Chapter Twenty-Two
THE HEADLIGHTS CUT off, and the night swallows us whole. The sign above the building reads “MATTRESS MAGIC”, half the bulbs burnt out, so it flickers like a dying heartbeat. The place smells like dust and rain-soaked concrete. Every window is barred, every corner shadowed.
“Where do you want him, boss?” Josh’s voice grunts from ahead of me. He’s carrying Gavin like a bag of trash, one arm slung over his shoulder.
We’d made the forty-minute drive in thirty, the convoy slicing through the dark like a string of silent bullets.
It was the kind of movement that should’ve made the news–too many headlights, too much purpose–but I don’t care anymore about getting caught.
The law stopped meaning anything the day Gavin took everything from me.
“I actually don’t know,” I admit. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “Papa, where do we take him?”
My dad gestures toward the back, his face unreadable in the flickering light. “That door there. ’Tis an elevaytor up tae the second level. It’s sound-proof an’ secure — everythin’ ye’d be wantin’.”
A chill runs through me at the casual way he says soundproof, like it’s a feature, not a warning.
Brenden’s arm is slung over my shoulders, and though it looks like he’s steadying me, it’s really the other way around.
He’s still weak, pale under the bruises, his steps uneven.
Every wince he tries to hide slices through me.
I tighten my grip around his waist, pretending it’s affection when it’s really desperation.
“Why does your dad own a mattress store?” Brenden whispers, his breath hot against my ear. The humor is there, buried under pain.
I almost laugh. “I have no clue. Didn’t even know it existed until tonight.”
He just nods, grimacing with every step. The sound of his labored breathing echoes in my skull like guilt.
“Josh, you good?” Corver calls out from behind us.
Josh doesn’t even look back. He waves him off, half a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. “Got it.”
When he reaches the back door, he pulls it open and presses the circular button beside the elevator. The old machinery groans awake with a low chime before the doors creak open. The smell of oil and rust escapes like breath from a tomb.
We pile in–Josh, Gavin, my dad, Brenden, and me. Corver, Natasha, and her men wait behind. The rest, my mom, Hazel, June, Richie, Alisha, and my sister, are still en route. Sam went to collect all of them.
As the elevator rises, the air grows heavier.
I can hear the clank of chains somewhere above us.
The old gears groan, the light flickers overhead.
Brenden leans on me harder now, his forehead brushing the top of my head.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.
I can feel the apology in the way he exhales.
When the elevator doors slide open again, the world changes.
The room is sterile, echoing, and wrong.
One mattress against the wall, a set of chains bolted into the concrete above it.
A single wooden chest sits in the corner–large and deliberate.
I’m afraid of what I would find if I opened it.
Finally, a metal chair stands in the center of the floor, its arms fitted with restraints.
It isn’t a room. It’s a stage.
I stare for a long moment before realizing I’m holding my breath. My father wasn’t exaggerating–this place was built for pain. The air even feels colder here, like it’s been conditioned to watch and not interfere.
My dad walks around, showing everyone what is up here, even showing Josh and Brenden what’s in the chest, but I ignore it. I don’t want to know.
The elevator groans again, descending. A minute later, it returns with Corver, Natasha, and Alec.
Their footsteps echo hollowly on the floor.
Josh has already dumped Gavin into the chair and secured the chains tight around his wrists and ankles.
When he’s done, he slaps him across the face hard enough to echo, then spits on him.
A bloody bead rolls down Gavin’s chin, and something inside me almost–almost–feels pity. Then I remember Bridget. The gas. The years.
“Hey,” I say quietly, voice cutting through the tension. “Give Natasha and me a moment.”
They hesitate. My father’s gaze lingers on me a second longer than I can stand, but he nods.
One by one, the others step back, gathering near the far wall.
Corver catches Brenden before he can stumble, guiding him down to the floor.
Brenden tries to protest, but Corver hushes him, looking over the head wounds he received.
Natasha walks to my side. Her face is pale, but her eyes burn with something sharp and dangerous. I take her hand, cold and strong in mine, and we step toward Gavin.
He’s slumped forward, eyes closed. The bastard still manages to look smug even unconscious.
“So,” I say softly, almost conversational, “did you ever think this is how your night would end, Gavin?” My tone light and airy.
