Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
SORCHA
I blink at Ciar, his words sinking in like stones dropped into deep water. A fourth head. They want to make me part of the Cerberus Order. Not just their girl, not just someone they’re protecting. A member of their elite crew. An affiliation.
This speaks volumes that will reverberate around the underworld, but I’m not sure if it will make things better or worse.
“What would that even look like?” I ask.
“Nothing fancy. Simply a statement of fact,” Axl says. “The rumour mill will work its magic.”
I chew on my bottom lip, weighing this. A rumour mill that churns through St. Bart’s like wildfire through dry grass.
Once word gets off campus that I’m not just a girl with her dead daddy’s name but an actual part of an organised order, it changes everything.
It tells every family circling that I’m not unclaimed. I’m not available. I’m theirs.
“And if that makes me a bigger target?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“That’s a war no one wants,” Ciar says.
I look between them, these three dangerous men who’ve somehow become my world in the span of days.
They’re offering me something I’ve never had.
Not just protection, but power. A place at the table instead of scraps from the floor.
This is what I came to St. Bart’s to do, although not quite in this way.
But does that really matter? The result is the same.
Power.
“You’re Sorcha Gannon of the Cerberus Order, and you bow to no one,” Axl says quietly.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask.
“Yes,” Cillian says without hesitation. “We don’t do anything half-arsed, Sorcha. You’re either in or you’re out. And you’re already in. This just makes it official.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. This is it. The moment when I stop being a ghost haunting the edges of this world and become something solid. Something real. Something terrifying.
“Okay,” I say, the word coming out steadier than I feel. “No big announcement? I prefer to fly under the radar.”
“No big announcement,” Ciar says. “This way is far more dramatic. You simply become one of us.”
I nod. “One of you. One of us. I’m in.”
The satisfaction that crosses Ciar’s face is immediate and possessive.
He reaches for me, his hand curling around the back of my neck, pulling me in until our foreheads touch.
“Welcome to the Order, Sorcha. First order of business is to get the fuck out of this dump and back into the lap of luxury where you belong.”
I snort. “There is no denying this is a dump.” I look around at the empty flat with a grimace.
I was born for better things, I just ended up in the wrong parents’ hands.
Not for the first time, I wonder what it would’ve been like to grow up with Oisin, with Cian and Robert as their sister and not some abstract bastard that the brothers didn’t even know about until I showed up.
But what’s done is done. This is now, and now means moving forward with these guys, with the Cerberus Order.
“Let’s go,” I say, turning away from it all.
We leave through the front door, which Ciar closes softly behind us. Cillian stays close to my left, Ciar to my right, Axl on Ciar’s other side.
Outside, the drizzle has turned into proper rain, cold and relentless.
It soaks through my jumper within seconds, but I don’t care.
The chill is cleansing, washing away the last traces of Liam’s touch on my throat, the memory of his lips on mine.
That is something I’m going to have to come clean about as soon as we are back inside the warmth of the townhouse.
The walk back is silent except for the rain drumming against the pavement. My mind churns through everything that just happened. Liam’s revelation. The Ahearne connection. The fact that I’ve been a pawn in a game I thought I was in control of. It’s… humbling.
We reach the townhouse, and the warmth hits me as we step inside. We’re dripping water all over Axl’s expensive floors, but none of them seem to care. Cillian disappears, returning seconds later with towels that he tosses to each of us.
I dry my hair roughly, the motion giving me something to do with my hands whilst I work up the nerve to tell them what I need to tell them.
“Out with it,” Ciar says, his eyes locked on me.
I lower the towel, meeting his gaze. “Liam kissed me.”
The temperature in the room drops about ten degrees. “Did you kiss him back?”
“No, obviously not,” I bristle at the accusation. “He caught me by surprise, and I shoved him back.”
“Is that when he got rough?” Ciar asks, his gaze on my neck.
“Yeah.”
He breathes in deeply through his nose. “The sooner we find him and kill him, the happier I will be. Now go and get changed into something dry, and then it’s food time.”
