Chapter Thirty-Eight
Flynn
I stand shoulder to shoulder with Declan in the old warehouse on the edge of the city. Judgement Day.
The last time we stood on this concrete floor, it was for Alek. Knife, blood, a quick end. Tonight will be slower.
The Keeffes sit stone-faced in the front row.
Kian and Connor flank them. At the far end, beneath a single hanging bulb, Autumn and Viviana stand hand-in-hand.
I told her not to come. She looked me dead in the eye and said, “I need to see all of you, Flynn. The parts you hide too.” Viviana had already warned her what happens here.
Still, my gut twists watching her now, pale, lips pressed thin, knuckles white around Viviana’s fingers.
“You ready, brother?” Declan murmurs.
I nod once. We’re both in black suits, black shirts, black boots.
Funeral colours. My pulse kicks hard as we climb the three steps to the low wooden stage.
The room is packed: guards shoulder-to-shoulder, Consortium old guard, the Russians filling the back like a wall of winter coats. Mila stayed home. Smart girl.
“Silence.”
My voice cuts through the low rumble. Every mouth shuts. You could hear a round chamber.
I step back. Declan moves centre stage.
“Tonight we uphold the laws of the Irish Consortium,” he begins, pacing slow.
“The Flanagan name sat at this table for four generations. They knew the rules better than anyone. Those rules are the only reason we still breathe.” He stops.
Lets the words hang. “Until John Flanagan decided they no longer applied to him.”
A growl ripples through the crowd.
Declan raises one hand. Instant silence.
He nods to the side wing.
Kaden drags Flanagan out by the chain around his neck. The man stumbles, wrists bound, face already swollen and split from earlier “conversations.” Blood crusts his collar.
Declan’s voice turns to ice. “John Flanagan attempted to murder Flynn Brady, my right hand, next in line to lead this Consortium.”
My gaze flicks to Autumn. Her eyes are huge, dark, fixed on me.
Declan continues, gesturing to Kaden. “He put a bullet in Kaden for protecting him.”
The men nod, looking at Kaden with respect and admiration.
“Then he sold us all to the Russians for a better price.” Declan turns to Rurik. The big man lifts his chin, calm, lethal. “Only our friends chose loyalty over money.”
The warehouse vibrates with shouted agreement.
Declan looks straight at Flanagan now.
“Tonight the Consortium answers betrayal the old way.”
He doesn’t say the word.
He doesn’t have to.
The Burn is coming.
I move, grip the cuffs chained to the floor and drag Flanagan forward. His knees scrape concrete.
“His family has already been removed from the country,” Declan announces, voice ringing off the rafters. “They are not to blame for John’s betrayal.”
A low growl of approval rolls through the crowd.
“So,” Declan continues, stepping aside, “following the rules John Flanagan loved to weaponise against the rest of us…” He shoves Flanagan into the dead centre of the stage.
“He dies by fire.”
Kaden walks out carrying the tyre. Gasps ripple. I let myself smile, slow and ugly, watching pure panic flood Flanagan’s eyes.
I take the tyre and force it down over his head and shoulders until it sits heavy around his chest like a black halo.
“You tried to kill me,” I whisper for only him to hear. “You knew who he was. You knew, and you did nothing.”
I step back.
Declan approaches with the jerry can. Petrol sloshes, thick and acrid, as he pours it into the hollow of the tyre, soaking shirt, skin, hair.
“You animals!” Flanagan finally breaks, thrashing against the chains bolted to the floor. “Just fucking shoot me, you cowards!”
I chuckle, dark and quiet. “Nah. You wanted me burned for breaking a rule. You broke the only one that matters.” I flick the Zippo open. Flame dances, small and hungry.
Declan turns to the room. “Flynn Brady will carry out the sentence in the name of the Irish Consortium.”
He leans in, barely a breath. “He’s all yours.”
I crouch, close enough to smell the petrol on Flanagan’s skin and the terror in his sweat.
