17. Tank
TANK
I make it halfway to my bike before the guilt hits.
Leaving her. Walking away when she's terrified and shaking and begging me not to go. The look on her face when I pulled away. Pure fear. Not of Declan. Of losing me.
My chest aches.
But I can't turn back. Can't stay. Not when we finally have a location on that fuck.
I swing onto my bike and kick her to life. The engine roars, drowning out the noise in my head. But not the image of Enya's face. Not the way her hands clutched my cut like she could hold me there through sheer force of will.
My phone rings as I pull out of the car park. Rush.
I answer through the helmet comm. "Yeah."
"We've got him." Rush's voice is tight, controlled. "Cowboy tracked him to the Liffey Industrial Estate. East side."
My pulse kicks up. "How sure?"
"Hundred percent. Raptor's got eyes on him right now. He's been circling Enya's street for days. From what Raptor says, the fucker’s been taking photos.”
Cold rage floods through me. Not hot. Not explosive. Just cold and focused and lethal.
"I'm on my way."
"Tank." Rush's voice drops. "Pyro says you get first crack at him. But we're all going. This isn't a solo mission."
"I know."
"Do you? Because you sound like you're about to do something stupid."
"I'm not doing anything stupid. I'm ending this."
Silence on the other end. I hear a deep breath before he speaks. "Alright. We'll be waiting."
I hang up and twist the throttle harder than I need to. The bike screams through Dublin streets.
Declan Murphy has been planning something. Watching her. Following her. Taking photos. Making notes.
He was going to take her.
Take Warren.
The thought makes me want to tear the world apart with my bare hands.
Not happening. Never fucking happening.
The industrial estate is exactly what I expected. Abandoned warehouses with broken windows. The kind of place where bad things happen and no one asks questions.
Perfect.
I pull up beside Rush's bike. Cowboy's truck. Raptor's car. They're here. Waiting.
I kill the engine, swing off, and find them standing in the shadows near the largest warehouse. Pyro's there too, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"He's inside," Raptor says quietly. "North entrance. Been in there about twenty minutes. Haven't seen anyone else."
"He alone?" I ask.
"Looks like it."
Pyro steps forward and looks at me. "This is your call, Tank. You want him, he's yours. We're backup. Nothing more."
I nod, unable to speak. Throat too tight.
"But, Tank," Pyro's voice drops, goes serious, "you understand what this means? What you're about to do?"
"Yeah."
"No going back after this."
"I know."
He studies my face. Whatever he sees there, he accepts it. "Alright then. Let's end this."
We move as a unit. Silent. Efficient. Raptor takes point. Cowboy flanks left. Rush right. I'm in the middle with Pyro behind me.
The warehouse door is open. And there, in the center of the space, standing near a metal table covered in papers and photos, is Declan Murphy.
He's smaller than I expected. Average height. Lean build. Dark hair. Ordinary face. The kind of man you'd pass on the street and never notice.
But I notice the photos spread on the table. All of Enya. Some of Warren. Some of her building. Her work. The school.
Plans. He was planning something.
Declan looks up when we enter. Sees me. Sees the patch. The brothers flanking me.
And he smiles.
He fucking smiles.
"You must be Tank," he says, voice smooth, confident, like he's in control. "Enya's new guard dog."
I don't respond. I just move closer. Slowly. Deliberately.
"She talks about you, you know," Declan continues. "Well, she doesn't talk to me directly anymore. But I hear things. See things. She's been spending a lot of time with you."
"She's done with you." My voice comes out flat, cold.
"Is she?" He laughs, sharp and bitter. "You don't know her like I do. She'll always crawl back. Always has. Always will."
"Not this time."
"Yes, this time. Every time." He moves around the table casually, like we're having a normal conversation. "She's mine, has been for years. The fact she ran doesn't change that."
"She left you."
"She ran. There's a difference. And now she's playing house with you, letting you pretend you matter. But you don't. Not really. Because when I take her back, she won't remember your name."
