Chapter 13 Verity
Verity
Saoirse and Aoife seemed remarkably unconcerned about the estate being under attack.
"I'm not watching that shite again," Saoirse grumbled as Aoife hooked up a gritty Netflix drama to the big screen.
Her boyfriend sat in a chair, his face like curdled milk.
The poor sap had led a boring life until he met Aoife.
Now, it seemed like he regretted agreeing to be her date tonight.
He probably hadn't expected to end up caught between two warring mafia factions when he accepted an invitation to the Kelly summer party.
Our guard, Ash, stood vigilant by the window, hand on weapon, ignoring the girls' bickering. Outside, we could still hear gunfire, but it appeared to have tailed off.
Hopefully, none of the guests were hurt.
That would cause a problem and probably several column inches in the national press.
While Declan had good working relationships with the leading journalists in this country, there was only so much they could brush under the proverbial carpet when the shit hit the fan.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Thea: how's the party?
Me: dangerous.
Thea: you better be joking sis!
Me: sure.
She sent a few more messages asking for details, but I ignored them.
I wasn't in the mood to get into it with my overprotective sister.
It had pissed me off that she'd allowed the twins to drug and kidnap me.
Yes, bringing me back here was probably sensible given my father's unexpected release from a maximum-security prison, but consent still mattered.
"Ash, can we go back to the bar yet? I'm all out of tequila." Saoirse lifted her empty glass in his direction.
Ash muttered something into his comms, waited a few seconds, and then shook his head. "No."
Saoirse groaned. "Fuck my life. Why couldn't these eejits wait until I was proper drunk? I bet James won't want to know me now." She looked sad about that, but Aoife just snorted.
"That wee little gobshite has a girlfriend. Didn't he mention it?"
Oh fuck. Saoirse gasped. "He didn't tell me that! I was ready to…" Her bottom lip wobbled. "That fucking liar!"
"Want me to gut the little shit?" Ash piped up with a feral grin. "Nobody would miss him."
"Aww, that's so sweet. You're my favorite guard." My best friend beamed and he winked.
"Anytime, cupcake. Just say the word."
"Pretty sure Ronan will end him if you ask, sis."
"Yeah, but then he'd lecture me on my taste in men, so nope. I've already had that lecture this week from Dec. He acts like my fucking father sometimes."
"Maybe because our actual father is too busy banging influencers?
" Aoife pulled up a photo on Instagram to illustrate her point.
I felt like reminding them at least their father wasn't a psychopath, but decided it was better not to speak his name, in case he appeared, like in the horror movies Saoirse had made me watch as an impressionable teen.
Saoirse made vomiting sounds. "Ugh. Don't remind me."
They carried on talking over the intense scenes taking place on the TV screen, but I tuned them out. Outside, guards milled around on the lush green lawn, and in the distance, I spotted a few prone bodies. Hopefully not any of the men that worked here.
"You OK, Ver?" Saoirse's question jolted me out of my introspection.
"Yeah." She hadn't commented on my disappearance, probably because James had distracted her.
"Where did you get that scratch?" When I looked up, she was staring at the jagged tear on my arm, which had thankfully stopped bleeding. I really needed to clean it up before it got infected.
"I was outside when the shooting began and hid behind a rosebush."
She leaped up in alarm and shot over. "Oh my god, are you alright? Why didn't you say so?"
"It's fine. I was with Ronan." The minute the words slipped out I realized my mistake. Dammit.
"Wait… what? You were with my brother?" Her eyes widened in surprise while Aoife fixed me with a beady look. "Spill, sister!"
"There's nothing to spill." I shrugged and looked back out of the window. "I went for a walk, and we bumped into each other. Then we heard gunfire, at which point he escorted me inside and told me to come to your room."
That about covered it. No way was I admitting how close I'd come to crossing a line with him. Honestly, I ought to be thanking whoever attacked the estate. If armed men hadn't opened fire, I might have irrevocably embarrassed myself.
My friend relaxed, apparently satisfied with my half-assed explanation.
I caught Aoife looking at me, though, and suspected she knew I'd glossed over the details.
