Chapter Eleven
Flynn
I stand outside, watching the rain cut through the night. The wind’s picking up, and the cold bites against the ache in my chest, not just from the new tattoo, but something heavier. A pressure I can’t shake.
She could’ve died tonight, and for some reason, that thought doesn’t just unsettle me.
It pisses me the fuck off.
A type of anger I don’t think I’ve ever felt. Not clean rage. This is messy, twisted, gut-level fury.
I wish I could bring her home with me to care for her, but I know I couldn’t stay away. I know that will bring even more danger towards her.
“Viviana wants to stay until she’s released,” Declan says, stepping up beside me.
I nod once. That’s all he gets.
“I know what you’re thinking, mate,” he says, cracking open a small bottle of water.
“And what’s that?” I ask, trying to keep the bite out of my voice but failing.
“That this was a hit. Because of us. Because of you.” He moves to stand in front of me. We’re nearly the same size; I’m six-six, he’s six-five. Viviana likes to joke we’re two towers of anger and ink.
She’s not wrong.
“And wasn’t it?” I hold his gaze. “A twenty-four-year-old who takes fucking photographs for a living has no idea she’s working with the Irish Mafia, and her apartment suddenly burns to the ground?”
I laugh, but it’s hollow. A bitter sound, the rage radiates off me like heat as I take a step back.
“We don’t know how it started yet,” Declan says calmly. “The fire chief said it began on the floor above hers.”
Kian and Connor stayed behind to get every scrap of information. We need to know if this was a warning or just a tragic accident.
“You heard the reports. It moved too fast. It had to be arson.” I start pacing, the cold forgotten.
Did someone see us that night?
Did someone watch me fuck her and mark her as leverage?
Did someone see her as a crack in my armour?
Fuck.
“Let’s wait. We can’t take action until we know what really happened,” Declan says, steady, watching me too closely. “Flynn.”
I don’t stop. Don’t look at him. If I do, he’ll see it.
He’ll see exactly what I’m feeling.
Exactly what I want.
“She’ll stay with you, right?” I ask, dragging the conversation back to logistics. To war, not weakness.
“Yeah. We’ll keep an eye on her. The mansion’s secure. If this was a move against the Irish Consortium, she’ll be safe there.”
His tone changes to ice cold. That voice he uses when he’s already planning the first death, even while telling me to wait.
“I’m going to meet up with Kian and Connor,” I say, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll leave Kaden here.”
Declan nods. “I’ll keep an eye on her, brother. Like you did with Viviana.”
If I find out who did this, if it turns out to be a fucking candle, I’ll still kill the person who lit it and the manufacturer who made it.
I head toward the car and see Kaden lighting a cigarette outside.
“You’re staying here,” I tell him flatly.
He glances at me, unimpressed. “So you think we’re being targeted, and your plan is to leave me here while you walk around out in the open alone?”
He shakes his head, smoke curling from his lips. “No fucking way, Flynn.”
Before I can answer, movement catches my eye. Two men in dark suits approach. Ours.
Of course they’re already here. I nod at them. Kaden trusts them. I trust Kaden.
She’ll be safe with them, with Declan. Still, my chest feels tight as I force myself to leave. I want to stay. Fuck, I need to, but if I do, I’ll never be able to keep the distance I promised myself I would.
I got to the hospital before Declan and Viviana. I was in the penthouse when the call came in. Kaden and I got in the car the second I heard her name.
I walked into the emergency room and nearly hit the doctor who said they’d sedated her.
I needed her eyes open.
I needed to see her.
She had ash on her face, her lips dry, and that thin little nightgown showed too much skin.
I ordered the staff to move her to a private room. It took ten minutes; after that, I cleaned the ash from her skin myself, covered her up and sat in that room while she slept like nothing ever happened.
The air is getting colder, or I am getting angrier and hotter as we walk to the SUV. Kaden stays quiet; that’s why we get along like brothers. He knows me, reads the shifts in the air. Knows when to speak, when to stay silent.