“I told you,” I whisper, “my face would be the last thing you ever saw.”
I drop the lighter.
The tyre ignites with a soft whoomph. Blue flame races upward, hungry, licking his chin, his cheeks, his screaming mouth.
His shriek bounces off steel beams, raw and animal.
I straighten.
My gaze flicks to the back of the room.
Empty.
Autumn and Viviana are gone.
Good girl. She didn’t watch me smile while a man burned.
A single gunshot cracks, Declan’s mercy. The screaming stops mid-note. The body slumps, flames still chewing.
“It’s done,” I murmur.
Declan lowers the pistol. “Finally.”
The warehouse is silent except for the soft crackle of fire and the smell of gasoline and fire.
I step outside into the cold night air, the smell of petrol and scorched meat still clinging to my suit. Autumn and Viviana are perched on a rusted steel bench under the floodlight. Autumn’s staring at the ground like it owes her answers.
My heart stalls.
“Autumn.” My voice comes out rougher than I want. “Look at me.”
She shakes her head, small, stubborn.
“Trouble—”
“I couldn’t stay,” she whispers, finally lifting her face. Tears shimmer but don’t fall. “I couldn’t watch it to the end.”
Relief and guilt slam into me at once. I drop to one knee in front of her, thumb brushing her chin, tilting it up.
“You never had to—”
“But I wanted to,” she cuts in, trembling. She bites that plump bottom lip, eyes searching mine. “I want every part of you, Flynn. Even the parts that scare me.”
I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for years.
“This?” I jerk my thumb toward the warehouse. “I’d burn the whole fucking thing down tomorrow if it meant keeping you. I don’t need you in there. I’ve got Declan, Kaden, the lads for that.” I smirk, soft. “I need you in my bed, in my life, in my arms. You’re my wife. My partner. My everything.”
Her eyes soften, sad and shining. “But it’s your world. Your legacy.”
“No, baby.” I cup her face with both hands now, thumbs wiping the tears that finally spill. “You are my world. You are my legacy. The rest is just noise.”
I lean in and kiss her, slow, deep, tasting salt and home.
“Oh my God, did you hear that, Dec?” Viviana’s voice slices through the moment.
I forgot she existed. Apparently Declan’s standing right behind her now.
“Let’s give them space, firecracker,” he says, scooping Viviana up so fast she squeaks and flies into his arms like a ragdoll.
She laughs, bright and wicked. “I need to fu—”
“Nope. Not again.” I haul Autumn to her feet, wrapping an arm around her waist. “We’re leaving before these animals start humping a tree.”
We turn to go; Autumn’s chuckle warm against my ribs.
“That’s your thing, mate!” Declan hollers after us. “The forest-chasing shit!”
I grin over my shoulder, because he’s not wrong.
Autumn slips her arms around mine, pressing close. “Take me home, Mr Brady.”
It’s past two a.m. when she steps out of the bathroom, skin still damp, towel knotted loosely around her perfect tits. I’m waiting, shirtless, low light carving shadows over every cut of muscle. A folded towel and the bottle of lube sit on the duvet like a promise.
She freezes in the doorway, eyes flaring wide.
“I’m done waiting, trouble.” One step forward. She takes one back, instinctive, prey-sweet.
“You’re not cleared,” she says, palms up like that’ll stop me. “Doctor said—”
“I don’t give a fuck what the doctor said.” I close the distance in two strides, bandaged side be damned, and haul her up by the waist. She squeaks as I flip her over my shoulder, the towel slipping, her bare ass in my grip.
I throw her down on the mattress. The towel falls open like curtains. Christ. I nearly growl at the sight of her.
I lean in, tongue slow around one tight nipple, then teeth, pinch, twist. She yelps, fingers yanking my hair hard enough to sting.
“Good girl,” I rasp, sliding my hand between her thighs, with two fingers I part her, thumb circling her clit. “Soaked already. Dirty little wife.”
