Chapter Twenty-one #2
Over the decades, the Consortium has always been led by the Callaghans or the Bradys.
The two first families. The real ones.
The Keeffes and the Flanaghans, no matter what we say publicly, have never truly had blood that belonged at the top.
I get home late, my mind going at the speed of light, trying to think of a way out of this shit.
I removed the plug the minute I got home and told her to go her way. She was expecting me to touch her, take her, but I have hours to scheme, or she either gets a bullet to the head, or we will have to disappear with a target on our head.
I will never let that happen, and I know Declan won’t either, and that puts his leadership and life on the line.
I prowl the mansion, halls quiet, but a light glows upstairs. I head towards it; the door cracked open, and I drop my hand to my gun. Kaden’s in his office, and the last time I saw Autumn she was in her bed.
Pushing the door open, I raise my gun, but I stop and hide it when I see her on the floor in an oversized wool sweater and fuzzy brown socks, hair twisted in a messy bun. The light baths her soft, makes her look ethereal, edges glowing gold.
Fuck. If they come for her, I will kill them all; I won’t let anyone touch her.
“What are you doing?” I try to sound soft, but it comes out louder, making her jump slightly with her shoulders hitching.
She turns, stares me up and down slow when a hint of a smirk tugs at her lips. I’m shirtless, sweatpants low on my hips, and her gaze lingers, heat flickering. She likes it.
“You have some really old pictures here. Hope you don’t mind.” She pulls one out carefully and shows me. “I love old vintage pictures.” A soft smile curves her mouth, one I haven’t seen yet, warm and unguarded.
I drop to the floor next to her, cross-legged. Her scent floods my brain, sweet and sleepy, wrapping tight.
“Look.” She holds up a picture of the old mansion my great-grandfather owned. He stands at the entrance with my great-grandmother, arms linked. The photos are faded, some barely holding colour.
“It’s so impressive how in the old days the pictures had so much feeling, even without any colour in them.” She points to a tree beside them, finger tracing gently. “Look at the leaves.”
I stare. They look happy. In love. Something I’ve never felt. Chest tightens unexpectedly. I glance at her, eyes glowing with excitement, hands moving softly over the images.
“You okay, Flynn?” She asks quietly, staring back, brows knitting slightly.
“Yeah.” The lie slips, but she sees through it, eyes narrowing knowingly.
“Liar.” She leans in slow, kisses me. Not like our usual clashes. This one different: soft, slow. Her hand rests behind my neck, fingers threading warm. I slide mine to the back of her hair, fist loose, letting her tongue slip into my mouth, moving lazily, exploring.
It feels different. Heart beats faster, thudding hard against ribs.
She breaks the kiss, a smile lingering, and turns back to the pictures. “I didn’t know you had a farm.” She says light, and I frown deep, surprise flickering.
“I don’t.” I frown; my family is old money, really old. It stretches back centuries, roots buried deep.
“Isn’t this your great-grandmother?” She shows me a picture, her fingers gentle on the edge. Her, Edith Glove, maiden name intact, standing on a farm with her parents? No, it can’t be.
I snatch the picture up, flip it quickly. Name matches: Edith Glove, 17 years old at the Glove farm. The ink faded but clear.
“Is there more?” My voice cracks frantic now, pulse spiking. Autumn nods slow, her eyes wide, and pulls out another stack. One shows her older, my great-grandfather’s arm wrapped possessively around her waist, hand splayed on her hip.
“So the very rich Brady married a lovely farm girl?” Autumn’s in awe, her gaze soft on the images, lips parting slightly.
“She wasn’t a member.” I murmur low, throat tightening.
“A member of what?” Autumn asks, her head tilting curiously, but I don’t reply. I stand fast, muscles coiling, and pick up my phone and press Kian’s number.
“You better be dying, mate. It’s two a.m.” He groans sleepily, his voice thick.
“I need your help.” I bolt down the stairs to my bedroom, feet pounding. “Pull all the info on my great-grandfather, Ellijah Brady. Especially the wedding certificate.” I hear Kian shift, sheets rustling as he wakes fully.
“Okay, what am I looking for?” Kian’s wide awake now, alert in his tone.
“I think he married a farmer. My great-grandmother. I don’t think she was connected to the Consortium. So if I’m right.” My voice starts to tremble, hand gripping the phone white-knuckled.
“It means you can too,” Kian finishes, breath catching. “Fuck, Flynn. You want to marry Autumn?”
