’s mess with the Russians, they haven’t stepped out of their homes without a damn battalion shadowing them. Meanwhile, Declan and I barely have anyone when we’re out walking through town.
“The head of the Bratva is arriving in six days. He’ll be staying here; we’re already making arrangements.” Tiernan Keeffe speaks as he hands over the schedule and a list of assigned guards.
I pass it to Kaden. He’ll run background checks on all of them.
After Declan captured Alek and the Irish Consortium held the killing ceremony, the Bratva reached out for negotiations. Apparently, they weren’t too happy with the way Alek handled things.
I still don’t trust them. None of them. So during that week, I’ll make sure we’re ready. If anything goes sideways, we hit first.
“Gentlemen.”
Declan enters with Kian and Connor flanking him, like shadows stitched to his back.
His gaze sweeps the room as they all nod. Then it lands on me. Of course it does.
“Declan.” I give him a nod.
“Flynn.” He returns it with that usual hint of a smirk. The bastard probably knew Autumn was here and said nothing on purpose.
He strolls behind the desk and takes the chair like it belongs to him. This is Keeffe’s office, but Declan is the one they all follow. His will bends the rest, and when it doesn’t, that’s where me, Kian, and Connor step in.
Truth be told, the four of us could run the Irish Consortium without the other two families.
They barely lift a finger. They hide in the shadows, waiting for the money to pour in, then stretch their hands out for the same share we get.
Founding families or not, they contribute nothing. Still, we honour the past. For now.
Tiernan lays the plans out on the desk, handing Declan the same paperwork he gave me.
“We should kill them all,” Flanaghan says, and the room stills for half a breath.
Declan doesn’t speak. He just looks at him.
“The leader of the Bratva?” Kian raises a brow and chuckles.
“Yes. Do you remember what Alek did? The shit he pulled? He almost got your wife killed. He killed Nolan.” John starts pacing, his tone growing louder, sharper. “The destruction, the chaos; we lost good men because of him.”
He’s shaking now, jaw tight. He was close to Nolan Keeffe, even though the lad was a fucking eejit.
Declan leans back in the chair. Kian and Connor shift slightly, just enough for me to know they feel it too.
The vein in Declan’s neck starts to rise. He’s getting angry.
John might be six foot and built like a tank, but Declan is bigger. And when that man snaps, it’ll take all three of us to pull him off someone.
“I already got Alek,” Declan says, rising with steel, though he remains calm. “He was taken, and Christian had his revenge during the Blood Ceremony.”
John halts mid-step, staring him down.
“What he did to Viviana, how can you not want to wipe them all out?” His words crack with disbelief as he jabs a finger toward Declan. “She’s your wife.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake—
Declan rises and grabs John by the collar. I move fast as Connor and Kian try to pull him back, but Declan shakes them off and lands a solid punch right across John’s face. Blood splatters over the polished wood floor.
Kaden steps forward beside me, but no one touches the leader, especially when he’s on a rampage.
“Declan!” I catch John by the arm and drag him back just as Declan’s next punch swings through the air and connects with my ribs instead.
The pain rips through me deep, but I hold steady.
My hand shoots to Declan’s shoulders, pushing him back with all the control I can muster.
I nod to Kaden, and he moves in to help Kian and Connor restrain him.
“Get the fuck out,” I snarl at John. Christian and Tiernan rush forward, dragging him toward the door while he keeps shouting like a fool.
I stay planted in front of Declan, chest heaving. “Come on, brother. You know he’s a piece of shite.”
Declan’s breathing slows. His fists loosen. Kian and Connor ease their grip once they feel the tension drop from him.
“That motherfucker,” Declan growls. “After everything I’ve done for them. I put Viviana and you in danger just to get Alek. He thinks I wouldn’t burn the Bratva to the ground if I thought they were involved?” He shakes his head, ripping off his suit jacket and tossing it aside.
“I know,” I say, keeping my tone calm, grounding him.
“I don’t trust him.” Kian’s tone is dark, his gaze fixed on the door where John disappeared.
“The Bratva had nothing to do with Alek and his crew,” Connor adds, stepping closer. “A good relationship with them could stabilise the shipping routes.”
“Exactly. Now convince Flanaghan.” Declan grunts, running a hand down his face.
“This was interesting,” I mutter, shaking my head with a grin tugging at my mouth.
“You alright?” Kaden asks, his eyes flicking to my side.
Declan turns fast, his expression shifting in an instant. “Fuck. I hit you.”
I laugh, rubbing the ache from my ribs. “I can take a punch.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve been to the fights.” He studies me, a grin tugging at his mouth.
Of course someone told him. “It’s good to stay in shape.”
“Right. In shape.” Kian smirks, shaking his head.
“So are you taking any measures against Flannaghan?” I change the subject. They all notice, though none of them say a word.
Declan huffs, picking up his suit jacket. “No. Fuck it.”
We head out together. The bikes wait in the private section of the garage, engines gleaming under the lights. Christian and his cousin Tiernan are already there. Kian mutters a curse under his breath.
“Mate, what the hell?” Christian strides towards us, his tone sharp. Declan tenses beside me.
“Leave it, Christian,” I warn, stepping forward.
“The Bratva leader is to be treated with respect. Everything needs to be perfect,” Declan says, low but commanding. Christian nods quickly.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it will.” Tiernan extends his hand to Declan, and Declan takes it.
We mount the bikes. The engines roar to life, echoing off the concrete walls until the garage fills with sound. At the intersection, the Callaghans veer off towards the mansion while Kaden and I head for the city.
The ride is calm tonight, no rain for once, so I ease the throttle and let the air settle my thoughts.
