Chapter 30 Axl
CHAPTER THIRTY
AXL
Surveying the damage, I stand in the doorway of the study. The window is a gaping wound, shattered glass glittering on the floor like diamonds. The bullet hole in the mahogany desk is dark, accusatory. My sanctuary, violated. The thought makes my jaw clench, a cold fury settling into my bones.
The window repair crew are already working on it. Money talks. Especially Rhodes money.
I pull out my phone, swiping through the camera feeds.
Sorcha is asleep now, curled up with Ciar beside her like a guard dog.
My fingers hover over the screen, zooming in on her face.
Even in sleep, there’s a tension to her features, a tightness around her eyes that speaks of nightmares. I wonder what she dreams about.
The promise I made earlier echoes in my mind. Pickled dicks in mason jars with red ribbons and diamonds. I wasn’t joking. Give me names, sunshine, and I’ll make it happen. I’ll make it beautiful.
The thought brings a smile to my face, genuine and warm in a way that would probably disturb most people. But that’s the thing about me. I’ve never pretended to be normal. Violence is an art form, and I’m a fucking Michelangelo with a blade.
Cillian appears behind me. He glances at the window, then at me, his expression unreadable.
“They’re bold,” he says.
“Or stupid.” I pocket my phone, tearing my gaze away from Sorcha’s sleeping form. “Hard to tell the difference sometimes.”
“Does your father know?”
“Not yet.” I move to the drinks cabinet, pouring two fingers of whiskey. “But he will. The Rhodes family doesn’t miss much.”
Cillian takes the glass I offer him. “We need a plan.”
“We need information,” I counter, taking a sip of the amber liquid. It burns, smooth and expensive. “Right now, we’re playing defence. I don’t like defence.”
“Neither do I.” He moves to the broken window, staring out into the darkness. “Someone’s orchestrating this. Moving pieces around the board.”
“And we’re dancing to their tune like fucking puppets.” The thought makes my blood boil. I hate being manipulated. I hate being reactive instead of proactive. “Tomorrow, we start digging. Someone on this campus knows something.”
“Annastasia O’Shea.”
I nod. “She’s a snake, and snakes hear things in the grass.”
“And if she doesn’t know anything?”
I shrug. “We can’t make her know shit, we can only make her talk if she does.”
He nods and leaves, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. I pour myself another drink, this one larger, and settle into the leather chair that isn’t riddled with shattered glass. The study feels different now. Violated. The sanctity of my space has been shattered along with that window.
I pull out my phone again, swiping to the camera feed.
Sorcha hasn’t moved, still curled against Ciar like she belongs there.
My chest tightens with something I don’t want to name.
Possessiveness, yes. That’s familiar territory.
But there’s something else, something softer that makes me uncomfortable.
I zoom in on her face again, studying the curve of her cheek, the way her red hair fans across the pillow. She’s a mess of contradictions. Fierce and vulnerable, strong and broken. She fights us at every turn, but she’s also letting us in, piece by piece.
I lean back in the chair, whiskey glass balanced on my knee, eyes fixed on the screen.
The camera feed is grainy in the low light, but I can still make out every detail of her face.
I should feel guilty about this. Normal people would feel guilty.
But guilt requires a moral compass that points in a consistent direction, and mine has always spun wildly.
The thing is, watching her isn’t just about control. It’s about understanding. I need to know her tells, her patterns, the way she moves when she thinks no one’s looking. Knowledge is power, and in our world, power is survival.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I grimace at it and answer. “Dad.”
“Axl.” His voice is clipped, businesslike. No greeting, just my name like a command.
“Do you care to explain why a window repair crew just left your townhouse? Or better yet, do you want to tell me why someone’s using my son for target practice?”
I glance at the repaired window. “Would you believe interior decorating gone wrong?”
“Axl.”
The warning in his tone is unmistakable. But he knows he won’t get this out of me the easy way. I sigh, setting my glass down. “Sniper. Second one today… yesterday,” I correct, glancing at the grandfather clock.
“Connected to the Gannon girl?”
“Possibly. We’re still piecing it together.”
There’s a pause on the other end, the kind of silence that means he’s calculating, weighing variables I can’t see. “The Rhodes family doesn’t get caught in the crossfire, Axl. We create it.”
“I’m aware.”
There’s a weighted pause.
“This girl. Is she worth the trouble?”
The question catches me off guard, but I don’t hesitate to answer. “Yes.”
“Then protect her like she’s Rhodes property. Because the moment you claimed her, she became exactly that.”
“That’s the thing, though, Dad. I don’t know if she is Rhodes property or I’m Gannon property.”
He snorts. It’s the first time I’ve heard genuine amusement from him in years. “Oh, my boy. You have it bad. She must be something pretty fucking special.”
“She is.”
“She is unaffiliated. That is your opening to make a move.”
“She is not as unaffiliated as she, or everyone thinks.”
“Oh?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. “What do you need?”
“Time. And maybe some eyes on the ground in England on Cian Gannon. I want to know what makes him tick.”
“Apart from violence and mayhem, he has a drinking problem and a wife who will cut your eyes out if you look at her wrong.”
“Sounds familiar. Name?”
“Victoria Gannon.”
“Maiden name?” I press.
“Stroud.”
“As in Charles?”
“The one and only.”
“Jesus.”
“Quite.”
“I want to know when he plans to make his move on Sorcha.”
“You know he will?”
“He said as much.”
“Consider it done. And Axl?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let your fascination with this girl compromise your judgement. The Rhodes legacy didn’t survive this long by making emotional decisions.”
The line goes dead before I can respond. I stare at the phone in my hand, his words echoing in my head. Emotional decisions. He’s not wrong to be concerned. Everything about Sorcha is an emotional decision wrapped in a layer of strategic justification.
I down the rest of my whiskey in one burning gulp and set the glass aside. The camera feed on my phone draws my attention again. She’s shifted in her sleep, her hand reaching out to touch Ciar’s chest. Even unconscious, she’s seeking connection, protection.
My fingers tighten around the phone. Dad’s wrong about one thing. This isn’t just fascination. I’m self-aware enough to know it’s obsession. The kind that gets people killed or crowned.
I push myself out of the chair and head upstairs.
The house is too quiet, the kind of silence that feels like a held breath.
I pause outside Sorcha’s door. Every instinct screams at me to go in, but instead, I force myself to keep walking to my own room.
She needs rest, not another possessive arsehole hovering over her like she’s made of glass.
My room is at the end of the hall, furthest from the stairs.
Strategic positioning, my father would call it.
The last line of defence. I strip off my shirt, tossing it onto a chair, and head to the en-suite.
The face staring back at me in the mirror looks tired, with shadows under my eyes that weren’t there yesterday.
I splash cold water on my face, trying to wash away the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. The problem with being shot at is the comedown. The body doesn’t know how to process the sudden shift from mortal danger to safety. It keeps you wired, waiting for the next threat.
I dry my face and return to the bedroom, stripping off and pulling on a pair of joggers. I collapse onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. Someone wants us scattered, afraid, looking over our shoulders. They want us weak.
They’ve made a fatal miscalculation.
We’re not weak. We’re fucking lethal. And now they’ve given us a common enemy, a reason to stop playing games and start playing for keeps.
The last thought I have before sleep finally drags me under is that Sorcha Gannon walked into our lives like a hurricane, and I’m going to make damn sure she stays long enough to level everything in her path.