13. Tank
TANK
I don't sleep.
I just lie in bed staring at the ceiling, mind stuck on a loop I can't break. Enya leaning into me the other day, her face pressed against my chest. The way her whole body shook when she finally let herself cry.
The way she whispered I'm scared like it was the hardest thing she'd ever said.
And the way it felt when she grabbed my wrist and asked me not to leave yet.
Like something fundamental shifted between us.
I check my phone for the tenth time in an hour. Nothing. No messages. No calls. Just the text I sent her yesterday afternoon asking if she was alright, and her brief reply that she was home with Warren and her mam.
Radio silence since then.
I want to text again. I want to call. I want to ride over to her flat and make sure she's okay, that Declan hasn't shown up, that she's sleeping and safe and not spiraling alone.
But I can't.
She needs space. Time to process. And I need to respect that even though every instinct I have is screaming to get closer, to protect, to make sure nothing touches her.
I drag myself out of bed around six, giving up on sleep entirely. I shower under water too hot, trying to wash away the restless energy crawling under my skin. Doesn't work. Nothing works.
Just keeps coming back to her.
The fear in her eyes. The way she described Declan. Patient. Calculated. Watching and waiting until she's scared enough.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.
Declan Fahy is going to regret the day he decided to come back into her life.
I dress in jeans and a black shirt, pull on my cut, and head out. The clubhouse is quiet this early. Most brothers still asleep or crashed wherever they ended up last night.
But Rush is in the common room, laptop open on the bar, papers spread around him. He looks up when I walk in.
"Thought you'd be by early," he says.
"You find something?"
"Yeah. Come look at this."
I cross to the bar and lean over his shoulder. The screen's full of documents, records, and CCTV screenshots.
"Declan Fahy," Rush says, tapping the screen. "Thirty-four. Born Tallaght, still lives Southside. And he's got a file."
My pulse kicks up. "What kind of file?"
"Multiple Garda notes on domestic incidents over the years. Two assault charges that got dropped. Suspected links to a small crew running protection rackets in the markets. Nothing major, but enough to show he's connected and he knows how to avoid real charges."
"Assault charges," I repeat. My hands curl into fists on the bar. "Against Enya?"
"Doesn't say. Files are sealed. But the timing matches up with when she would've been with him."
I'm going to kill him. I’m going to find this fuck and end him.
Rush must see something in my face because he says carefully, "There's more."
"Show me."
He clicks through to CCTV screenshots. Grainy images, black and white, time stamps in the corners.
"Got these from a friend who works security. This is Declan outside Enya's building. Three days ago. And here..." He clicks again. "Outside O'Hara's. Two days ago. And this one..." Another click. "Near a primary school on the Northside. Yesterday morning."
My blood runs cold. "Her son’s school."
"Most likely."
I stare at the images. Same man in each one. Hood up, hands in pockets, face partially obscured but recognizable. Just standing there. Watching.
He's been circling her life for days. Watching her building. Her work. Her son's fucking school.
"There's a pattern," Rush says quietly. "He watches for weeks before he moves. Lets the fear build. Makes her feel hunted before he ever touches her."
"Psychological warfare."
"Exactly. And he's good at it. No direct contact. No overt threats. Just presence. Just enough to make her paranoid."
I can barely breathe. The rage building in my chest is so hot and vicious it takes everything I have to keep it contained.
"I want everything you can find on him," I say, voice low and controlled. Deadly. "Where he lives. Where he drinks. Who his mates are. What crew he runs with. Everything."
"Already on it. Got Cowboy reaching out to a friendly Garda contact too. Off the books. See if there's anything else we're missing."
"Good."
Rush studies my face for a long moment, then he says, "This isn't just helping someone anymore, is it?"
I don't answer right away. I can't lie to my brother. Can't pretend this is just about doing the right thing.
"She matters to me," I say finally. "More than she should. More than makes sense after a couple of weeks."
"You falling for her?"
The question hits harder than it should. Am I? Falling for a woman I barely know? A woman with a kid and an abusive ex and more trauma than anyone should carry?
Yeah. I probably am.
"I care about her," I say carefully. "I can't watch her go through this alone."
Rush nods slowly. "Just so you know what you're getting into, involvement makes everything messier. If Declan figures out you're not just some random guy watching out for her, if he thinks you're something to her, he'll come at you too."
"Let him try."