“Flynn—”
“Say it.” I pin her gaze. “Tell me what you want.”
Her cheeks burn crimson, breath hitching. “I want your cock in my ass,” she whispers, voice shaking with need. “I want you to fuck me like the animal you are.”
Control snaps like a frayed rope.
I drop between her legs, mouth on her cunt, licking deep, swallowing every drop. I bite her clit, just hard enough to make her buck, then tongue-fuck her until her thighs tremble and her back bows off the bed.
Right at the edge I pull away.
She whimpers.
“Relax, baby.” I drizzle lube over her pretty little hole, cold and slick. One finger presses in. She clenches hard, then melts when I crook it just right.
“Eyes on me.” She obeys, dark and wide. I add a second finger, scissoring, stretching, fucking her slow until her hips chase my hand.
I coat my cock until it’s dripping, line up, and push.
The tight ring resists, fights, then gives in. The head slips inside.
She gasps, fists twisting the sheets.
I still, letting her breathe, letting her feel every thick and pulsing inside that virgin grip.
“Ready for more?”
She nods frantically.
I slap her clit, sharp. “Words.”
“Yes—fuck—yes!”
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
Before she can answer, I drive forward, burying half my length in one brutal thrust.
“Oh my God—Flynn!”
I grin down at her, feral, sweat already beading on my chest.
“Roll them again, trouble. I dare you.”
She does, like a defiant little brat, and I slam the rest of the way home.
Her scream turns into the sweetest broken moan I’ve ever heard, and I start to move.
Slow. Controlled. Owning every inch, every gasp, every tremor, because she’s mine.
I drive into her harder, hips snapping, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the bedroom walls. Sweat beads down the ridges of my abs, tracing the deep V that disappears into her. Every muscle in my back and thighs is carved steel, coiled and flexing with each brutal thrust.
She’s chasing it now, hips rolling up to meet me, greedy little thing.
I slap her swollen cunt once. Again and again, her whole body jerks, a broken moan ripping out of her.
Two fingers plunge into her dripping pussy, then a third. I fuck her with them in time with my cock, stretching her front and back until she’s stuffed full of me everywhere.
My thumb finds her clit, grinding hard circles, then feather-light, then hard again—torture by rhythm.
“I need to come,” she begs, voice wrecked.
I bare my teeth in a feral grin. “Not yet.”
I hammer into her ass, watching my thick, veiny cock disappear into that tight ring over and over, lube and her own slick making everything obscene and perfect. I curl my fingers inside her cunt, stroking that spot that makes her see stars.
She snaps.
Her back arches off the bed like a bowstring, thighs shaking violently around my hips. A raw scream tears from her throat as she comes, pussy and ass clenching in waves so strong I have to grit my teeth to keep from losing it too soon.
That vice grip milks me mercilessly.
“Gonna fill this tight little ass with my cum,” I snarl, voice gravel and smoke. “And you’re keeping every fucking drop until I say otherwise.”
“Yes—please—yes—”
I grip her hips hard enough to bruise; ten fingerprints she’ll wear like jewellery tomorrow, and I pound into her like an animal finally let off the chain. My balls draw up tight, spine locking, every muscle in my torso and arms carved and glistening with sweat.
I throw my head back, roaring as I come, thick, hot ropes flooding her, marking her from the inside. My cock jerks again and again, pulsing, emptying everything I have while her body keeps squeezing, greedy for it all.
When it finally fades, I’m panting like I’ve run ten miles, chest heaving, veins still throbbing in my neck and forearms.
I drop my gaze to her.
She’s staring up at me, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed and utterly ruined.
“Did you enjoy getting your ass fucked, trouble?”
She licks her lips, breath hitching. “Very fucking much.”
I grin, slow, wicked, possessive.
“Good.” I lean down, claim her mouth in a filthy, deep kiss, tasting her surrender.
“Because we’re doing this every night until you forget what it feels like to walk straight.”