9. Ronan
9
RONAN
T he whiskey tumbler in my fingers tips, and the amber-colored liquid swirls and churns. I stare into the abyss remembering the feeling of Maeve beneath me. Her fiery hair isn't quite as dark as the shade of this whiskey, but the similarity has me mesmerized, tortured over the way that ended. I thought she was beginning to come around and understand my position. It isn’t that I don't want to give her what she wants. I'm not an unreasonable man. I just can't.
My father built this kingdom on his blood, sweat, and tears. It isn't something I can take lightly. My future is only within the clan, and I won't allow any distractions, threats, or dissenters to exist. Maeve leaving my home and returning to her normal life will only be seen as a combination of all three, and Declan or Lochlan—hell, all of my brothers and cousins—will move swiftly to eliminate the threat even without my order. It's how we survive this game.
I can't let her go home, and she doesn't understand it's for her own safety. I'm protecting her from the life I live by keeping her alive in my home. If I allowed her to be taken, for my family to clean up the mess Eamon started, the hunt for a new medical savior would begin. For now, she's useful to us, and that leverage I have over my own men will remain.
The order to spare her and allow her to go home would only be seen as a sign of weakness both by my loyal men and by my enemies. All of them would move in at lightning speed to do what I have yet to do if I free her. She just doesn't know the rules yet.
"Sir…" I look up to see Aiden. He's holding the bottle of whiskey. I finish my glass and wave him off as I turn around in my seat to look over my men again. Most of the inner circle is here. Loch, Declan, Finn, even Connor, my youngest brother, who I've heard was seen talking with Eamon's men too. I will deal with that when we finally take a breath. I know he's only being tempted and he will never cave, mostly because he fears me.
They—like myself—have suffered a tragic loss today. I see it in their eyes though their postures remain firm. They stand as sentries, guarding over my life, the life Eamon wants to eliminate in his quest for power. Four brothers, five cousins, a few men we've bonded with along the way who've sworn the oath… All of them more loyal to me than my own heart, which battles with right and wrong concerning a woman. Fuck, I'm a weak man sometimes.
"It's a travesty," I start, and I feel the emotion clamp down on my chest. It's vulnerability at its core—to know my cousin is willing to pick us off one by one if necessary. If he can't convince them to defect, he will eliminate any and every one of us. Until he holds the power. Until the O'Rourke name and family business are his. Until there is no one left to stand against him.
We lost a good man today at Eamon's hand. A loyal man. Someone who should never have died. And while he wasn't part of the core family, only on the periphery, he was still family. Eamon knew that. He knows how to get to us, how to manipulate and twist the knife. It's distant family now, but soon it will become us, and we have to be united.
"Marley wasn't just our weapons supplier. He was family." I refuse to hang my head. Doing so would be admitting defeat. It would be saying to Eamon that he is winning, and he's not. He won't win. We won't allow it.
"Ro, we?—"
"I understand, Loch, and we will deal with it. I want every man in this place to cough up a few thousand. I'm giving Leah twenty grand. It won't touch the real issue at hand here, but it will help pay his final expenses. The family is going to set her up out of town. I'm already searching real estate listings for a nice place. We'll get her settled with her own security and protection, and Marley's kids will be raised to know the man he was."
The only thing we can do is recover from the devastation. Eamon is on a warpath, and we won't stop that without fighting back. Which is what we'll do. He clearly didn't like the message I sent when Shane showed his ugly face around here, and he's showing me his true colors. This wasn't an eye for an eye. This message is loud and clear. He's out for blood.
They all look at me with sincerity and fidelity in their expressions. Not one of us has been untouched by this. First our suppliers, then us. That's where this is headed. He'll try to choke off our trade routes, eliminate those who are loyal, and every chance he can, he'll come at us. He wants my heart on a platter.
"We'll help Leah plan the wake. I suppose next week after the garda gets done with their investigation. Then?—"
The door to the small pub bursts open, and a whoosh of salty ocean air flows in, picking up napkins and papers and tossing them. The wind howls with the mourning of the sky that weeps for Marley's life. But it isn't the storm that moved the door.
One of my men, an associate, stumbles in, and it's immediately obvious that he's not well. His arm is hugged tightly to his chest, wrapped in a dark towel. His face is pale, and Finn moves to help him, pulling out a bar stool. Every eye is on him as the door swings shut, and Benny pours him a drink before walking around the end of the bar with a look of concern.
"He's hurt, Ro… bad…" Benny unfolds the towel from the man's hand, and I see nothing… Nothing but a stump. His arm bleeds profusely, thick red blood, and his hand is missing.
"Eamon," I grunt, and I walk toward the man who is obviously in distress. The closer I get to him, the more I notice it.
Sweat beads on his forehead. He's panting, wheezing for air. He took a beating before it came to this too. I can see the bruises now on his face. He's a pitiful sight but one I already resolve within myself to avenge.
"What’s your name, son?" I hover over him, taking in the sight of the carnage. Whatever weapon they used to sever his hand was rudimentary, a buck saw or something. The flesh is more torn than cut, and it's blackened too, as if they tried to cauterize the wound. This is yet another direct message from my cousin. He probably sent the man to find me.
"James… My name's… James…" He's gasping for air. It's probably hard for him to breathe. It's a wonder he's even made it in to see me.
"Was this Eamon?" I ask, but I know his answer before he spits it out. Benny has a fresh towel, wrapping it around the stump of the man's arm, and Finn holds the whiskey glass to his lips. He'll need surgery, but hopefully, he'll live. I can ask Maeve to have a look at him, but this is more along the lines of what our vet can do.
"Yes," James grunts, and I shake my head. "Loch, call the vet. Declan, gather the men. We have to hunt." I don’t know if we'll find him, but we have to search for Eamon and put a stop to this. I won't let him pick my men off one by one.
I turn and walk away, into the night. It's cold and the rain bites down on my face, but it's nothing compared to what I'll do to my cousin if I catch him.