“I’m not killing her. Pretty sure neither of you want that either.” I know they like her, and there’s Viviana. She would never forgive them or Declan; if they were forced to kill her, there would be a heavy knot forming in my stomach at the thought. Something I haven’t felt since my father died.
“I’ll dig into this. Give me an hour.” Kian hangs up abruptly. I yank on a sweatshirt, fabric pulling over my head, and head to Kaden’s office. I know he’s still there, probably plotting how to get us out unnoticed, make us disappear clean.
“Kaden.” I burst in, door banging. He stands instantly, gun in hand. We’re all on edge, nerves frayed. Who knows what Flanaghan has planned next.
“Fuck, Flynn.” He groans with relief, holstering the gun back.
“There might be a way. If I marry Autumn.” I let it out; my chest tightens.
“Marry Autumn?” He stares at me, brows shooting up like I’m losing my shit. “She’s a civilian.”
“She is, but only if there’s precedent.” I grab the car keys from his desk, metal cold in my palm. “They can’t refuse.” I stare him down hard, jaw set. “I won’t let her die, Kaden.”
He stares back for a beat, eyes softening. “I know.” He moves quickly, grabbing a coat, shrugging it on.
“Where to?” He heads to the door, steps matching mine.
“The old mansion. I need to check the old documents.”
We drive in silence to my family’s old mansion. I used to come here as a child with my parents; my mother hated it and said it was too dark and too sad, and now it looms ahead, and I remember how right she was.
The mansion is kept by an old man that my father hired, and I keep it. I considered moving into this place before buying one near Declan, but this one is huge – four floors, thirty-two rooms. It’s too much; I barely like the one I got. I’m not the mansion kind of guy.
Kaden parks in front of the house after we cross the locked gate. I pull the keys out and open the door with a creaking sound like one out of a haunted house movie.
The house looks taken off; dust and cloths cover the furniture, and it smells like old wood.
We head to my grandfather’s study; I open the doors, and it looks like a fucking museum. It’s exactly as I remember it, and I haven’t been here in fifteen years.
“Look for anything about my great-grandfather.” I tell Kaden, and he moves to the shelves, pulling file after file. I dig into his desk, opening drawers and cabinets. A lot of files about the families and the past, but nothing personal.
One file catches my eye; it has a symbol, the old Consortium one we stopped using when my father and Callaghan’s father took over.
It confirms what we already know: the first two families to form the Consortium, at the time it was called Teglach—family—were the Bradys and the Callaghans; only four years later the Keeffes joined in, and one year after the Flanaghans.
Then the name changes to the Irish Consortium.
It was easier and sounded more professional, since we are supposed to be a company of importers and exporters.
“I think I found it.” Kaden cuts through my thoughts.
I stride towards him and pick the files, wedding certificates dating from my great-great-grandfather up to my parents.
There is a sheet for each woman, all from rich families, that struck deals; even though my parents loved each other, I knew their marriage was set before they even met.
When my father was killed, my mom entered depression; ‘broken heart’ is what the doctors told me when she passed a year later, leaving me alone. No siblings, no one.
The Callaghans filled that void; we had already been inseparable since we were kids, but with both our parents killed, we got closer.
Declan’s mother was killed with her father; she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. She was my mother’s best friend too.
“Flynn.” Kaden calls as my mind keeps taking a walk on the fucking memory lane. “Look.”
He points to the sheet under the one I’m staring at, my great-grandmother, and under it should have a list of the family assets, money, and lands, but it’s empty.
There is only one signature. I look closer and realise it says Callaghan.
Declan’s great-grandfather signed; he authorised it, which means—I let out a smirk.
“Thank fuck.” I murmur, and Kaden lets out a breath.
“She will be pissed, you know that, right?” Kaden stares at me with a grin.
“Oh, I know.” My smile is wider. I can’t wait to hear her scream.
My phone rings, Kian on the other end.
“It’s confirmed.” He says.
“I got the papers.” I give them to Kaden, who snatches a bunch of pictures.
“Is Declan there?” I know he is; Kian probably woke him up the moment he hung up my call.
“I’m here.” His voice is low and rough.
“I need your oval of approval,” I say.
There’s a minute of silence. “You have it, brother.”
“Tomorrow, at five in the afternoon, the old chapel,” I say, and he agrees.
Tomorrow Autumn Glass will become Autumn Brady, whether she likes it or not.