The smoke still lingers when we get there. Not just in the sky, but in your lungs. The kind of smoke that clings to your clothes and coats the back of your throat. The fire’s out, but the building reeks of melted plastic and soaked ash.
Connor’s snapping pictures, methodical. Kian’s up ahead talking to a couple of firefighters, his stance tense.
The apartment block is still standing. Only the top floor and hers burned through. The crews saved the first and second. For what it’s worth.
“Flynn!” Kian calls out. I turn. He’s already heading toward me with Connor.
“Do they know what happened?” My voice stays calm, but there’s a sharp pull in my chest I can’t ignore.
“The landlord used cheap polyurethane foam insulation,” Kian says, the disgust in his tone loud enough. “Put it in years ago during some roof leak renovation. Never updated it. That shit’s toxic. Once it catches, it spreads fast. Like fucking petrol.”
“Fuck,” Kaden mutters, low. He already knows this ends with someone bleeding.
“They still don’t know how it started,” Connor says. “The apartment’s been empty a few weeks. It was supposed to go on the market next week.”
“Who’s the owner?” I turn to him. Connor hesitates. Eyes shift to Kian. I step forward. “I asked you a question. Who the fuck owns it?”
He swallows, then lifts his chin toward a smug bastard in a shiny, oversized suit talking to the police.
I move to go for him, blood already boiling, but Kian’s hand lands on my arm, tight.
“Not here. Not now.”
I start to snap at him, but he tilts his head left. TV cameras still rolling.
“We’ll get him,” he says. “Just not here.”
He lets go and steps in front of me to block the view. I hold his eyes. My rage isn’t loud; it never is. It coils beneath the skin, patient, waiting for its moment.
“Send me his name and address.” I clap his shoulder once and head for the SUV.
“I’m guessing I need to choose a warehouse,” Kaden says, voice like frost cutting through the heat.
“One far out,” I tell him. “Where no one will hear him scream.”
Sitting in my office, I can’t focus. The shipment paperwork’s in front of me, but my eyes haven’t moved past the first line.
Autumn was released two days ago, and she’s staying at the Callaghans’ mansion now. She’ll be safe there. No one gets past the level of armed security Declan keeps around that place.
Still, it doesn’t sit right. I know the fire spread to her apartment because of the landlord’s cheap, illegal bullshit, but what I don’t know is how it started. That place upstairs was empty. So how the fuck did it catch fire?
Declan thinks it was an electrical issue. Says she doesn’t need protection. That I’m being paranoid. Overprotective.
Maybe he’s right.
There’s something about her I can’t shake. Something that pulls at me, even when I try to let it go. She makes me feel. And I don’t feel. Not like this. It rattles something inside I don’t have a name for, and that’s what makes her dangerous.
If anyone finds out, she’ll be a target. A weakness. She’s already too close, already too deep in this world without even knowing it.
That’s the other problem. She could protect herself better if she knew the truth. If she knew who we really are. But the rule is clear. No one outside the Irish Consortium knows the full picture. You’re either in it or in our pocket. Autumn is neither.
She’s Viviana’s colleague, nothing more on paper. But lately, they’ve been acting more like sisters. That alone is enough to put a mark on her.
She can’t protect herself, so I will. I don’t give a fuck what Declan says, what anyone says.
She’s mine to protect.
Even if she’s not really mine.
Kaden walks in with a grin on his face.
“Got him.”
Thank fuck.
I stand, lips curling into something that almost looks like a smile. Two days is too long, but now I get to burn off some steam.
We ride to the warehouse. The air is cold, sharp against my face. My men are already waiting outside, quiet and still. I unmount the bike, pull off my helmet, and hand it to Cillian. Loyal. Brutal. One of the few I’d trust to watch my back without question.
