Chapter 2
Chapter Two
RONAN
The last person I expected to run into tonight was Ciara McCarthy, but I can’t deny that I’m glad I did.
The woman has guts to show her face, that’s for sure, considering her family is viewed as scum in the circles I run in.
But despite our history, I was still surprised to see her look at me the way she did, and even more surprised that it got under my skin.
The second I looked into those bright green eyes, all the air was knocked out of my lungs.
She might be a permanent thorn in my side, considering our family’s history, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the fact that she’s a complete knockout.
Her golden-blonde hair is longer than I remember, and she wears it loose around her shoulders in a way that had my fingers twitching with the need to pull on it. Hard.
And that smart little mouth…
I should not be entertaining such thoughts, but something about Ciara gets me all fired up.
She’s dangerous and tempting and everything I’m supposed to stay away from because it’s clear that she doesn’t just hate me, she flat-out loathes my very existence.
Hatred glimmered in her eyes, as if her entire body was charged by it.
That sort of hatred is dangerous, and mixed with a sharp mouth and a body that would have most men in this room on their knees, it’s a killer combination.
Unfortunately for Ciara, it takes a lot more than that to get me on my knees.
I adjust my cufflinks as I stride across the room toward my brothers, a smirk tugging at my mouth as I think of the way Ciara’s cheeks burned as she noticed my gaze lingering on her chest. Hatred or not, there’s no denying the effect my presence had on her body.
She might think she had me fooled, but I caught the flash of need in her eyes, the way her throat bobbed as I stood a little too close.
Everyone has their weaknesses, and I always make it a point to remember them. And I have a sneaky suspicion that I might just be hers.
My brothers are where I left them, leaning against the main bar like they own the place, both with a glass of whiskey in hand.
Kieran spots me first and instantly raises an eyebrow. “Ciara McCarthy? Seriously? There are like a hundred other women in this room for you to bother.”
I shrug before waving a finger at the bartender to pour me a drink. “What? I was just saying hello.”
Kieran looks past me to where Ciara is standing, and I can instantly feel her glaring daggers at the back of my head.
My brother snorts. “Yeah. She totally loves you.”
I let out a low chuckle. “It doesn’t matter. The conversation was...refreshing.”
Brennan, the resident shit-stirrer of the family, grins around the rim of his glass. “Since when do you enjoy being hated?”
I accept my glass of whiskey from the bartender and take a long sip, swallowing a sigh as the alcohol burns my throat. “I don’t enjoy being hated. I enjoy honesty, which is something Ciara embodies.”
She is also the only woman in a long time that has something stirring inside me. That is equal parts exciting and terrifying.
She is a McCarthy, after all, and even if I could harbor dreams of love and a family, which have died long ago, she could never be it for me.
I once dreamed of having someone to love, I still wonder what it would be like to have someone to come home to. A family. Kids of my own. But I am under no illusions that if I ever get married, it will be a business transaction. Love has no place in my life.
Kieran smirks. “She also has a killer pair of tits, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
My teeth clench. “I’m aware.”
“Are you?”
“All I’m saying is at least Ciara has the guts not to pretend to feel something she doesn’t.”
Most women in this world throw themselves at me and treat me like I’m god's gift to this earth. But not Ciara.
She looks at me like I’m the man who put her father in the ground, which I suppose isn’t entirely wrong. But that story is messier than anyone knows, with the truth buried six feet under. And I’m not about to start digging it up.
Brennan chuckles. “Oh, she’s definitely not pretending. She looks like she’s going to murder you.”
“Hot,” Kieran mutters.
I shoot my brothers a glare before downing the rest of my drink. “You fuckers are insufferable.”
Brennan groans as he scans the room, already bored despite the fact that we’ve been here for less than ten minutes. “Why do these events always have the same damn people?”
I scoff. “Maybe if you didn’t sleep with half of them, you wouldn’t be so bored.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
I roll my shoulders as I chance a look around the room.
Brennan is right. It is the same damn people who, to put it frankly, offer me nothing that I don’t already have.
All hollow shells that sell their souls for a buck and a half.
My family is one of the most powerful in the city, so it’s a common occurrence for lesser families to seek our alliance at parties such as this, which gets a little tiresome.
There is just one person who never bows to us.
My eyes scan the room until they land on her.
Ciara McCarthy.
I told my father I’d show my face and then head out before I could get cornered, but after running into her, I’m half-tempted to stay a bit longer. Having a woman bite back at me is refreshing, and I’m tempted to go back for round two.
“Ronan!” My father’s voice cuts through the crowd like a whip, and I turn to see him stalking toward us with a fresh whiskey in his hand, though from the slight flush in his cheeks, it’s likely not his first.
Tormenting Ciara will have to wait.
“Let’s go.” Followed by my brothers, I cut through the crowd toward our father.
I’ve often been described as a carbon copy of him, which I once took as an insult, but the older I became, the more I realized what a compliment that is.