"No doubt he'll be off to the Mucky Dog on the docks later to burn off some adrenaline once the dust settles here. Those sluts love him."
The thought of him driving away to hook up with some other women made me want to vomit. Would Conal join him?
"None of us are leaving the estate until we know who's behind this," Ash stated with a grim expression. "Not even Ronan."
"I can't leave?" Aoife's boyfriend spoke for the first time since I'd walked into the room. What was his name again? Caspar? Crispin?
"You can go, Chris. Declan will want the guests gone once the guards have cleared all the dead bodies away.
" Chris slapped a hand over his mouth and shot into the bathroom, where we all heard him retching.
Ash rolled his eyes while Saoirse smirked, but Aoife seemed resigned.
I guess she'd worked out Chris wasn't the man for her.
We heard a knock on the door. Ash disengaged the lock and peered out, gun first. I heard a murmur and then Conal walked in, blood spattered all over his shirt, his normally pristine hair in disarray.
I scanned his muscular body for any signs of injury but found none.
Ronan stepped into the room behind him, covered in gore.
And something that looked a lot like gray brain matter.
Chris staggered out of the bathroom, took one look at the state of the twins, and bolted back in to empty his guts again. He really was pathetic. Anyone would think he'd never seen blood before. Good job he wasn't a medical student.
"Don't worry, Pixie, I'm fine," Ronan teased when he clocked me checking him out.
"Not sure anyone would ever describe you as 'fine'," Saoirse smirked. "Psycho more like."
Ronan swung around and arched one eyebrow. "James left, by the way. Said something about meeting his girlfriend."
"Fuck you," Saoirse spat viciously.
He grinned before turning to me. "You alright, Pixie?" I rubbed my arm without thinking before his grin faded.
"That needs looking at before you get tetanus," he grumbled. "Come here and let me clean it up."
"It's fine, I can sort it." Being close to Ronan again was a terrible idea. Conal turned to his brother.
"Go clean yourself up first, bro. You're a mess. I'll fix Verity's arm." Without waiting for a reply, Conal took my wrist and led me out of the suite.
"Are the police here yet?" I asked as he walked us downstairs. Servants scurried around while armed guards escorted the last remaining guests to their vehicles.
"No. And they won't be coming."
Discarded glasses and plates of food lay abandoned on every surface. I spotted a lone shoe and wondered who'd elected to walk out in just one shoe. Cinderella?
When we reached the kitchen, Declan stood with one of his men, talking intently, an unhappy expression on his face. He looked up and frowned at me, giving me a quick once-over. I noticed how his gaze lingered on my chest before returning to my face.
"Are you hurt?"
I shook my head, surprised at the soft tone of his voice. "No."
"She has a nasty scratch that needs cleaning."
"Let me see." Declan barked something at his men and they left. He crossed the kitchen in two long strides to check out my non-life-threatening wound. Honestly, anyone would think I was some delicate Victorian maiden the way these guys treated me.
When Saoirse broke her arm falling from a tree, nobody batted an eye. Yet I had a scratch and they acted like I might die from sepsis in the next five minutes?
"Really, it's OK. I just need a plaster."
Declan ignored my assessment. "Looks nasty. Have you had a tetanus in the last five years?"
"Yes."
"OK, good." He dipped his chin at Conal. "Clean it and then cover it with a dressing."
Conal rolled his eyes in disdain. "Yes, Dec. I'm not an idiot."
"Are you OK apart from this?" Declan smelled of fresh sweat and something spicy. Delicious. I noted a few bloodstains on his shirt, but he seemed less bloody than the twins.
I blinked. Why was everyone suddenly so concerned about my welfare? Had Thea threatened them all with violence if I broke a fingernail or something?
"I'm alive, so I guess so." His eyes narrowed at my somewhat snappy reply.
"Alive is a low bar. I was hoping for a more positive rating on our hospitality, Verity."
The way he towered over me made my heart speed up. Declan was taller and broader than the twins; physically intimidating. No wonder people acted scared around him. If I hadn't grown up around the Kellys, he'd scare me, too.
