21. Chapter Twenty-One Kieran
Chapter Twenty-One: Kieran
E ven though it had been years, Malachy’s office still smelled like blood.
And Tristan hated working from there.
So the fact that he had asked me to go there…it was bad news. It was really bad.
Because we were far away. Away from his family. Away from the twins, from the baby, from Adriana. Away from his home. Away from what was important…from the things that made my brother human.
Tristan was fucking pissed, and he never worked in the pub if he didn’t have to. He only came here when he wanted to remind people exactly who he was. What he was capable of.
And right now, the person who needed a reminder was me.
Tristan didn’t say a word as I walked in. He didn’t need to. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and it wasn’t just the temperature that was cold.
He sat behind the desk, hands folded like he was conducting a goddamn board meeting, but his eyes gave him away. Tired. Angry. I’d seen that look before, and it did scare me.
Maybe not as much as he wanted it to. I kept my hands in my pockets and watched him, quiet.
“You look like shit,” I said.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink.
“You decided to show up, then. Took you a minute,” he said, voice tight.
“I always show up. Can’t control traffic,” I replied. I tried to keep it easy, casual, like I wasn’t standing in front of the man who could end me with a word. “Figured you’d be holed up in that mansion of yours.”
“Wanted to have a conversation without Ade hearing.”
I lifted a brow at that. Adriana didn’t scare easily.
His temper was thin, even if he tried to hold it in. His eyes had that look, the one where he felt everything was about to slip from his control.
“You can do that,” I said, lifting my chin to him. “Talk. Thought you were a shoot first, ask later kind of guy.”
“Don’t fucking test me, little brother.”
His jaw clenched, words bitten off like they tasted of poison. I’d seen that look a hundred times growing up. The one where I knew that before this conversation was over, it would be my fault.
This time, though? This time he wasn’t entirely wrong.
“What, is she pissed at you again?” I asked, letting a grin curl on my mouth.
Tristan was silent, the way he got when he knew he had no fucking clue what he was doing.
I liked the silence. It reminded me of when I was winning.
He didn’t answer. Not right away. He let his anger speak instead, his hands folding into fists. His nails dug into his palm, like if he let go, something worse would slip out.
“She expected this to be solved by now,” he said. “Adriana runs the business with me, Kieran. You know this. If this isn’t solved, it affects everyone.”
His temper was hot, boiling beneath the surface, a stark contrast to the cold of the room. The frost on the windows. The breath misting between us. I stayed silent, giving him time to say whatever he needed to say.
I already knew what was coming.
“I gave you a job,” Tristan said, voice low. The pressure of his stare was as heavy as the room. “A simple fucking job.”
He leaned back, crossing his arms like it was a struggle to keep his fists from flying. His fingers flexed, curling into the fabric of his sleeves.
“You fucked up.”
I didn’t respond.
Tristan was good at holding his anger. Except when he wasn’t.
“I gave you a job,” he repeated, leaning forward this time. “And instead of doing it, you’ve been following her around like a fucking dog.”
That got to me more than I wanted it to. I forced myself not to react.
“I’m still doing my job. You’re just not giving me enough time.”
“Really?” He barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “You were supposed to destroy her, Kieran. You were supposed to make her unelectable. And yet, here we are. One day out, and she’s winning. So tell me—what the fuck happened?”
I held the stare and didn’t blink. He thought he had me pinned, thought I didn’t have an answer.
Maybe I didn’t.
Maybe I didn’t fucking care.
Tristan's gaze sharpened, cutting into me like a scalpel. "Are you even fucking her?"
I stiffened. I hadn’t expected him to ask. Not like that. Not yet.
"I'm not," I cut him off, jaw tightening. "I wasn't."
Tristan’s eyes burned. "Then why the hell is she winning? Fuck, why is she still breathing? You’re an impulsive kind of guy…so…what the hell is happening?"
I tensed, the words cutting deep. It wasn’t the first time Tristan had accused me of fucking up. It wouldn’t be the last. He pushed harder; I could see it in his eyes, the way he wanted to watch me break. He was good at that. Better than he wanted to be.
I looked away, dragging my eyes over the empty walls. "Are you fucking her right now?" Tristan asked.
I ran a hand over my face, exhaling. There was no getting out of this.
It was time to tell him the truth.
“We hooked up,” I said, the words rough in my throat. “A long time ago. Before any of this.”
It was barely a whisper, but it felt like I’d fired a gun in the middle of the room.
Tristan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His entire body went still, the kind of stillness that came before something broke.
The silence between us stretched—sharp, suffocating.
Then he surged forward.
His hand fisted in my collar, yanking me so hard I had to catch my balance to keep from hitting the desk behind me. His face was inches from mine now, jaw clenched, eyes burning.
“When?” he demanded, voice a lethal whisper.
I met his stare dead-on, my hands at my sides, every inch of me locked in place. “Before any of this started. Before the campaign. Before you even saw her as a threat.”
I could feel the heat of his breath between us, his fingers still twisted in my shirt. He didn’t let go.
He wouldn’t.
