CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
KIERAN
I STAND BETWEEN Hazel and the gun, my body a shield, my stance unwavering. Patrick doesn’t lower his aim. His finger rests just outside the trigger guard, his expression unreadable. He’s thinking. That’s good. Any hesitation is good.
“I've eliminated the threat by taking Sean out,” I say, keeping my voice even. “I’ve also handed you evidence of who was behind Mary’s failed kidnapping. I'm asking for this one mercy.”
Patrick doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. The weight of his silence presses down, thick and suffocating. The tension in the room coils around us like a noose. Then, after what feels like an eternity, Patrick lowers the gun.
“You have always been loyal,” he says, nodding once. “And with all this new evidence, I will give you this.”
Relief comes swiftly, but I don’t let it show. My feet stay planted, my body still blocking Hazel even as Patrick slides the gun back into his holster.
I’m not done.
“I want out,” I say.
Patrick’s gaze sharpens. He tilts his head slightly, studying me. “Out of what?”
I meet his eyes. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to start fresh.”
Patrick smiles, but there’s no humor in it. It’s all teeth and darkness, a predator baring fangs. “No one ever gets out, Kieran.”
My stomach twists, but I keep my face neutral. I can’t afford to show doubt. “People do.”
“The only way anyone gets out of this game is in a box.”
His words sink like a blade between my ribs. He believes that. Maybe it’s even true. But I won’t accept it. I watch his hands, looking for any sign of movement.
“I don’t fancy a box,” I say.
Patrick grins. “I didn’t think so.”
He turns his back, and I use the moment to glance at Hazel. She’s pale, paler than I’ve ever seen her. She looks like she’s about to be sick. I want to reach for her, to reassure her, but now isn’t the time.
Patrick removes his tin from his jacket pocket and removes a cigar; I have to stand for what feels like forever before he lights it and takes a deep inhale. He exhales a slow stream of smoke from his cigar. “Hazel can live,” he says, his voice smooth. “But if she breathes one word—”
Hazel steps out from behind me before I can stop her. “I swear,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You have my word.”
Patrick nods. “We shall see.”
I don’t need him to elaborate. If Hazel so much as stumbles, she’s dead.
“So we’re done?” I ask, already knowing this isn’t the outcome I wanted. But at least Hazel gets to live.
Patrick turns back to me, eyes assessing, calculating. Then, finally, he nods.
I reach for Hazel’s hand, ready to leave, but Patrick speaks again.
“One small detail, Kieran.”
My gut tightens. My mind races. What did I miss?
The door swings open, and a woman steps in. Long, flowing blonde hair. Wide eyes that sweep the room before zeroing in on Hazel.
“Hazel,” she screeches.
Hazel rips her hand from mine and dashes toward her.
“Mary,” Hazel says.
They collide in an embrace, Hazel sobbing into the woman’s shoulder. Mary doesn’t cry. She stares at me over Hazel’s head, her expression unreadable.
Patrick takes a slow drag from his cigar, his smirk widening. “The small detail is Mary,” he says. “She recognized your voice.”
Fuck.
Hazel pulls back from Mary, her hands still gripping her arms as if to ground her. “Kieran didn’t take me,” she says, her voice steady despite the tension crackling in the room. She shifts her gaze to Patrick. “It was Sean.”
Mary’s fingers tighten on Hazel’s face, forcing her to look at her. “I heard his voice, Hazel,” she insists. “Did he threaten you to say that?”
Hazel shakes her head violently, stepping back. “He’s the only reason I’m alive, Mary. You know me. Look at me.” Her voice wavers, but the conviction in her eyes is unwavering. “He kept me alive when several men tried to kill me. I’d be dead if not for him.”
Mary watches her closely, her eyes scanning Hazel’s face for any sign of deception. Slowly, she turns her gaze to Patrick. “She’s telling the truth about that.”
Patrick exhales through his nose, flicking the cigar from his fingers before crushing it under his shoe with deliberate slowness. Then, his gaze slides back to me, calculating.
“So, where is my one million euro?”
My pulse stays even, but my brain works double time. A part of me is ready to offer it back just to smooth this over, but that would be a mistake. That would prove guilt.
“I’m sure there’s a way to track it,” I say with a shrug, keeping my tone casual.
Patrick’s expression doesn’t shift. “I’ve tried, but it’s some offshore account that I can’t track. Sean was very clever.”
Sean was many things—reckless, unpredictable, a liability. But clever? That was a stretch. Still, I nod as if in agreement. “He clearly was.”
Patrick exhales loudly, his patience thinning.
“Mary, Kieran is one of the good guys in this,” Hazel says, still fighting in my corner when she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t understand how this works. Patrick knows. I know. Everyone but Hazel knows. I won’t admit what I did, but the fact that I’m still breathing means Patrick wants something from me.