No response. He just looks at us both up and down, blood dripping onto the floor from his chin like slow applause.
“ANSWER US!” Natasha roars. Her fist snaps forward, cracking against his face. His head jerks sideways, more blood and a tooth hitting the ground at once.
The sound–wet and final–makes my stomach turn.
“Damn, girl,” I mutter under my breath, forcing out a humorless laugh. “Remind me not to piss you off.”
Gavin groans, lifts his head, his lip split, trembling–but he doesn’t speak.
I turn to Natasha. “What do you want to do? How much of this do you want to carry?”
She looks back at me, eyes unreadable, and for a heartbeat, I wonder if she’s seeing him or the ghost of her father sitting in that chair instead.
Natasha goes quiet. “I don’t think I want to be here. You can carry it out. Will you kill him?”
Her question isn’t filled with worry or pity. More genuine curiosity about what I plan to do.
“Yes,” I answer her simply. “He will be dying for what he did. To you. To me. To all the other women I am sure are out there.” It can’t just be us that he has done this to. He takes pleasure in hurting women. So what did he do the last eleven years?”
She leans forward, and takes my hands in hers, squeezing gently. Her eyes lock onto mine, and she whispers to me a promise. “The Bratva will always be friends with the Irish as long as I rule.”
I smile sadly, knowing we will be the women on top of two of the largest crime syndicates in the United States before long. I whisper back to her, squeezing her hands in return. “The Irish will always be friends with the Bratva, as long as my father and I are at the helm.”
She pulls me forward, letting go only to wrap her arms around my shoulders, mine pulling her in at the waist, hugging each other for what seems like the last time. “Give us the justice we deserve,” is what she whispers before pulling away and heading toward the elevator, no looking back.
Alec immediately follows after her, but Corver walks to me, giving me a brief hug and a nod, before trailing after them into the elevator, waving at Brenden, then at Josh as he enters, and then down into their future.
“Surry, I’m goin’ tae leave ye tae it up here. Ye’re in good hands.”
My dad cups my cheeks and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. The warmth lingers even as he pulls back, and my throat tightens. I know I don’t need him–but God, I’ll always want my dad.
“Thank you, Papa. I’m sorry I messed up the plan so badly.”
“Ah now, don’t be sayin’ that, a stór. Ye had yer reasons. I’m just glad tae have ye back where ye belong.” His thumb brushes a tear from my cheek. “Go on now–do what ye need tae do. An’ if ye need me for anythin’, ye call, aye?”
“Okay, Papa.”
He pulls me into another hug, strong and protective, the kind that still makes me feel small no matter how much I’ve survived. When he lets go, the air between us feels heavier. One last look, one last nod–then he follows the others into the elevator, the doors closing with a soft metallic sigh.
I take a moment to collect my thoughts. Reminiscing on everything that has happened over the last twenty-four hours.
Then I turn to look at Brenden, and realize he is going to be here.
For the next twenty-four hours. And the twenty-four after that.
And for as long as I can see. My tears become happy ones as I laugh, mainly to myself.
I really have fallen in love with this man.
And it happened so fast, but it feels right. It feels good. It feels…like home.
I clap my hands, and spin around, facing the others. “I think that each of us deserves our chance at revenge. He blew up the shop, and June and Hazel deserve revenge for that. He blew up your apartment, Brenden and Josh were affected by that.”
Corver too, but he seems uninterested in anything but Natasha. So he will be avenged, rather than getting revenge himself. I don’t blame him for following the woman he has clearly loved for years instead of beating up an evil man.
I begin to circle Gavin, like a vulture circling its dying prey. Shoes hitting the floor and dust rising. Making the entire production look even more sinister than it already was.
“So I say, let’s each have our turn.” I run my index finger down the side of his face, temple to chin. He will get what is coming to him. From me, from Brenden, and from the rest of us who he decided to hurt.
“So,” I pull my hand away and clap my hands together once more. “Who wants to go first?”
“Oh, me!” Yells Josh, coming over and punching Gavin as hard as he can in the stomach. Gavin lets out a wet breath, likely having broken a few ribs. He begins to pant, but I don’t look his way again.
“Excellent.” I smile.