Chapter 4
Chapter Four
RONAN
The hospital smells like antiseptic and blood.
I sit rigid in the corner of the waiting room, the plastic chair cold and uncomfortable beneath me.
My palms are no longer sticky since the blood has dried, but I don’t know if I should take that as a bad sign.
It means too much time is passing, and I’m yet to hear from the surgeon whether my father is alive or dead. That has to be good, right?
Good or bad, though, what happened means war.
While I haven’t moved in over an hour, maybe two, Kieran won’t stop pacing.
His heavy footsteps on the linoleum floor are like a ticking time bomb because the moment he stops, he’s going to have to feel, and that’s not Kieran’s style. Especially, when it comes to our father.
He keeps muttering a mix of curse words and prayers under his breath as we continue to wait for an update from the doctors.
I wanted to take it as a good sign that our father was still breathing when they loaded him into the ambulance, but the more time passes, the more doubt sets in.
It’s not impossible to survive a gunshot wound to the head, but the quality of life that follows is likely not something my father would want.
He’s never been one for sitting around, and if he had to spend the rest of his life in bed, being waited on hand and foot, I know he would have wished for that bullet to have killed him.
Kieran huffs as he continues to pace. “This is taking too long.”
He has always been the one who burns the hottest out of all of us.
He might not have inherited our mother’s flaming Irish hair, but he inherited her temper, and right now, as he worries about a man who always treats him as less than, he looks ready to set the world on fire.
I know my brother. He may hate how my father treats him and Brennan, but he still craves his attention, his approval, and his affection, even if he hides that craving so deep that even he forgets it sometimes.
Brennan, on the other hand, sits next to me, completely still except for the way his right leg bounces up and down.
His face, while pale, is neutral and composed.
But the small cracks in his composure are in the way his eyes keep darting to the clock on the wall and the way he balls his hands into such tight fists that the skin on his knuckles turns white.
But that’s Brennan. He’s cool under pressure and the most logical out of all of us, but grief doesn’t give two fucks about logic.
As I’m unraveling, the weight of what’s waiting for me almost crushing me to the ground, I have to remind myself that Kieran and Brennan are my responsibility now. My brothers barely seem to be holding it together, so it’s up to me to keep this family afloat.
Lorcan sits a few feet away from us, arms crossed over his chest.
I can’t even begin to imagine how he’s feeling. I’ve seen my brothers wounded on many occasions, but nothing even remotely close to a gunshot wound to the head.
Much like Brennan, he’s looking composed, but the slight sag of his shoulders and the deep crease between his eyebrows show me that what happened weighs heavily on him too.
Despite their differences, Lorcan has become our father’s right hand, his most trusted and respected ally out of all of us.
I’ve seen Lorcan make men cry and bleed without breaking a sweat, but tonight he looks like all of his past choices have caught up with him.
The door behind me creaks open, and I jolt upright before I can stop myself, my heart pounding as a doctor dressed in a surgical gown walks toward me.
He has a mask pulled down around his neck, and he’s wearing a grave expression as he locks eyes with me. “Mr. Sullivan?”
Nodding once, I tuck my blood-stained hands into my pockets. I don’t need a medical degree to know it’s bad news.
“We did everything we could, but the damage to your father’s brain was extensive, and he lost a significant amount of blood.”
The doctor pauses, and even though I know what that means, it’s not enough for my brain to register the reality of what’s happened.
“I need you to spell it out for me, Doc,” I grit out.
The doctor looks a little taken aback by my tone, but he dips his chin. “Your father didn’t make it. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Silence.
Kieran slams his fist into the pale blue wall as he lets out a roar so deep and primal that the doctor flinches.
Lorcan lowers his head into his hands, and Brennan exhales as if he’s been kicked in the gut.
And as each of them breaks, I stand tall. Unmoved. Because I can’t allow myself to feel. Because if I feel, I’ll break, I’ll unravel. I’ll be useless. And I can’t let that happen. Not when all of them depend on me now. The family and the business depend on me.
There’s no time for grief when you’re the one who’s supposed to hold everything together.
“Thank you. I appreciate your effort,” I manage to say to the doctor, even though I don’t mean a single word of it.
He lingers for a moment, as if waiting for a bigger reaction from me. But when he gets nothing, he just nods again before disappearing behind the double doors that lead to the surgical floor.
I pull my hands out of my pockets and stare down at the dried blood coating my fingers and caked beneath my nails.
My father’s blood.
This is all my fault. I should have been able to protect my father, I should have seen who shot him, I should have stepped in front of him. But I didn’t, and now his blood is on my hands.
Closing my hands into tight fists, I stop the slight shake that threatens to take over my body.
So much blood…
I need to wash this off. I need to wash this off. I need to wash this off.
“I’ll be back.” I stalk down the hall toward the nearest restroom.
Thankfully, it’s empty, so I turn on the faucet and scrub my hands with soap.
