Chapter 20
Twenty
Beibhinn
The Present
The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls.
― Edgar Allan Poe
As I stand at the peak of the Devereux estate, eyes roaming along the Killybegs tree-line, my outdoor gun range stretches before me. Drawing in a grounding breath, my gaze sweeps across the vast expanse of dummy targets at varying distances.
This is my haven. My mind’s fucking medicine. My favourite place on this godforsaken emerald island. Somewhere I can let loose and release all the hate consuming me. A place where I can evict the memory of Cadden’s face as he stood in my father’s office. A sanctuary where I can channel my anger towards the men in my life into power.
It’s been two days since I unearthed my father’s secret room, and I’ve been processing my next move ever since.
Fuelling my lungs with another deep breath, the crisp morning air bleeds into my chest, carrying the scent of gunpowder. For the second time this morning, I meticulously load rounds into the magazines of my two handguns, aka the Shelby brothers. My fingers move with practised ease, carrying out the necessary steps in a matter of seconds.
Then, gripping the cold metal of my firearms in both hands, I feel the surge of anticipation building within me. There’s nothing quite like the serotonin hit that shooting something brings. Some people like to de-stress by taking a nice long bath. I, on the other hand, prefer to grab my guns and let loose.
Taking my position, I raise my boys, aligning them with my desired target. The world around me fades away as my focus narrows to a single point. With steady hands and a controlled breath, I squeeze the triggers. The gunshots reverberate through the range, the recoil absorbed by my trained stance.
As the bullets precisely find their mark, I smoothly transition to the next target, my movements fluid and deliberate as I duck and roll, remaining out of sight behind the mounds and barrels dotting the course.
Every shot I take is a calculated dance of skill and concentration, a symphony of controlled power and unwavering aim. The clang of each hit punctuates the air, a testament to the skill I’ve spent years honing.
Time seems to slow as I continue hitting each dummy with deadly accuracy. The rhythm of gunfire fills my ears, mingling with the thumping of my heart in a crescendo of adrenaline and focus. I adjust my grip and my aim with every target, a seamless flow of motion and intent.
At this moment, there is only me and my guns. The world around me fades away—the grief, the anger, the betrayal—leaving only the challenge of the targets before me. With each shot, I feel a surge of satisfaction, a thrill that courses through my veins like wildfire.
I am in my element, lost to the world around me.
Once the last round is fired, I lower the guns, my breath coming in exhilarated gasps as I straighten my spine and survey the carnage I created. My attention lingers on the targets and how they bear witness to my pain and hunger for revenge. This is the side of me my brother needs—not the girl in mourning, but instead, the hellion I have spent years striving to become. Beibhinn Annabel Devereux is a force to be reckoned with, a sharpshooter with a steady hand and an unbreakable focus. Does it matter that my heart is broken? No, because true power comes from those who can rise after the fall. Grief is a bitch, but I’ll be fucked if I allow it to consume me before revenge is served.
Not quite ready to leave, I load up another round and go again. With each shot, I relax, the weight of the last week lifting off my shoulders, giving me a brief reprieve.
As I finish my last magazine, I notice Rohan standing next to my Range Rover, patiently waiting for me. I’d sent him a message early this morning, telling him to meet me here to discuss what I’d found when I ransacked my dad’s office with Liam’s custom Louisville Slugger.
With a sense of familiarity and comfort, I holster my guns in my chest harness and make my way toward him, the echoes of my gunfire still ringing in my ears.
As I approach Rohan, his concerned expression is evident. His eyes search mine for any sign of how I am holding up. With his hands nestled in the depths of his pockets, he greets me with a soft tug of his lips, but there’s an underlying tension in his voice as he asks, “So, this is where you’ve been hiding out?”
Busying myself with packing up my duffel, I keep my eyes anywhere but on him. “Is it hiding if I text you my whereabouts?”
From the corner of my eye, I spy him scanning my gun range, almost as if he’s never been here before, even though he most certainly has. Shifting from one foot to another, his gaze falls back on me. If I wasn’t so immersed in everything that’s happened recently, I’d find his discomfort hilarious. Rohan is the most self-assured person I’ve ever come across, so to see him approach me with such caution is slightly comical. “Suppose not.” Finally, when he’s done surveying the havoc, he asks, “How’ya holding up? Everyone’s been worried about you. Nobody’s seen you since the church.”
His words bring a flood of emotions rushing back—the grief, the pain, the overwhelming sense of loss that I’ve been trying to bury beneath the distraction of target practice. I meet Rohan’s gaze, and although I’m grateful for his presence, I take a moment to collect myself before responding.
Indulging in a deep breath, I shock him by telling the truth. “Honestly… I’ve been struggling. It’s been a hard couple of days, learning to cope with everything, but being here, focusing on something tangible, it’s helped… in its own way.”
Rohan nods in understanding, his expression one of empathy and support. “I get it.” He pauses for a moment, almost as though he is unsure whether to continue. “Lorcan has been teaching Saoirse how to shoot this week, too. He says it’s helping, but I’m not so sure.”
Confusion narrows my brow when his face contorts into a world of pain. “Have you asked her?”
“That would involve her being in the same room as me. Something she’s actively avoiding.”
Hurt dances in his eyes, moving to a haunting tune of despair. Although I understand Saoirse’s need to retreat, I don’t understand why she would push Rohan away. Call me hypocritical, but if things were different and Cadden wasn’t holding up bloodstained palms, he’d be someone I’d be leaning on. Unfortunately, his role in the events building up to my brother’s demise leaves me to deal with these demons alone.