My fists clench, every muscle in my body coiled tight.
"You think she chose you?" Declan's smile widens. "She doesn't get to choose. That's not how this works. She's mine. Warren's mine. And I'm taking them back."
"Over my dead body."
"If that's what it takes." His hand moves to his pocket. Slow. Deliberate.
Raptor shifts behind me. Ready.
He’s mine.
"You're not taking her anywhere," I say quietly. "You're not touching her. You're not going near her son. You're done."
"I'm done when I say I'm done." Declan pulls a knife from his pocket. "I've been watching her for weeks. Know her routine. Know where she sleeps. Where Warren goes to school. Where your little clubhouse is. I know everything."
"Then you know coming here was a mistake."
"Was it?" He tilts his head. "Because from where I'm standing, I've got nothing to lose. And you've got everything."
He's right. That's the fucked up part. He's got nothing. No family who'll miss him. No ties. Nothing but obsession and violence.
And I've got Enya. I’ve got her trust. Got her leaning on me. Got everything to lose if I fuck this up. I’m falling so hard for the woman, so fucking hard. Hell, I’ve probably already fallen.
But that's exactly why I can't let him walk out of here.
"Last chance," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "Walk away. Leave Dublin. Never come back. And you live."
Declan laughs. "I'm not going anywhere. She's mine. And I will never let her go."
The words land like a death sentence.
His. Not mine.
I move. Fast. Closing the distance before he can react. My fist connects with his jaw. Hard. The crack echoes through the warehouse.
He stumbles back, blood on his lip. But he's still smiling.
"There it is," he says. "There's the violence I knew was in you. Enya always picks the violent ones."
I hit him again, this time aiming for his ribs. He grunts in pain, his eyes flashing with agony, but he continues to come for me, swinging the knife in my direction.
I dodge it, but barely. The blade whistles past my face, not touching me.
"She'll never forgive you for this," Declan says. "For being exactly what you are. A thug. A killer."
"Better a killer than what you are."
"And what am I?"
"Nothing. You're fucking nothing."
He lunges, his knife aimed at my chest. I catch his wrist and twist hard, until I hear something crack. He screams in pain and drops the knife.
But he's not done. His mouth twists into a scowl as he starts to advance once again, throwing punch after punch. One connects with my temple, and instantly, stars burst in my vision.
I stagger back and the fucker tackles me. We hit the concrete with a jarring thud, the impact driving the air from my lungs. And just like that, he’s on top of me. His hands around my throat. Squeezing. His face twisted with hate.
"I'll kill you," he snarls. "Then I'll take her. Take Warren. Make them watch each other suffer. Make them remember this is your fault."
Rage explodes through me. Hot, vicious, and unstoppable.
I bring my knee up, hard, right between his legs. He gasps and loosens his grip. I throw him off and scramble to my feet. He's slower getting up from being hurt and bleeding. But he’s still fighting.
He comes at me again. I meet him halfway. My fist connects with his nose and blood sprays from it, but it doesn’t stop him. His elbow catches my ribs. Pain flares but I push through it.
We're both bleeding now, both breathing hard. We both know this only ends one way.
He reaches for the knife, fingers closing around the handle.
I'm faster.
I grab him by the throat and slam him against the metal table. Photos of Enya scatter and fall to the ground.
"She's not yours," I growl, face inches from his. "You're never touching her again."
"I'll always come back," he chokes out, blood bubbling on his lips. "Always. You can't watch her forever. Can't protect her every second. And when you slip, when you fuck up, I'll be there."
He means it. I can see it in his eyes. The obsession. The certainty. He'll never stop. Never let her go. Never give her peace.
There's only one way to end this.
I tighten my grip. He claws at my hands, gasping, eyes going wide.
"You had your chance to walk away," I say quietly.
Then I do what needs to be done.
It takes longer than the movies make it look, a lot longer than I want. But eventually, Declan Murphy stops struggling. Stops breathing and goes still.
