Chapter 8 Declan
DECLAN
The analog clock on my desk has been taunting me for the past three hours.
Nightmares for me are a regular endeavor, but they’ve worsened since the loss of my father.
Usually, I’d be able to roll back to sleep, the dream forgotten by the morning.
Tonight is not one of those nights. My nightmare started similarly to the rest. I was having dinner with my father and Naser.
The two were joking around as they normally would.
In between discussing business updates, they would find the time to tease me about my inability to commit to a woman.
This time, the collective sound of booming laughter was higher in pitch.
In my dream, Zahra, sitting between her father and me, had an illuminating smile on her face that matched the melodic laugh falling from her lips.
Our eyes lock together, and she shoots me a quick wink, as if we’d had a long-standing rapport of her busting my balls.
I roll my eyes teasingly, all while pouring her a drink.
My father, Naser, and Zahra clink their glasses together in cheers, each taking a large gulp as the light in the room begins to darken.
Almost instantly, everyone turns pale, Zahra clutching at her throat as blood starts to trickle out of her nose and mouth.
I rush to help Zahra, laying her on the floor to begin CPR compressions, a feeble attempt to save the woman dying in front of me.
Distracted by saving Zahra, I neglect to notice my father and Naser have also begun to bleed.
A final faint breath comes from Zahra and the dead look in her eyes makes me sick.
I look around to see my father and Naser also dead.
A voice starts to fill the room, chanting over and over again.
You did this.
I had jolted awake a few hours ago, my entire body shaking, covered in sweat, and all I could do was rub at my hands.
No physical blood is covering them, yet all I can see is red.
Nightmares about not being able to save my father and Naser from their killer are bad enough.
This new dream, in which I unintentionally cause Zahra’s death as well, is its own special type of torture.
I had failed Naser already by not being able to protect him.
I refuse to fail him again by not protecting his daughter.
And yet I’d already managed to let him down.
I want nothing more in this moment than to check in on Zahra to ensure that she is alive and breathing and safe.
But I have no doubts she would chew my head off if I try, and not just because it’s five am.
She would view my desire to protect her as a slight, like I viewed her as some fragile damsel in distress that needed a bodyguard.
I can’t blame her for thinking that of me.
I have no doubts that most men in her life treat her as something weak that needs to be guarded, as opposed to recognizing her strength and letting her reign free.
Watching her spar in the gym, unrestrained and determined, was nothing short of breathtaking. I could have stood there for hours watching her. Rooting for her to burn down her enemies and everything that dared to hold her back. I don’t want to dampen her light or temper her
rage. I want to ensure she would be able to fight forever.
That’s the point of having close allies.
My father worked diligently not only to ensure our own victory, but also that of the Persians.
Our two mobs are so intertwined that if one of us goes down, the other is sure to crumble not long after.
Which is why I have to convince Zahra to trust me, convince her to take our support and protection.
Not because she desperately needs it, but because our two families need each other. Now more than ever.
The look of disgust mixed with suspicion she had given me in our last meeting clued me into the uphill battle I’m about to face trying to get her on my side.
She may continue the ongoing arrangements between our two organizations out of respect for her father’s wishes, but she surely doesn’t want anything to do with me.
I can’t fault her for it. She doesn’t know me beyond the stories she’s heard, and everyone knows how easily stories can be twisted to benefit someone’s gain.
I’ve spun several webs of lies in order to seal a deal or obtain an advantage.
My family is constantly at war, and wars are seldom won without letting go of some of your morals and values along the way.
Groaning at the faint hint of light from the morning sky starting to peek through my curtains, I throw off my comforter and head straight to my home gym. If I was going to be awake at this ungodly hour, I might as well be doing something useful.
The punching bag groans as I land my first hit.
It takes me a few minutes to find my rhythm and truly be able to turn my thoughts off, but eventually I get there.
Instead of being tormented by the image of my father, Naser, and Zahra bleeding out on the floor, my mind starts to repeat different boxing combinations over and over again.