John Flannaghan is the oldest of us, the family leaders, at least. A little over forty, always the quiet one.
He spent his time buried in family life: wife, son, daughter, all grown now.
They barely show up at events anymore. He used to be close with Nolan, both of them feeding off their shared hatred of the Callaghans and of me, ever since I became Declan’s right arm.
They used to hide it well, but since Nolan’s death, things changed.
During the Dark Wars, John panicked. Took his family out of Ireland.
That part I can understand.
Afterwards, he didn’t return. Claimed his wife wouldn’t let him. That didn’t sit well with the Callaghans. Nolan paid him a visit and didn’t return until things cooled.
The Dark Wars were hell. The Irish Consortium bled against Alek Volkov and his men. When it ended, Alek vanished underground, but not before he blew up warehouses and shipments, keeping our nerves on edge. John learned quick that he couldn’t run forever.
Now we have peace, finally. And the fool wants to risk it all again, pulling us back into a fight with the Bratva. These aren’t Alek’s men. This is the Russian Mafia. We don’t show fear, but we respect them. Especially when they were the ones who reached out first to do business.
The building looms ahead; the city’s quiet, the weather sharper, colder. We pull into the underground garage and park the bikes.
“You can have the night off, Kaden,” I tell him. He grins, cocky as ever, and I shake my head.
“Thanks, boss.” He ditches the bike and heads for his SUV, a matte black Range Rover Sport, all muscle and money.
I take the elevator up. Security floods the place. Cameras, motion detectors, thermal readers. A full team monitors the floor below mine. Declan’s orders, for all of us in the Consortium. No exceptions.
It was the first time Flanaghan ever got that aggressive. Got in Declan’s face, real fucking close. He’s always been vocal, sure, but he keeps it polished. Political. Controlled. Today? Fucking hell. No leash, no mask. Like he’s spiralling.
And then there’s her.
Autumn.
My little liar.
Part of me wants to show up at her door, press her against the wall and tear the truth out of her lips. But I know exactly what’ll happen if I do. I’ll lose control.
She’s already buried under my skin. Haunting my thoughts. Feeding this fucking obsession is the worst thing I could do, for her, for me, for the entire goddamn Consortium.
Still…
She was fucking perfect. Even as a virgin, she took me like a queen. No hesitation. No fear. She didn’t push me away; she pulled me in, held me between her thighs like she wanted to brand me there.
I never go back. Not unless there’s an arrangement. I fuck and move on. Always, but her?
I’d go back.
Once.
Twice.
Every time.
Letting out a rough groan, I strip off my suit jacket, then my shirt. My muscles are tight as steel cables. The bruise on my side, courtesy of Declan, has bloomed purple and black. Bastard hits like a fucking bulldozer.
The whisky glints under the low light of the living room. I flick the stereo on. Whiskey in the Jar by Metallica rips through the speakers.
“Perfect.”
I pour a glass and down it in one go. Then another. Trying to smooth the jagged edges grinding under my skin. Tonight, there are no fights. No blood to spill, and since I can’t have Autumn, there’s only one thing left.
I grab my phone and dial Laoise.
I need her.
Now.
It’s nearly midnight when the doorbell rings. I check the security monitor; Laoise stands there, arms crossed, bag slung over her shoulder.
I buzz her up.
The door opens, and she walks in with a raised brow. “Midnight? Seriously?”
I chuckle, already reaching for the whisky. “You were busy?”
“What do you think?” She arches an eyebrow, half-smirking as she kicks off her boots.
She steps in closer, her eyes catching the bruise on my side. “They got you good.”
“Yeah.” I meet her gaze without flinching.
Laoise and I go back six years. She’s the only one I trust for this when I need the edge taken off without the strings. No drama. No games. She’s walked into my apartment more times than anyone else ever has. Only woman allowed to.
She moves down the hall like she owns it, straight to my bedroom, like always. I follow, without a word. Her short blonde hair sways as she walks, confidence in every step. Her bag swings at her hip, professional, efficient, already prepared.
“There,” she says, nodding at the bed.
I sit down, lie back. The ceiling above is dim, the shadows settling in. Laoise starts setting up beside me, quiet, focused.
“Wanna talk about it?” she asks.
She’s never been part of the Consortium, but her father was. Old blood. Trusted. After he passed, she kept close. I helped her when things went to shit. It earned me loyalty, silence, and the kind of bond that doesn’t need explaining.
“Not this time, love,” I murmur, letting my head fall back, eyes shut. Waiting.
I already told her what I wanted.
The familiar sound of the chair dragging gently across the floor fills the room. Her hands graze my skin, and every nerve flares to life.
“Ready?” she asks softly.
I just nod.
The moment the needle touches flesh, I exhale. The sting rolls through me like relief. Laoise is the best. She’s the only one who’s ever inked me. That machine in her hands is precise, like a weapon.
She works in silence for a few beats.
“How’s Ava?” I ask as the pain begins to settle something in my chest.
“She’s good. Still obsessed with that damn cat you got her.” Laoise pauses, glancing up at me with a grin.
“You lost your place in bed?” I smirk.
“Every night,” she groans, rolling her eyes. “Little bastard sleeps between us now.”
She swaps out a needle and clicks something into place.
“So—” she begins, tone shifting, “this design… the shield knot.”
The sound picks up again. The buzz is low, rhythmic, almost soothing.
“Protection from anything specific?” she asks, casual.
A breath leaves my lungs, dark and bitter.
“Yeah,” I mutter, eyes still closed, jaw tense. “Protection from a little thing that’s driving me fucking insane.”