Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CILLIAN
I don’t let go of Sorcha as we move across the garden. She’s trembling, whether from adrenaline or fear, I can’t tell. Probably both. The fact that she’s trying to hide it makes something twist in my gut. She shouldn’t have to hide anything from us.
Axl unlocks the back door, and we pile inside. The warmth of the house does nothing to thaw the ice in my veins. Someone violated our territory. Someone shot at Sorcha. They are going to die a painful death.
I release Sorcha’s wrist only when we’re in the kitchen, the door locked behind us. She immediately puts distance between us, squashing herself into a corner. Her blue eyes are wild, her red hair dishevelled from our run.
“This is getting out of hand,” she says, her voice sharp. “First the police, then the abduction to supposedly save me from the police and now a fucking sniper? What’s next, a bomb?”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Axl murmurs, although I can see that rattles him as much as the rest of us. Whoever did this has upped the ante. They want Sorcha out of the game, but why?
“This has to do with St. Bart’s,” I say slowly as the thoughts clash together. “They are trying to get you off campus.”
“But why?” she asks, a tremble in her voice. “I haven’t exactly done much since I got here all of two days ago.”
“Apart from killing Sean O’Malley,” Ciar points out.
She growls. “Yeah, and whose fault was that?”
“That hasn’t got anything to do with it,” I remind them. “The police were called before the fight.”
“Right,” Axl says. “So we know nothing.”
“This is bigger than the sum of its parts,” I mutter, thinking aloud.
“Oh, okay, genius,” Sorcha snaps, but I ignore her attitude. She is scared and with good reason. I was standing right in front of her, and someone fired at her. I frown and pause my thinking.
“What is it?” Ciar asks immediately, knowing me too well.
“I was standing directly in front of Sorcha. We were millimetres apart. Maybe they weren’t firing at her but at me.”
“That makes this way too much of a coincidence,” Axl argues.
“Does it?”
“Look,” Ciar says, “If we start assuming these are two separate incidents, we will lose our minds trying to figure it out. Right now, we go with Sorcha. She is the noob on campus, the one making waves with a famous name and no affiliation. This is a statement.”
“To my family?” she asks. “My half-brother, Cian and his crew live in England. They have for a while now. If this was about territory or whatever, they’re barking up the wrong mafia girl.”
“Have you sworn allegiance to Cian?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. And before you ask, I didn’t ask permission to use his name either. His dad was my dad.”
“I wasn’t going to ask that. You don’t need permission to do jack.”
She grimaces. I think it’s meant to be a smile, but she suddenly lets out a soft moan.
I’m at her side in an instant. “Are you okay? Did you get grazed?”
“No, I’m fine,” she says, brushing it off, but she avoids my gaze.
“It could still be someone trying to draw the Gannons out. Any Gannon. You are part of the whole family.”
“Or they might just want a Gannon’s head for their trophy cabinet and decided you were the weakest link,” Axl pipes up.
I glare at him with a low growl. “Shut the fuck up, you psycho.”
“Jesus,” she moans. “I need to go and lie down.”
“I’ll come with you,” I say.
“No,” she says, putting her hands up to stop me, “Please. I need to be by myself.”
She darts off before I can stop her.
I watch her go, every muscle in my body screaming to follow. The urge to protect her is overwhelming, a primal need that overrides logic. But she asked for space, and I’ll give it to her. For now.
“She’s scared,” Axl says, his voice lacking its usual casual indifference.
“She’s got a right to be,” Ciar growls, pacing the kitchen like a caged animal. “Someone just tried to kill her.”
“Or you,” Axl reminds me.
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. Either way, someone’s declared war on us.”
“We stick with what we know, and all arrows point to Sorcha,” Ciar says. “I think it’s time Cian Gannon spoke up.”
“Agreed. If nothing else, it will tell us if he was the one who saved her arse last night.”
“I’ll start making calls,” Ciar says and pulls out his phone as he leaves the kitchen.
I glance at Axl, who’s leaning against the counter, his usual casual indifference firmly back in place. But I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw is clenched tight. He’s pissed off.
“I’m going to check the perimeter,” I say, needing to move, to do something productive instead of standing here while my blood boils. “Make sure no one followed us.”
“I’ll come with you.”
I nod, and we head back out to the garden. The weak afternoon sun does nothing to warm the chill that’s settled into my bones.
We move along the back wall in silence, checking sight lines, looking for any sign of surveillance. The woods beyond are quiet, too quiet. My instincts are screaming that we’re being watched, but I can’t pinpoint from where.
“She’s going to run,” Axl says suddenly, his voice low.
I stop, turning to face him. “What?”
“Sorcha. She’s scared. Cornered animals run.” He meets my gaze, and for once, there’s no game in his eyes. Just cold, hard truth. “She’s going to bolt the first chance she gets because that’s what she’s always done. Survive. Right now, staying with us feels like the opposite of survival to her.”
“Move,” I say, knowing he will reach the front door quicker than I can.
He is off like a shot, and I follow, turning to stare out over the wall, but all I see are the trees of the woods, the leaves dropping as the wind rustles them.
When I catch up with Axl, he is initiating some sort of lockdown procedure that I hope will keep Sorcha in. If she is on her own out there, she will be walking right into their hands.
“Are you sure she’s still in the house?” I ask.
He nods and points to his phone on the side table. I walk over and stare at it. On the screen, Sorcha is pacing her room, wringing her hands and muttering to herself.
“You have cameras in her room?” My tone isn’t accusing, more questioning of why he didn’t tell us this before.
He waves his hand dismissively. “A throwback to an old cousin who used this place.”
I don’t bother asking for details. I don’t want to know. “At least she’s here.” I pick up Axl’s phone and walk away with it, keeping my eyes riveted on her. The doorbell resounds around the entrance hall, and we both freeze. I turn back to see Axl glaring through the peephole.
“Oh, it’s fine,” he says and unlocks the door. “Just a delivery.”
Frowning, I keep one eye on the phone as he lets in a pair of women, carrying dozens of bags and boxes.
I see the designer labels and grunt. I guess this is Axl’s “new coat” for Sorcha.
I glance back down at the screen. Sorcha has stopped pacing and is sitting on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands.
The defeated slump of her shoulders makes my chest tighten.
I want to go to her, but storming in there right now would only make things worse.
She needs space to process what just happened.
The women sweep past me in a flurry of expensive perfume and rustling bags, heading towards the lounge under Axl’s direction.
I tune them out, my focus entirely on the small figure on the screen.
She lifts her head, staring at nothing, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her mind. She’s calculating. Planning.
Ciar appears at my shoulder, phone pressed to his ear. “Yeah, I understand. Just get me a number.” He pauses, listening. “I don’t care if his number is private. I don’t care if you give him my number and he calls me back. Just make it happen.”
He hangs up and looks at the phone in my hand. His eyes narrow when he sees what I’m watching. “Cameras?”
“Apparently.”
“Does she know?”
“What do you think?”
His eyes heat up, and I know that look.
Spying on her is an invasion of her privacy, but it’s also becoming increasingly difficult to put the phone down.
The delivery women leave, and Axl locks up the door again behind them. “Phone, please.” He holds his hand out for it.
“I want that app,” I say, handing it back to him along with my phone.
Ciar adds his phone to the pile in Axl’s hands.
We wait while Axl taps in and then hands us them back. Sorcha is still sitting on the edge of the bed, but at least she isn’t running. Not yet, anyway.