I’ve no doubt Saoirse loved my brother, as he did her. But pushing Rohan away isn’t the answer. She needs him to keep her afloat, and even though Rohan and Liam had their issues, I know Liam’s death has hit Rí harder than he’s willing to admit. Because beneath the constant competition to be the best, they respected each other, especially since they had to put their differences aside for Saoirse’s sake.
Needing to ease some of the tension resting on my cousin’s shoulders, I reassure him. “Let her grieve, Rohan. When she’s ready… be there waiting.”
After closing the distance between us, Rohan places a hand on my shoulder, a silent gesture of solidarity amid the turmoil. At that moment, standing at the outdoor gun range with Rohan by my side, I find a sliver of solace in his unwavering presence and genuine concern.
Tension cuts through the air, but Rohan being Rohan, slices through it by approaching the reason I texted him at four this morning asking him to meet me here. “Are you going to tell me why you summoned me, or am I to believe you just wanted my company?”
Gesturing to the opened back of my jeep, I urge him to take a seat. Once he’s perched on the ledge, I steady my breath with a deep inhale and sit next to him, our shoulders brushing against one another, offering a subtle support.
Then, I dive into the events of the past few days and replay every moment that led me to the secret room in my dad’s office.
“So he has cameras covering every inch of the estate. That’s to be expected when he’s the head of a syndicate family, B.”
“It’s not the cameras that surprised me. It was what was on them.”
Rohan’s eyes widen, his features contorting into a furrow of confusion.
“There’s footage that links him to the explosion,” I begin, my voice tinged with a mix of sorrow and fury. “From what I gather, the bomb was meant for you and Saoirse per your dad’s request, but judging by what I heard, my father had a plan of his own, and it didn’t matter who got caught in the crossfire, including Liam.”
Taking a moment to steady myself, I continue. The words tumble out in a rush of emotion. “My dad and Liam had a heated discussion before the party. Liam wanted out; he didn’t want any part of the syndicate anymore. Unable to change Liam’s mind with his manipulation tactics, my dad made a call once Liam left the room, putting his son in imminent danger, knowing what was coming.”
Rohan’s jaw tightens as he processes the information, his gaze flickering with a mix of anger and determination. “Who was your dad talking to?” he asks, his voice laced with urgency.
I shake my head, my anger simmering just beneath the surface. “I’m not sure. If I had to wager a guess from what we know, I’d say it was Finn Connelly. But I can’t be sure since I couldn’t hear the caller.”
“Considering the conversation I heard in the hallway before the explosion, I’d say you’re accurate in your assessment. Unfortunately, we’ll need more than my word to convince the rest of the syndicate to take action.” He pauses. “Did he say anything else? Something tangible we can use?”
For a split second, I hesitate on my knowledge of Cadden’s involvement. A small part of me is still unable to fathom that he’d intentionally hurt me. Even though all signs point directly towards him, I don’t want to hear the blaring alarm bell I’m blatantly refusing to acknowledge. Partly because our past outweighs the present, but also because I can’t believe I was ever stupid enough to trust a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Turns out the devil is not a monster who files his teeth with the bones of his victims. He’s a master of disguise, a filthy liar who looks just like somebody everyone knows. He doesn’t deserve my loyalty, not anymore.
Blowing out a breath, I expose a piece of my broken heart. “He mentioned Cadden needed to stick to his end of the deal,” I reply, my voice heavy with the weight of betrayal and deceit as I lower my chin to my chest.
“Fuck.” Rohan’s voice drops to a whisper, making me snap my gaze towards his. When our eyes connect, he adds, “I’m sorry, Bev.”
Unwilling to give Cadden another tear, I shrug my shoulders as I bite down on the inside of my cheek, pretending his betrayal didn’t shatter me from the inside out. “It is what it is, Rí. Better I know who my future husband really is, right?”
“We’ll make them pay, B. Even if it’s the last thing we do. And as for Cadden, we will figure out a way to get you out of that marriage.”
I don’t tell him about the contract I signed at the end of my first summer in Dingle—the one that sealed my fate. After I complete my second trial, I have to move from Killybegs to Dingle and vow my life to the boy who made me believe in love before he became the man who taught me even the strongest of hearts are delicate enough to break.
I give Rohan a deflated smile and remind him of the little time we have left before we take our rightful places at the syndicate table. If the events of the last few weeks have taught me anything, it’s that the current kings aren’t ready to hand over their power, and they will do anything to prolong their reign, including eliminating their successors.
“It’s only a matter of time before our second trial begins. Things will change for us after that,” I say. “That’s why our fathers are doing whatever they can to remain in control. We need to take them down before they can finish what they’ve started.” Suddenly, I realise the truth about Liam’s death—it’s about a web of lies and deception that threatens to tear apart everything I thought I knew. Power is the root of evil, and the current kings will do anything to keep it.
As Rohan’s gaze pierces mine with a mix of concern and confusion, his next question hangs heavy in the air. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” he presses, his voice tinged with a hint of curiosity.
“I think it’s time to teach our fathers a lesson.”
Rohan doesn’t miss a beat, his determination shining through. “We need to make a plan. We can’t go into this blind, B,” he insists, his voice firm with resolve.
Despite the turmoil churning within me, I nod in agreement. “I’ll follow you back to the cabins,” I concede, knowing that facing my mam and Saoirse is a necessary step in seeking justice for Liam. “But first, I need to make a detour to the main house and copy the footage onto a USB drive.”
Nodding in agreement, Rohan pushes off my Range Rover with a devious curl on his lips. Then, extending his arm towards me, he offers a hand. “Ready to slay some giants, B?”
Placing my palm in his, I rise to my feet. “Born ready.”
With our fathers at the centre of the storm, we steel ourselves for the battle ahead, ready to confront the demons of our past and fight for the justice that Liam deserves.