“The evidence against the O’Donnell gang is clear,” Patrick says. “I’ve always suspected them.”
“It’s all there for you,” I reply.
Patrick’s lips twitch, but there’s no amusement. “It’s all there for you,” he repeats. Then he leans in slightly, his presence a force, a reminder of the power he holds over this room. “That’s the price, Kieran. Wipe them out, and I’ll let this small betrayal slide.”
My jaw tightens as I weigh options I don’t have. There’s no way out of this. I either accept, or I die.
Hazel senses the shift, stepping closer to me. “Hazel can stay with me in France,” Mary offers, squeezing Hazel’s hand. It’s a lifeline, an escape. But Hazel doesn’t take it. She pulls away.
“I can’t leave my family, Mary.”
Mary’s face twists with frustration. “You should have told me from the start.” There’s hurt in her voice now, layered beneath the anger.
Hazel doesn’t back down. “You should have told me about who you are, too, and why you had to leave.”
Mary’s breath catches. “How could I?”
Hazel scoffs. “How could I tell you I witnessed a murder? It works both ways, Mary.”
Mary looks away, guilt flickering in her expression. “You’re right,” she admits, her voice softer now. “But coming with me will keep you safe.” Her gaze shifts to me, hardening. Like I’m the threat.
Hazel shakes her head. “I won’t leave my family.”
“As nice as this is,” Patrick cuts in, his tone edged with impatience, “us boys have business to discuss.”
The door opens again, and one figure steps inside. Marcus. Patrick’s son. I’ve met him briefly before, but I’ve never had to deal with him directly. Until now.
I keep my stance relaxed, my expression neutral, but my instincts are razor-sharp. This is a test. And if I want to keep my head attached to my body, I need to put on a good fucking show.
Marcus stands rigid, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but ice-cold. His presence alone is enough to drain the oxygen from the room. I’ve dealt with dangerous men, killers without conscience, but Marcus is different. There’s no posturing, no ego—just a quiet, suffocating intensity that makes it clear my bullshit won’t work on him.
He steps toward me, eyes scanning me like I’m something stuck to the bottom of his boot. “So this is Kill?” His voice is smooth but sharp enough to slice through bone.
I don’t react, keeping my posture loose, unthreatening. He knows who I am. Just like I know who he is—Patrick’s enforcer, the son who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t leave loose ends breathing.
A predator.
“When we do this, I’m in charge,” Marcus says. Folding his arms across his chest.
I nod. Refusing to answer him.
“You do exactly as I say.” He continues.
I grit my teeth. “I hear you loud and clear,” I say evenly, my voice a controlled drawl.
Marcus doesn’t blink. “Just making sure you know your place.”
His tone is flat, unbothered. Not a threat—just a fact. Like gravity or death. I hold his stare, searching for even the faintest sign of emotion. Nothing. Just the cold calculation of a man who’s done worse than most and slept just fine after. A mirror, in some ways, if I let myself think about it.
Patrick watches the exchange with amusement, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like this is a show put on for his entertainment. I shift the conversation before he grows bored.
“I want Lee brought in for intel.”
Patrick considers it, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the arm of his chair. The silence stretches, deliberate, forcing patience. Finally, he nods. “Fine. We’ll use his resources.”
I exhale through my nose. “And when it’s done,” I ask, tilting my head slightly, “will I have my freedom?”
Patrick smiles, slow and cruel. The kind of expression that twists in the gut. “No. But you’ll keep your head.”
That’s as good as it gets.
Mary clears her throat, drawing attention back to her. “I’ll keep Hazel with me.”
My eyes cut to Hazel, finding her already watching me. There’s conflict in her gaze—torn between what she wants and what she knows is necessary. She doesn’t want to go. But she will. Because she has no other choice.
I nod. “A moment alone with her.”
Patrick gestures lazily to the corner of the room, that’s as much as I’m going to get. “Make it quick.”
I take Hazel’s hand, her fingers already trembling as I guide her to the far corner of the room. Away from prying eyes. The second we stop, her grip tightens as if she doesn’t want to let go, like holding onto me might somehow change the inevitable. And then, the dam breaks.
A choked breath. A single tear. Then another.
“Hey,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her cheek, wiping them away as fast as they fall. “It’s okay.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s not.”
Her voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts deep, deeper than I expect. I swallow down the sharp edge of whatever the fuck that feeling is and keep my expression calm.
“Mary has security,” I remind her. “She’ll keep you safe.”
Hazel sniffles, her breath hitching as she stares up at me with desperation that guts me. “I’m not worried about me,” she whispers. “I’m worried about you.”