I let go and step back.
He slumps onto the table and then slides to the floor. He’s dead.
I stand there, breathing hard, my hands shaking as I stare at the body.
I just killed a man with my bare hands. Deliberately. Consciously. Because it was the only way Enya would ever be safe. And I'd do it again.
The brothers move closer. Raptor kneels beside the body, checking for a pulse even though we all know there isn't one.
"He's gone," Raptor says quietly.
Pyro steps forward and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You did what needed doing."
I nod, unable to speak just yet.
Rush picks up Declan's phone from the table and scrolls through it. His expression darkens.
"Tank, look at this."
I take the phone. See messages. Unsent. Drafted but never delivered.
To Enya: I'm coming for you. And when I do, you'll wish you never left.
To an unknown number: Need help grabbing someone. Woman and kid. Cash up front.
To another number: Where can I get untraceable plates?
He was planning it. Planning to take her, to hire help, to make her disappear.
The phone slips from my hand and clatters on the concrete.
"He was going to take her," I say, my voice hollow. "Take Warren and make them disappear."
"And now he can't," Cowboy says firmly. "You stopped him."
"By killing him."
"By protecting her," Pyro corrects. "There's a difference."
Is there? Right now, standing over a dead body with blood on my hands, the difference feels thin.
"We'll clean this up," Raptor says, already moving and planning. "Make it look like he left town, or like he never existed. Either way, no one's connecting this to you or Enya."
"What about the garda?"
"What about them? Declan Fahy is a ghost. No family who'll report him missing. No real ties. He'll just... disappear."
Pyro squeezes my shoulder again. "Go. She needs you."
"I've got blood on me."
"Then clean up first. But go. She's at the clubhouse terrified you're not coming back."
Rush steps forward. "She's with the women. They're keeping her calm. But she needs to see you. Needs to know you're alright."
I nod slowly then force my body to move, to turn away from the corpse, to walk toward the door.
At the threshold, I stop and look back. Declan Fahy is dead. Enya's free. Warren's safe.
But I'm terrified. Terrified she'll look at me and see a killer. See violence. See exactly what I am. Terrified I just ruined everything we were building.
"Tank." Rush's voice is gentle. "She's not going to blame you. She's going to be relieved."
"You don't know that."
"Yeah, I do. Because I know what it's like to do terrible things for the right reasons. And she'll understand. Trust me."
I want to believe him. Want to think Enya will see this for what it was, protection and necessity.
But doubt eats at me as I walk to my bike and as I clean the blood off my hands with a rag from my saddlebag. Even as I ride back to the clubhouse.
I killed a man tonight.
For her.
And I don't know if she'll forgive me for it.
* * *
The clubhouse is quiet when I pull up. It’s later now. I’m changed and cleaned, needing to be this way as to not scare Enya when I returned.
I sit on my bike for a long moment. Engine off, just staring at the doors.
She's in there, waiting for me, no doubt terrified.
And I have to walk in and tell her Declan's dead. That I killed him. That it's over.
But what if she doesn't see it as over? What if she sees it as the beginning of something worse? What if she looks at me and sees a monster?
What if I lose her because I did the only thing I could do to keep her safe?
My hands shake on the handlebars.
I've faced down men twice my size. Taken beatings that should've killed me. Ridden through storms and violence and chaos without flinching.
But walking through those doors and facing Enya terrifies me more than anything I've ever done.
Because she matters. More than I want to admit. More than I know how to handle.
And I might've just destroyed the best thing that's ever happened to me.
I swing off the bike. Walk toward the doors. Each step feels heavier than the last.
My hand reaches for the handle.
What if she hates me?
What if she's scared of me?
What if I walk in there and she looks at me with fear instead of relief?
I can't. I can't face that.
But I have to.
Because she's in there. Waiting. And I promised I'd come back.
I take a breath. Another. Force my hand to turn the handle.
And step inside.