Chapter 2
Two
TWO YEARS LATER…
ALEXANDER MOORE
Dawn broke over another day at the Ashford Estate—chilly and unforgiving.
I walked the grounds alone, the dew-slick grass soaking the hem of my trousers.
These early-hour strolls had become a frequent ritual since Ronan left for London with Cressida.
A time to think whilst the rest of the world slept.
Ten months since the O'Malley estate went up in flames. Ten months since Ronan cemented his destiny in one ruthless night. Ten months since I'd worn that mask and engaged in a depraved hunt, chasing wickedness and pleasure, my breathing choppy as I went after my human prize.
Beatrice Ashford, now married off to the O'Brien heir.
Beatrice, the woman who had so much darkness in her, it terrified even me… Even when that side of her called to mine.
The more I hurt her, the more she relished it. Begged me for it.
Begged me to destroy her.
Something stirred in me as I thought back to that night. My cock responded to that primal feeling. I didn't think I'd ever met anyone quite like her. Patrick O'Brien would use and abuse her in ways she couldn't imagine, pushing her boundaries beyond the limit. Was she loving that, too?
I had a feeling Beatrice was not one to be trifled with. Her ruthlessness and obsessive nature knew no bounds—I could sense that from the first moment I laid eyes on her.
The scar on my right wrist caught the morning light—a crescent-shaped reminder of my first lesson in survival. I'd been seven when the elder Flanagan's right-hand man caught me taking food from the kitchen.
The burn from his heated knife blade left its mark.
Not a punishment, he'd said, but a reminder.
The man was not as accommodating as the Flanagans themselves—probably why he'd been so good at the enforcement side of the business—and when he'd been discovered tied to a rock at the bottom of a river one summer day by some youths out for a bit of fun, I thought he'd found a fitting end.
I traced the raised tissue, remembering how I'd refused to cry at the pain.
How my mother, the Flanagan housekeeper, had cleaned the wound in silence.
Then, she'd uttered the words that taught me more than my years in school: "Now you understand the rules, Alexander.
" One set of rules for the powerful, another for everyone else.
I'd learnt to navigate both worlds by becoming indispensable—too useful to discard, too unpredictable to cross.
My phone vibrated. Coyne, a security expert I trusted and had known for years. I'd hired him first thing when Ronan gave me carte blanche with this operation. I handled security but also logistics for Ronan, who trusted me with his life.
"Boss, new shipment numbers are in. You'll want to see them."
"I'll be there in twenty," I said, ending the call without waiting for a response.
I'd spent two decades learning that hesitation was weakness.
My mother had also drilled that into me from the moment I could walk.
Never let them see you waver, Alexander.
They expect it from the help, so they can assert their power.
The Flanagans themselves were not the worst though—people around them were hit or miss.
Ronan had offered me friendship, but he didn't exactly fit in, either.
Now I ran this place, and those days were just a distant memory. Far from the skinny kid with bruised knuckles who followed Ronan everywhere.
I paused by a copse of trees. The site of the hunt that had brought about chaos and confusion. The place where I'd chased Beatrice until she collapsed against me, her eyes wide with terror and something else. Yearning, perhaps. A desire to drown in darkness.
That had been an unforgettable night. When I'd caught her, pinned her against the wall, her fear had transformed into surrender.
She'd seen my controlled demeanour, the preciseness with which I'd handled her, my calculated method to strip her defences.
And she'd responded with a hunger that left me quite dumbstruck.
That kind of response fuelled my most depraved nature, something I didn't care to admit.
Most would find such tastes unsettling—the way I could reduce someone to their most primal state with a calm attitude rather than brute force, both in life and business.
But Beatrice had sensed my nature and leaned into it. Craved it, even.
During that night, all the hunters wore elaborate masks to hide our identities. Our darkest desires took centre stage.
I flexed my fingers, my scar rolling a bit with the movement.
I shut down the memory. Beatrice was Patrick's problem now—a trophy wife acquired in Ronan's power plays.
I recalled her expression as she'd walked out of Ashford like a queen to her execution, none the wiser as to who I was.
I had avoided her before then for the most part.
Our eyes had met briefly, and something seemed to flash in her gaze before it hardened into loathing.