The blood turns the water pink as it disappears down the drain, but I don’t stop when the skin is red and raw. I keep scrubbing, cleaning, until the water runs clear.
Blood is easy to wash off, but grief isn’t, so I don’t stop scrubbing.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink, but all I can see is him.
My father is everywhere. In the strong lines of my jaw, in the dark brown of my eyes. Even in the slight wave of my hair as it remains perfectly in place.
I look exactly how my father always told me to look, composed and untouchable.
He raised me to lead because he knew at some point, this day might come. The day where his legacy passes to me, and I have no choice but to honor it with my life.
But before I can go out there and face my responsibilities, there’s one person who isn’t here who needs to be made aware of what’s just happened.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my contacts until I reach Cormac’s name.
My second youngest brother is on the other side of the country, probably passed out in a bed with some girl he picked up the night before, completely unaware that our entire family has been torn to shreds.
Ignoring the ache in my chest, I dial the number and wait for Cormac to pick up. But instead, it just rings out.
I clench my jaw as I listen to the automated voicemail message kick in and wait for the beep.
“Cormac, I need you to call me the second you get this. I mean it.” I kill the call.
When I walk back into the waiting room, Kieran is slumped in a chair with his head in his hands, the fire in him starting to extinguish. Brennan stands off to the side with his phone pressed to his ear, no doubt talking to our security.
Once it gets out that my father has been murdered, all hell is going to break loose.
“Where’s Cormac?” Kieran demands when he sees me.
“California. I called, but he didn’t pick up.”
“Try again.”
“I already left a message.”
“That’s not good enough. He should be here, now.”
I bristle at Kieran’s tone.
What does he expect me to do? Get on a plane right now and drag our brother back with me?
“We don’t even know if he’s seen the news yet.”
Kieran stands up again, and tension rolls off him in waves. “He should have answered. This is our fucking father, Ronan.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Then why do you look like you don’t give a shit?”
I step toward him until there’s barely an inch between us.
We might be of similar height, but the look in my eyes should be enough to remind Kieran who’s in charge now.
“Because falling apart doesn’t help anyone. Do you think Da would want us screaming in a hospital hallway in plain view?”
Kieran opens his mouth to argue but closes it almost immediately as he lets out a long breath through his nose.
Brennan steps in. “We need to be smart. Everyone’s going to come sniffing around after this, both rivals and allies alike. And don’t get me started on the fucking press.”
“They’re a bunch of vultures,” Kieran mutters.
I nod. “Which is why we need to move fast. We need to keep our people in line to show that this hasn’t fractured us.”
“And who’s leading that front?” Kieran’s tone is as sharp as a blade.
“I am.”
The words leave my mouth without hesitation. Not because I want our father’s crown, but because someone has to wear it.
And as much as I wish I could take the time to mourn my father, no one else is as ready as I am for this, so it’s up to me.
Brennan might be logical, but he’s young and inexperienced, and Kieran acts first and thinks later. Then there’s Cormac…
I doubt even our father’s death will be enough to bring him back to New York.
I exhale deeply as I glance over to where Lorcan’s standing at the window, looking like a ghost.
He’d be entitled to fight me for the top position, and I could be tempted to give it to him, but from the distant look in his eyes, I can tell he’s questioning whether this is a life he wants to keep on living.
I look each of my brothers in the eye. “I’m taking over. At least, until Cormac gets here and the dust settles.”
“You really think you’re ready for that?” Lorcan finally says.
I look back over at him to meet his gaze. “I’ve been ready since the day my father started training me.”
A beat of silence passes between us before he nods once.
Brennan looks from him to me. “You’re the only one who can pull this off.”
I clap my youngest brother on the shoulder. “I appreciate your confidence.”
Kieran says nothing, but his silence is as good as a blessing. If he’s not fighting me on this, it means he’s on board.
Brennan tips his chin to me. “So, what’s our first move?”
“We need to gather our guys at the house as quickly as possible to discuss security lockdowns.”
Kieran frowns. “You don’t think whoever did this is finished?”
“Fuck, no. Our father might be gone, but what’s to say they won’t target one of us next? Or our businesses? We need to make sure everything is covered. I’m not willing to take any chances.”
Brennan reaches inside his pocket. “I’ll get Stephen on the phone.”
I nod.
As our head of security, Stephen can easily order the rest of our guards to put them on lockdown.
As my youngest brother dials, I pull out my phone too and start making notes.
“We should send out false leads to the press. They’re likely waiting outside the fucking hospital, and we can’t risk anything being leaked.”
“On it.” Kieran pulls out his own phone and starts messaging some of our people on the inside.
“Lorcan, I need you to contact the lawyers. I need access to Da’s accounts as well as the will.”
My uncle doesn’t question me. If anything, he looks grateful to have a purpose.
Our time to grieve will come later, after we’ve won this fucking war and the Sullivans are once again on top.