"I'm serious, Tank. This could blow back on the club. On all of us."
"I know. And I'll handle it."
"Will you?" Rush leans back and crosses his arms. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're already in deep. Already making this personal. And personal means emotional. Emotional means mistakes."
He's not wrong. I know he's not wrong. But I can't walk away. Won't walk away.
"I'm not asking the club to get involved," I say. "This is on me."
"Too late for that." Rush closes his laptop. "You're my brother. She matters to you, which means she matters to us. We'll back you. But you need to be smart about this."
"I will be."
"Good. Because Pyro's already asking questions."
Fuck. "What'd you tell him?"
"That you're helping someone who's in trouble. That it might get complicated." Rush stands. "He wants to talk to you. Church at noon."
I nod, stomach sinking slightly. Pyro's not going to be happy about this, about me bringing club attention to a woman who's not even an old lady or hang-around.
But I can't worry about that right now. I can only focus on keeping Enya safe.
* * *
Church starts exactly at noon. I'm already in my seat when Pyro walks in, followed by Raptor, Cowboy, Preacher, and a few others. The room goes quiet.
Pyro sits at the head of the table. "Heard we've got a situation."
All eyes turn to me. I keep my face neutral. "Yeah. A woman I know is being stalked by her ex. Violent history. He's escalating."
"This the blonde from O'Hara's?" Pyro asks.
"Yeah. Enya."
"And she is what to you?"
The question hangs in the air. I could lie. Could say she's just someone I'm helping out of principle. But Pyro would see through it immediately.
"She matters," I say simply.
Pyro's expression doesn't change. "How much?"
"Enough that I'm asking for the club's help keeping her safe."
Silence. The brothers exchange glances. Pyro leans back in his chair, studying me.
"This ex. He dangerous?"
"Yeah. Multiple assault charges. Suspected crew connections. He's been watching her building, her work, her kid's school."
"Her kid?" Pyro repeats.
"Five years old. His son."
More silence. This is the complication. Kids make everything more complicated.
Finally, Pyro says, "What do you need?"
Relief floods through me. "Eyes on her street. Her work. The school from a distance. And information on Declan Fahy. Everything we can dig up."
Pyro nods. "Raptor, coordinate surveillance. Keep it subtle. We don't want to spook her or tip off this Fahy fuck." He looks at Cowboy. "Work your Garda contact. See what else we can find."
"On it," Cowboy says.
"And Tank?" Pyro's gaze locks on to mine. "If she matters enough to bring to the club, then she's under our protection. You understand what that means?"
I nod. It means the club will keep her safe. But it also means if things go sideways, if Declan escalates, the club will handle it their way.
Which might mean violence. Might mean worse.
"I understand."
"Good. Keep us updated. And Tank?" Pyro's voice drops. "Don't do anything stupid. We handle this smartly and quietly."
"Yeah. I know."
Church breaks up. Brothers file out, some clapping me on the shoulder, others nodding. Rush stays behind.
"You alright?" he asks.
"Yeah. Just..." I run a hand through my hair. "I need to see her. Make sure she's okay."
"Give her space. You said yourself she's processing."
"I know. But it's been a day and she hasn't replied to my text and I just—" I stop, frustrated with myself. "I need to know she's safe."
"She is. We'll have eyes on her building. If anything happens, you'll know immediately."
It helps. Slightly. But I still want to see her. Want to hear her voice. Want confirmation that she's okay and not spiraling alone.
Rush seems to read my mind. "Text her. Check in. But don't push. She'll reach out when she's ready."
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then you give her more time. But not too much. She needs to know you're not going anywhere."
I nod. He's right. I know he's right.
But it doesn't make the waiting any easier.
I spend the afternoon riding. I can't sit still, can't focus on anything except the need to move, to do something productive.
I ride through Enya's neighborhood. Slow passes, eyes scanning. Looking for Declan. Looking for threats. Looking for anything out of place.
There's a car parked near her building I don't recognize. Black sedan, tinted windows. Could be nothing. Could be something.
I make a note of the plate and text it to Rush.
Then I ride past O'Hara's. It's her day off so she's not there, but I check anyway. Make sure no one's lurking. No one's watching.
Everything looks normal. Too normal.
But my gut says otherwise. Says Declan's close. Says something's building.
I make one more pass near Warren's school. I stay far back—don't want to be seen near a primary school on my bike wearing a cut—but I watch. Make sure there's no one suspicious hanging around.