Inside, I hear him. Jack Kingston. American bastard who bought the building five years ago. Hired cheap labour. Cut every corner. Turned it into a fucking tinderbox. A place that nearly burned her alive.
He’s standing tall, untouched, just like I ordered.
Kian said the prick thinks he’s untouchable. Rich. Connected. Drives a Bentley, throws money at lawyers and enjoys hitting women.
Let’s see what he does when the fists hit back.
I walk toward him, take off my suit jacket, and roll up my sleeves. One look at me, and I see it. The way his throat works as he swallows.
“Do you know who I—”
I punch him in the throat before he finishes. He doubles over, coughing, gasping for breath.
“Less talk. More fight. I heard you like hitting women.”
I grab him by the hair and yank him up. He winces, soft.
“Hit me,” I say.
He swings. Lands one on my ribs. I barely flinch.
“That’s it?” I laugh.
I crack my knuckles, then drive my fist into his side. He drops to his knees, already whining.
Eeijit.
“Why are you doing this?” he spits blood onto the concrete. “I don’t even know you.”
I step in, grip his chin, lean in until I can smell the sweat and alcohol on his breath.
“You almost got someone I care about killed.” My fingers dig into his jaw. I feel the bone shift under pressure. “So now, you’re going to pay for it.”
I step back and roll my neck, loose and slow.
He struggles to stand. Blood running down his chin.
“If I finish you,” he rasps, pointing at the six men watching from the shadows, “they’ll kill me.”
I nod once.
“You have my word. If you take me down, they’ll let you walk out untouched.”
Jack tries. I’ll give him that.
He swings wild, teeth bared like an animal, the desperation leaking off him in sweat. He doesn’t land a single hit. Not one. I dodge, block, move like he’s nothing but air.
“You’re slow,” I mutter.
He growls. Actually fucking growls.
Then lunges.
I slam my fist into his ribs, and he folds over, coughing. Still tries to come at me again, clumsy and off-balance. I let him.
His next swing is so sloppy it makes me laugh. He’s fuelled by panic, by ego. I’m fuelled by the image of her face covered in soot.
He tries to grab my neck, misses, then goes for something lower. I elbow him in the face, hear the crack of his nose. He stumbles back, but the idiot keeps coming.
He snaps.
Teeth flash.
He fucking tries to bite me.
I grab his jaw with both hands and squeeze until he screams.
“What the fuck are you, a dog?”
Blood runs down his chin. He claws at my hands, pathetic.
I push him back and let him try again.
“Come on, Jack. Let’s see what that Bentley money taught you.”
He rushes me. I duck low, drive my shoulder into his gut, and toss him into the metal wall. The sound echoes.
“You know what the problem is?” I walk over slowly, loosening my fingers, rolling my wrist. “You think money makes you untouchable.”
He’s gasping now, hand pressed to his ribs, teeth stained red.
I grab him by the collar and drag him up. “You knew it was a death trap. You didn’t care.”
I punch him hard. Once. Then twice. Blood hits the floor. “Someone almost died because of you.” Another hit and his legs buckle. “Someone I care about.”
He doesn’t get back up. He stays there, wheezing, hand trembling like he’s praying.
I walk around him slow, watching the pathetic man whine and claw at the concrete. Declan told me it was my choice. For a second, I was going to leave him breathing, let him crawl out with something to remember. Standing here now, seeing the reason she almost died, fuck mercy.
My hands wrap around his neck. He claws at my arm, screams a sound that tears at the back of my throat. I hold harder. I press harder. For a heartbeat I feel the pulse beneath my palms, and then there is nothing. The breath stops. His body goes heavy and slack. I let him drop.
“Another for the fishes,” Cillian says, voice flat, like it’s a trade done.
“Those cunts will need a diet soon with the amount we’re sending them,” Kaden adds, stepping forward and passing me my phone.
I answer.
“Thought you should know, Viviana and Autumn are in town looking for a new flat for Autumn,” Declan says.
“The fuck she is.”