I nod, not wanting to push him. He is being remarkably calm in the face of this news.
Maybe he was expecting it. He definitely knew I was hiding something.
I head upstairs, my wet clothes clinging uncomfortably to my skin, with Cillian right behind me.
In the bedroom, I strip out of the damp jumper and jeans, slinging them over the radiator to dry.
I pull on a black hoodie and leggings, the soft fabric a comfort against my chilled skin. “Bathroom,” I murmur to Cillian, who nods but doesn’t move. I guess joining me in there isn’t on the table yet. I have no doubt that it will change if I start going rogue.
I sort out a fresh tampon and wash my hands, avoiding looking in the mirror. I’m not ready to see what this declaration has done to me yet. If anything.
When I come out, Cillian is sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He looks up when I enter, his blue eyes dark with something I can’t quite read.
I approach him and crawl into his lap. He sits back as I cup his face and brush my thumb over his bottom lip. “I’m ready,” I whisper. “When you are.”
His eyes flash. His arm snakes around my waist, and in one move, he lifts me and flattens me to the bed, his body pressing me into the mattress.
His mouth crashes down on mine. This is hunger unleashed, raw and consuming.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming every inch, and I meet him with equal desperation.
My hands tangle in his dark hair, pulling him closer, deeper.
This first kiss is pure magic. It’s everything I knew it would be, and it was worth the wait.
Our tongues twist in a duel. I let him win as he devours my mouth with his.
He pulls back and leans his forehead against mine. “There is no going back.”
“I don’t want to. I want you. All of you.”
He nods and sits back, climbing off the bed and holding out his hand to help me up. “We will finish this later.”
“Tomorrow,” I say with a coy smile.
He frowns. “That quick?”
I giggle. “Yeah, that quick. Aren’t you lucky?”
“Fuck,” he snorts. “You really are perfect.”
“Thanks,” I comment dryly.
His eyes widen at my tone. “Not that I care. I mean, I’d wait years for you,” he says in a rush.
“Years?” I choke on my saliva. “Christ. Let’s hope that never happens!”
“You know what I mean,” he says, slightly flustered.
I let him off the hook he is wriggling around on. “I do. Now did someone say food?”
“Someone did,” he says, his grin returning as he leads me downstairs.
The kitchen smells like toasted cheese sandwiches when we walk in. Ciar’s at the grill, loading them onto plates. Axl is leaning against the counter with a glass of wine, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“Feeling better?” Axl asks.
“Much.” I slide onto one of the bar stools, watching Ciar work. There’s something mesmerising about the way he moves around the kitchen, confident and controlled.
Ciar slides a plate in front of me, the sandwich cut diagonally, golden and perfect. He’s even added crisps on the side. “Eat,” he commands, but there’s no heat in it.
I take a bite, and it’s exactly what I need. Warm, cheesy, simple. The kind of food that makes everything feel a little less fucked up.
Cillian leans against the counter beside me. “Tomorrow, we start training properly. You are good in a fight, trained with blades, but your physical strength needs work.”
I nod with a mouthful of sandwich. “Sounds good,” I mumble.
We fall into silence as we eat, and everything just feels normal. Easy. Like we’ve been doing this for years instead of days.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out, glancing at the screen. With a frown, I slide my finger over the screen and place it to my ear.
“GET OUT!” A male voice shouts down the line before I’ve even said hello.
“What?” I mutter, and then the window shatters and an explosion rocks the kitchen.
I fly off the stool and land flat on my back, banging my head hard enough to rattle my brains. My ears are ringing, my lungs are struggling to take my next breath. Birdies fly around my head as figures in dark clothing surround me.
Shouts echo around the kitchen.
The guys.
But it isn’t their hands that lift me off my feet. It’s not one of them whose shoulder I’m slung over.
I’m hauled through the shattered remains of what used to be Axl’s kitchen, as my vision swims in and out of focus.