Admittedly, my hits are a bit sloppier than I would like but I chalk that up to lack of sleep and food this early in the morning.
This workout isn’t about being perfect, or even getting my full rage out—I would’ve knocked the punching bag clear off its hinges if that was the case.
No. Today’s workout is a desperate search for peace and quiet.
A need for something, anything, to distract me from the guilt that had now found a way into my dreams. Sweat starts to drip down my back, and slowly but surely, my mind goes silent.
There’s no windows or even a clock in the gym so I lose track of what time it is until a faint scent of sausage, bacon, and eggs hits my nose, making my mouth water. My punches start to slow and eventually I fall to the ground, panting, while the sound of my stomach growling fills the room.
“You know, hitting the gym at five in the morning doesn’t make you any cooler than waiting until like, I don’t know, nine.
” Aidan stands above me, a plate full of breakfast in his hand as he brings his fork loaded with egg toward his mouth.
“Maybe your punches wouldn’t be so sloppy if you weren’t sleep-deprived and food-deprived. ” He shrugs, taking another bite.
“I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to. I figured I may as well do something productive,” I groan, laying on the floor, not having the energy to stand up.
“You know, normal people who can’t sleep try herbal tea. A bath. Even some melatonin. Not nearly killing themselves at the gym.”
“Well, I’ve never been normal,” I point out, taking a piece of toast from his hand and scarfing it down.
“You can say that again,” Aidan snorts. “For starters, who actually likes whole wheat toast?”
“Of all the things you could harass me about at this moment…you’ve chosen my favorite bread?” I roll my eyes.
“I take my duty as the annoying younger brother very seriously.”
“Clearly.” I take in a deep breath before finally standing up, ignoring the way my entire body aches in pain.
“Was it a nightmare again?” Aidan’s voice drops. Our gym in the basement is incredibly secluded so the risk of having prying ears was low. Still, you could never be too cautious.
I move my head slightly. If he blinked, he would have missed the minuscule nod.
Aidan’s eyes are locked on my face. “What was it this time?”
“Same as always. This time, Zahra was added to the mix.”
“Damn, Zahra got a cameo in one of your dreams before your own brother. What am I, chopped liver?” Aidan scoffs in mock offense.
“Only you would be upset that I didn’t dream you were poisoned and murdered.”
“I just can’t believe someone who’s practically a stranger made the cut before I did! I know you’re a sucker for a pretty face, Dec, but—”
I sent him a lethal look, nearly growling. “That’s the boss of the Persian mafia you’re talking about. Show some damn respect.”
Aidan’s eyes widen as he shuts his mouth and mimes zipping it closed. He trails behind me as I head upstairs into the kitchen.
Maura, our chef and the woman who practically doubled as my grandmother, slams a hefty plate filled to the brim with scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast, and sausage into my chest. “You better lick that plate clean, Declan. You’re looking like a skeleton these days.
And I know I’m a damn good cook so it’s not because my food doesn’t taste good. ”
“Yes, ma’am,” I grumble, knowing better than to fight as she slides over a mug of black coffee.
“Can I have some sugar, please?” I ask sheepishly, like a little child asking for an extra dessert.
It doesn’t matter where I rank in the mob; to Maura, I’m family, which means she could boss me around and treat me like one of her grandchildren.
Which includes smacking me over the head whenever she thinks I’m acting stupid.
“Fine. But only because you asked so nicely.” She purses her lips, spooning a massive heaping into my mug, just the way I like it
“Oh, c’mon! I get scolded for adding more sugar to my drink, but Declan doesn’t. I thought being the youngest meant you were able to get away with shit. This family is rigged against me,” Aidan jokingly protests, pouting like a toddler.
Maura grabs a wooden spoon from the counter and wags it in Aidan’s face, a warning. “Aidan McAlister, what have I told you about using that kind of language around me? Don’t make me get the soap bar.”