"Alive is the best I can offer right now," I admitted, although my mood was lighter than it had been since I arrived, which I found baffling. Who knew a hefty dose of adrenaline was all I needed to shift the fog of apathy and depression hanging over my head?
Declan didn't look at all happy at my admission, but his phone rang and the minute his attention drifted away, I let Conal guide me to a chair on the opposite side of the room.
He pulled a medical kit from a drawer and expertly cleaned my scratch before placing a protective dressing over it.
"Did Ronan get his arm dressed?" I hadn’t forgotten how badly it had been bleeding.
"Not yet." Conal sat down on a chair opposite me. "You can talk to me, Verity," he murmured. "It's OK not to be OK."
I squirmed uncomfortably, not enjoying the unexpected counseling session. It seemed like I wasn't as good as I thought at hiding my poor mental health. Or maybe Conal could read me better than anyone else.
"It's fine, I'm alright." I forced a bright smile. I'd be even better if he let me go to my room to decompress. This evening had been too much. Some space from all the intense testosterone would do me good.
Conal frowned, but didn't dig any deeper.
"In that case, it's late, so yeah, go get some sleep."
I jumped up, eager to escape before he grilled me any further.
"Verity?" His voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Yeah?"
"Stay in your room for now, no venturing outside for the time being." The moment his words registered, the walls closed in on me. After spending most of my childhood confined to the attic of my father's house, I craved the freedom that came from going outside whenever I felt like it.
Panic hit me hard, and my breathing sped up. I tried to move, but my feet refused to cooperate. Knowing my room was the safest place did nothing to ease the tight band across my chest. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't fill my lungs at all.
Then a large hand settled against my lower back and an arm wrapped around me.
"Breathe, sweetheart. In and out." Conal's calm voice cut through my panic like sunlight through storm clouds. "It's only until tomorrow. Only until we've checked all the perimeters for weaknesses."
"I'm fine," I forced out, knowing full well it was a lie.
"You're not." Conal rubbed small circles on my lower back. "And I'm sorry for asking you to stay in your room. I know how much you hate being locked up."
That surprised me. It had been years since I arrived here as a traumatized child. I assumed everyone had forgotten my dysfunctional backstory. God knows, I preferred not to think about it.
I forced myself to move away. One step at a time. My bedroom was a safe space. There were guards posted everywhere. Saoirse's and Aoife's suites were two doors away. If I screamed, a guard would come running.
There was even a walk-out balcony if I needed fresh air. Conal had said nothing about staying off the balcony. If claustrophobia threatened to send me spiraling into a panic attack, all I needed to do was step outside, inhale a lungful of fresh, salty air, and I’d be fine.
"Honestly, I'm totally good," I reiterated, as much for myself as Conal. "You can go now. Go clean up some bloody corpses. I bet the pigs are hungry." I'd met the pigs. They loved snacks. And head scratches.
"The pigs will feast today," Conal agreed with a huff of dark laughter. He took my elbow and steered me toward the stairs. "Ronan made sure of that."
The unwanted visual of Ronan's pigs chowing down on corpses made my stomach churn, but surprisingly, it helped ease my anxiety.
When we reached my bedroom door, a taciturn man-mountain called Brandon stood outside, one hand resting on the butt of his gun.
"Bran's here to watch over you. If you need anything, ask him to call me.
OK?" Conal's sea-gray eyes bored into mine, concern etched all over his face. I noticed the dark stubble dusting his jaw. Not that he looked like a mess. Far from it. Whereas I probably resembled day-old roadkill, he’d pass as the cover model in a dark romance novel.
"If I need anything, I'll ask Bran." Bran stared stoically at the wall.
"Good girl." My pussy fluttered at the phrase good girl, and I fought hard not to blush a vibrant shade of puce. Not that it mattered. He knew damn I had a crush the size of Mount Everest.
I spun on my heels and entered my room to escape the object of my unrequited lust. Pining after a man - men - who saw me as nothing but a younger sister would only ever end in tears.
My tears.