Something clenches in my chest, something tight and unwelcome. I can’t afford hesitation, can’t afford softness, but she looks at me like I matter, like I’m something more than just the guy that kidnapped her.
I cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer until our foreheads touch. “I’ll be fine, Hazel.”
“You don’t know that.”
I force a smirk, trying to lighten the weight pressing down on her. “I’m too stubborn to die.”
She huffs a weak laugh, but it’s broken, shattered around the edges. “Promise me.”
I hesitate. I shouldn’t. Promises mean nothing in this life. But with her looking at me like this, raw and open, I find myself nodding.
“I promise.”
I smile, small but real. “I can take care of myself. And when this is done, I’ll come find you.”
She throws herself into my arms, holding on so tightly it feels like she’s trying to fuse herself to me. I let myself sink into the moment, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then her lips—brief, but enough to make my chest ache.
Mary clears her throat pointedly, shooting me a look of suspicion. Hazel hesitates, then steps back.
“Go,” I say, nodding at her. “I’ll see you soon.”
Hazel doesn’t look convinced, but she follows Mary, glancing back at me one last time before disappearing through the door.
Then, it’s down to business.
The planning starts immediately. No hesitation, no wasted time. Marcus takes over, which is no surprise to anyone in the room. He thrives on control, on order, and when it comes to orchestrating death, there’s no one better. He’s methodical—ruthless in the way he dissects the situation, breaking it down into clean, precise segments. No emotion, no hesitation. Just cold, calculated strategy.
“This isn’t just about making a statement,” he says, voice sharp, steady. “We eliminate every last one of them. No loose ends. No survivors.”
He spreads the blueprints of the O’Donnell compound across the table, tapping a finger against key points. Escape routes. Choke points. Vulnerabilities. His mind works like a machine, anticipating every possibility, every counterstrike. It’s what makes him so damn good at this.
I stay quiet, absorbing the details, the way everything locks into place like a perfectly designed death trap. There’s nothing to debate. This is a kill mission, and Marcus is the best at what he does. Even if I wanted to challenge him, I wouldn’t. The plan is airtight.
“Two teams,” he continues, glancing up. His dark eyes scan the room, meeting mine for the briefest moment before moving on. “One at the front to draw them out, another sweeping in from the side. I want controlled chaos. Make them panic. Make them scatter. We pick them off before they even understand what’s happening.”
Patrick leans forward, arms crossed. “And if they hole up?”
Marcus smirks, a glint of something dangerous flickering in his expression. “Then we burn them out.”
A beat of silence. No one questions it. No one flinches. It’s just business.
I glance at the map, tracing the planned movements in my mind. There’s something oddly satisfying about the plan.
“When?” I ask finally.
“Tomorrow night.” Marcus folds the map, tucking it away. “We do this clean, and we do it fast.”
“I’ll go and see Lee,” I say, glad to get away from the Walshes.
“Marcus will go with you,” Patrick says offhandedly.
I hate it. He doesn’t trust me. He shouldn’t, but he doesn’t have to be so obvious about it.
With Marcus, there is no hesitation. No wasted time. “I’ll drive,” he says.
The moment we leave the pub, I scan the area for any sign of Hazel or Mary but they are long gone.
Marcus’s BMW is parked behind the pub. He clicks the keys, and the lights flash, unlocking the car. Marcus gets in, and when I climb into the passenger seat, he glances at me before starting the engine and reversing out the gates along the pub.
After a few minutes, he finally speaks.
“You think you’re special,” he says, not looking at me.
I raise a brow. “Do I?”
He glances at me briefly, then back at the road. “Patrick let you walk out of that room when most men wouldn’t have.”
I don’t answer. He’s right.
Marcus exhales sharply. “You’re alive because he needs you. Don’t mistake that for trust.”
I smirk. “I don’t make mistakes.”
“I can promise you one thing, Kieran, if I find out you have one million euro of our money, I’ll kill you myself.”
“I don’t have it, but I hope you get it back,” I say while keeping every part of me relaxed. They will never find the money or maybe it’s something I need them to find to keep myself alive. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
We arrive at Lee’s hideout, and I knock once before the door swings open. Lee doesn’t look surprised to see me. His eyes flick to Marcus, lingering just long enough to register what this means; clearly he thinks he’s in trouble from the way his gaze widens.
“We are here for intel,” I say quickly so he doesn’t start acting guilty.
Lee opens the door, allowing us in.
“We want all the intel on the O’Donnell gang,” Marcus says.
I can see the shift in Lee, he’s nervous around Marcus, but he sets to work. Pulling out files, maps, anything relevant. The O’Donnell gang’s movements, their safe houses, their vulnerabilities—it’s all there. We have all we need.