Seamus Sullivan is a force to be reckoned with. His once dark hair might now be streaked with gray and his face heavily lined, but age has yet to weaken him.
“That Ciara McCarthy ye were talking to?” A hint of his Dublin accent is still present after all these years.
Kieran stiffens beside me as our father completely ignores him and Brennan, again.
I glance over at Kieran and take in his bored expression, but I see past it.
The resentment is there, in the ticking muscle in his jaw and the slight flare of his nostrils. Without even trying, my father has always made him feel like second-best.
I turn my attention back to my father. “Yeah. She was reminding me how much she hates my guts.”
He laughs before clapping me on the shoulder. “Good for her. Though…it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, you know?”
I frown. “What wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world?”
He shrugs. “Getting involved with her. It could be an easy way to fix some old wounds.”
Brennan snorts, and I shoot him a glare before focusing back on my father. “Dad, please don’t start.”
He slings an arm around my shoulders. “I always felt bad for her. She didn’t deserve to be caught in her da’s mess.”
There’s something about his tone that doesn’t sit well with me. Is he feeling guilty for what happened to Ciara’s father?
Whatever it is, I’ve heard this particular speech before, and regardless of how much she entertains me, how much her body calls to me, I don’t intend on humoring him tonight.
“For one, Ciara would never go for it, and two, I have no intention of trying. I’m not in the business of charity.”
Brennan scoffs. “No, but she might be.”
I shoot him a glare.
Brennan quickly shuts his mouth.
My father takes a sip of his whiskey. “Think about it.”
I say nothing, only because I don’t trust myself not to agree.
Whether I like it or not, part of me is more drawn to Ciara than I care to admit. She doesn’t flinch when I get too close, nor does she fold when I challenge her, and that… does things to me.
Dangerous things.
And I know I’ll eventually need to find someone to start a family with, the Sullivans need an heir, after all.
I also know I’m not in a business that has room for love, so Ciara would not be the worst choice.
Of course, knowing her, we would end up either fucking each other’s brains out or killing one another. Likely, both.
My father tips his glass in the direction of our uncle, who’s also in attendance. “Ah, Lorcan. Come, Ronan, he wants to speak with you.”
I nod and follow my father.
The moment Lorcan clocks me, his face breaks out into a grin, the very one that Brennan inherited.
“Ronan, good to see you.” He claps me on the back before doing the same to my brothers. “Boys, looking sharp as always.”
My uncle has always been easy to deal with.
He’s what Kieran describes as more human, though that might have something to do with Lorcan growing up in similar shoes to him.
My father grew up being the favorite out of the two of them.
It led to a huge falling out when they were both in their early twenties, and it took years before they found peace with each other for the sake of the family business.
It’s something I’ve always feared might happen between Kieran and me, but I’ll do everything in my power to avoid it.
My uncle puts a hand on the shoulder of the man standing beside him. “Ronan, you remember Angus O’Malley?”
“Of course.” I reach out and shake Angus’s hand. “How have you bee—”
A gunshot slices through the air.
One moment, my father is standing beside me, sipping on his whiskey. The next, glass shatters as it hits the floor, seconds before my father does.
Blood.
Everywhere.
I drop to the ground and roll my father onto his front, already knowing what I’m going to find.
My blood turns cold in my veins as I stare at the bullet wound in the side of his skull.
“Call an ambulance!” I roar as all hell breaks loose around us.
More glass shatters as the music cuts off and the guests scamper and scurry, running over each other to get to the exit.
Kieran is at my side in an instant, dropping to his knees and starting chest compressions to try and keep the oxygen circulating while I hold my hands over the wound.
His blood is warm and thick as it coats my skin, but I barely feel it.
“Don’t you fucking dare die,” I grunt as more blood rushes from the wound. “Not like this.”
Lorcan appears beside me. “Jesus Christ.”
“Someone call a fucking ambulance!” I yell to anyone who will listen.
I glance up to see Brennan on the phone.
His eyes lock with mine as all the color drains from his face.
I’m no doctor, and I know the chances of surviving a gunshot wound to the head are slim. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do everything in my power to give my father a fighting chance.
“Switch,” I order Kieran.
He doesn’t falter before moving to press his hands against the wound so I can continue chest compressions.
Our father’s skin is turning a pale shade of gray and his lips a deep shade of blue.
It’s not looking good.
I pant as I press down so hard on my father’s chest that one of his ribs cracks. “Where the fuck is the ambulance?”
“They’re coming, Ronan,” Lorcan assures me, but I barely hear him over the sounds of the screaming, which has my fear morphing into rage.
“Everyone, get the fuck out! NOW!”
Brennan and Lorcan jump into motion to start shoving the people still inside toward the exit as Kieran and I stay with our father.
Neither one of us speaks as we wait for the paramedics to arrive, but the weight of what’s to come hangs between us in the silence.
This wasn’t just a hit.
This was a message.
And whether I’m ready or not, if my father dies, I’m the one that has to step up and take his place.