I had kept my hands in my pocket, kept my distance, so she couldn't possibly realise who I was.
I headed for the main house. I had an empire to protect, and unlike Ronan, I'd carved my place in it through necessity rather than birthright.
The information leaks, or any problem that came our way, threatened the reputation I'd built.
If someone was undermining Flanagan operations, they were undermining me personally.
As I walked, I allowed the familiar calm that preceded chaos to wash over me.
Coyne met me in my study, where three tablets displayed shipping manifests, distribution records, and a security log.
"Talk to me," I said, scanning the first tablet.
"Third month in a row we're down fifteen per cent on distribution to Dublin and Cork," he said, the tension evident in his jaw. "Seventeen per cent down in Belfast."
"Product is leaving our warehouses but not reaching the streets." I rubbed my chin as I took in the visuals. The video went blurry at one point, then resumed after a whilst.
"Or someone's skimming."
Someone with intimate knowledge of our routes, schedules, and buyers. Someone with access... but no, couldn't be. Every person who worked here had been vetted and had history with the Flanagans.
"Alternatives?" I asked, mulling possibilities.
"Could be O'Brien testing boundaries after the O'Malley takedown."
I shook my head. "Patrick O'Brien doesn't have the spine or the brains. He barely manages what his father left him."
After his father unexpectedly passed choking on a piece of steak that had cost him someone's monthly salary, Patrick had acquired an empire.
Without some shrewd people around him, he'd have already run it all to the ground.
Patrick was a weak man who'd inherited power without earning it.
He compensated with flashy displays of brutality that lacked finesse.
"Then someone's feeding information to a rival."
"Or to what's left of the O'Malleys." I set the tablet down.
"Double surveillance on all transport routes.
Change the schedule pattern, drivers, vehicles—keep everything under wraps until last minute.
And I want a complete personnel audit—anyone who's joined in the last year, anyone with financial troubles, anyone with unexplained absences. " Better safe than sorry.
Coyne nodded, making notes on his phone.
"What about the underground facility?" I asked.
His expression tightened. "Security picked up unusual readings last night. Motion sensors triggered in section four, but cameras showed nothing."
I straightened. The underground farm was our most closely guarded operation—pharmaceutical-grade product grown in controlled conditions at the estate. Only slightly more than a handful of people had authorised access.
There could be any number of reasons why anyone would want to break in. Mostly, it would be profit or payback of some sort.
"Camera malfunction?"
"Tested clean this morning. Either we have ghosts, or someone's figured out our blind spots."
I grabbed my jacket, feeling a chill settle into my bones.
"Show me."
The concealed entrance to the underground facility had been updated to a newer model. It was accessed by a code that Coyne punched in. After that, he pressed his palm to the biometric scanner. The false floor descended, carrying us into cool darkness that gradually gave way to clinical white.
Here, too, everything was new. We passed through three separate security checkpoints before reaching section four—rows of hydroponic systems bathed in artificial sunlight. I moved methodically through the room, checking each monitoring station.
"Here," Coyne said, gesturing to a control panel. "Motion sensors triggered at 02:17, but the camera feed shows empty rooms."
I examined the panel, then crouched down and ran my fingertips along the seam where the wall met the floor, finding a barely perceptible scuff mark. "Someone's been mapping our security protocols."
"Inside job?"
"Or someone very good at infiltration." I wanted to kick something. How could something like this happen? The expense had been considerable to make sure it wouldn't. "Have the team dismantle this section. Check for surveillance devices."
"This is our most secure facility. I've seen a couple of the others…"
"I don't know." I stood, my mind racing. "Why did they stop here and not simply go further? Maybe it's a message…"
"From whom?"
"That's what we need to find out." I checked my watch. "I have a call with Ronan tomorrow but I better speed things up a bit. Keep this between us for now."
Back in my study, I secured the line before dialling Ronan. Three rings, then his voice, rougher than usual.
"It's nearly midnight here, Alexander."
"Would I call if it wasn't important?"
Even with Ronan, I maintained boundaries. Our brotherhood wasn't by blood but by choice and circumstance. He'd never dismissed me as inferior, even when we were children.