Everything's quiet.
But quiet doesn't mean safe.
I head back to the clubhouse, park my bike, and just sit there for a minute. Engine off. Just me and the gray Dublin afternoon.
I pull out my phone. Still no reply from Enya.
The silence is killing me.
I type out a message. Delete it. Type another. Delete that one too.
Finally, I just send: Checking in. Everything alright?
I hit send before I can second-guess it.
Then I wait.
Five minutes. Ten. Twenty.
Nothing.
My chest tightens. Where is she? Is she okay? Did something happen?
Cowboy finds me still sitting on my bike, staring at my phone like it's going to magically produce a reply.
"Still nothing?" he asks.
"No."
"She's probably just busy. Maybe she's with her kid."
"Yeah. Maybe."
But the worry won't leave. It just sits there, heavy and constant.
"You need to stop spiraling," Cowboy says bluntly. "She's fine. She's processing. Give her time."
"I am giving her time."
"No, you're sitting here obsessing. There's a difference." He leans against my bike. "Look, I get it. You care about her. But smothering her with worry isn't going to help. She needs space. But she also needs to know you're still there. So text her. Tell her you're around. Then leave it."
He's right. I know he's right.
I type out another message. Shorter this time. Direct.
I'm here. Any time.
Send it.
Then I pocket my phone and force myself to stop checking it every thirty seconds.
Evening comes slow and heavy. The sky turns a darker shade of gray, threatening rain. I'm back at the clubhouse, sitting in the common room with Rush and a few others, trying to focus on normal conversation.
But I can't.
My mind keeps drifting back to Enya. To the way she looked the other day. The fear. The exhaustion. The trust when she finally let me hold her.
My phone's on the table in front of me. Still no reply.
"She'll text when she's ready," Rush says quietly, not looking at me.
"I know."
"Do you? Because you're staring at that phone like it personally offended you."
I pick it up, shove it in my pocket. Out of sight. Not out of mind.
Around eight, I give up pretending I'm going to be useful tonight and head to my room. I lie on the bed, fully clothed, and stare at the ceiling.
This is torture. Not knowing if she's okay. Not being able to check on her without crossing the boundaries I promised to respect.
I pull out my phone one more time. Still nothing from Enya.
But there's a message from Bozo.
Got confirmation. Declan Fahy was spotted near her building again this evening. Didn't approach. Just watched. Then left.
My blood goes cold.
He was there. Tonight. While she was home. While Warren was there.
Watching.
I'm off the bed and moving before I fully decide to. I grab my keys, my jacket, and head for the door.
Rush catches me in the hallway. "Where are you going?"
"Her building. I need to see—"
"No." He steps in front of me. "You need to calm the fuck down first. You can't go charging over there looking like you're about to kill someone. You'll scare her."
"He was there, Rush. Tonight. Watching her."
"I know. And we've got eyes on it now. If he comes back, we'll know. But you storming over there in the middle of the night isn't going to help anyone."
I want to argue. Want to push past him and go anyway.
But he's right.
I force myself to breathe. To think. To not let emotion override logic.
"Tomorrow," I say finally. "I'm going tomorrow and checking on her whether she wants me to or not."
"Fair enough. But tonight, you stay here, get your head right, and trust that we've got her covered."
I nod slowly. I hate every second of it, but I nod.
Rush claps me on the shoulder. "She's safe, Tank. I promise."
I go back to my room and sit on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands.
Declan Fahy was outside her building tonight, close enough to watch her windows. Close enough to make his presence known.
And she has no idea I know. No idea the club's watching. No idea how close I am to losing control and hunting this fuck down myself.
My phone buzzes. For a second, hope flares. Maybe it's her. Maybe she's reaching out.
But it's just Bozo again. Car's gone. Street's clear. She's safe for tonight.
Safe for tonight.
But what about tomorrow? Next week? How long until Declan makes his move?
I can't think about that. I can only focus on what I can control. Which is making sure he never gets close enough to hurt her.
I lie back, stare at the ceiling, and make a promise to myself.
Declan Fahy thinks he's watching her. Thinks he's in control. Thinks he can terrorize her until she breaks.
But he has no idea I'm watching him too.
And when the time comes, when he makes his move, I'll be there.
Between him and Enya.
Between him and Warren.
And I won't let him through.
Not alive.