“And you didn’t think to fucking tell me?” he said, his voice low and furious. “You didn’t think that might be relevant before I gave you this assignment?”
I let out a tight breath. “What did it matter? You told me to take care of her. I tried.”
“Tried?” His nostrils flared, eyes narrowing like I’d just confessed to treason. “Jesus Christ, Kieran, you should’ve fucking told me.”
He still hadn’t let go. His grip on my shirt was ironclad, knuckles bone-white, rage vibrating off him in waves.
“I didn’t think it mattered,” I said, jaw clenched so hard it ached.
“It mattered!” he roared.
I barked a bitter laugh. “Why? So you could’ve put someone else on her?”
His eyes flashed. He yanked me closer, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “Yeah, Kieran. So I could’ve put someone else on her.”
I didn’t flinch. “No, you wouldn’t have.”
He stared at me like I’d just dared him to swing. Maybe I had.
“You wanted me on this,” I said. “You always want me on the ones you can’t touch. The ones that require getting your hands dirty.”
His lips curled, but he didn’t deny it. Didn’t have to. We both knew what I was to him.
His fingers flexed at my collar again, like he wasn’t sure if he was going to let go or snap it tight enough to choke me out.
“She’s too smart,” I said, my voice lower now. “I tried to tell you. She doesn’t fall for the usual shit.”
“Yeah, well…you usually don’t have a history with your marks, do you?” he asked. “You should have told me.”
Tristan’s grip didn’t loosen. His eyes were locked on mine, sharp enough to draw blood. “You gonna tell me how far this went?”
My jaw ticked. “You mean now or eight years ago?”
His nostrils flared, but he didn’t blink. “Now.”
I didn’t answer.
“Don’t lie to me, Kieran.”
I stared him down, and that was answer enough.
Tristan’s expression twisted—disgust, betrayal, something darker. “Jesus Christ. You actually fucked her?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I said, voice rough.
“Oh?” His voice sharpened. “What was it like then? Romantic? Sweet? Was it candlelight and closure? Or did you bend her over your kitchen counter and call that strategy?”
“Watch it,” I warned, my voice low.
“You can’t tell if you’re protecting her or getting off on it,” he snarled. “You always were the weakest one when it came to women. You get led around by your dick and call it loyalty.”
I saw red. But I didn’t swing. Not yet. I took a slow breath instead, jaw clenched tight enough to hurt.
Tristan pulled back half a step—not out of mercy, but to drive the knife in. “You think I can’t smell it on you? You’d let her ruin this family just to get a taste again. You’d whore yourself out for the Callahans, wouldn’t you?”
I flinched like it was a hit. He saw it. He knew it landed.
But then I saw something shift behind his eyes. Not regret—Tristan didn’t do regret. But fear.
Not of me.
Of himself.
I saw it on his face, the uncertainty. The fear that he was more like Malachy than he wanted to admit. That he couldn’t control me, couldn’t control this.
Not the way the old man could.
"You knew she wouldn’t back down,” I said.
His nostrils flared. "Yes. I fucking—I told you what you were getting into."
“I can still do this,” I said, his hands still fisted around the fabric of my shirt.
Tristan exhaled sharply through his nose.
“That’s not what this is about. She's a problem.
You had a chance to prove yourself. You've done no such thing.
You've only made things more difficult for me.
For all of us. Kieran, if she comes after us, we could lose everything.
You could lose everything. Is she really worth this much? "
"No," I said, even though it felt like a lie. "I still have a plan. Even if she does get elected."
Tristan scoffed. “What plan? Seduce her into submission? Hope she forgets what she stands for because your cock’s halfway memorable?”
My fists clenched at my sides. “You said to use what I had.”
“What you had,” he shot back. “Past tense. Before you started looking at her like she was more than leverage.”
“I haven’t forgotten the job.”
“But you forgot the stakes.” His voice cracked like a whip. “This isn’t just about her. This is about the family. And if she brings us down—if you let her—then it’s on you.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
He stepped in again, too close. “I think you’ve got your dick making decisions for you.”
“Fuck you,” I bit out, low and dangerous. “I’ve bled for this family.”
“So bleed a little more. You think I care how you feel about her? I don’t. But I need to know you’re still mine when it counts.”
There it was. The real fear. That he was losing control—not just of me, but of the whole fucking board.
“I’ll handle it,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You said that weeks ago.”
“She’s smarter than we thought.”
“She’s smarter than you,” he snapped.
My jaw locked. “Then maybe I like that.”
Tristan’s face went still. Like a shutter closing behind his eyes. “You’re not supposed to like her. You’re supposed to ruin her.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and taut.
He let go of my shirt, shoving me back with a single palm to the chest. I staggered half a step, caught myself.
“Fix this,” he said. “Or I will.”
I straightened my collar. “And if I don’t?”
His expression didn’t waver. “Then I’ll burn it all down. Her included.”
A beat. My pulse roared in my ears.
“You’re not Malachy,” I said, quiet.
He stared at me. Said nothing.
Took a sip of his whiskey. Then, finally:
“I sure fucking hope not.”
I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but he cut me off with a raised hand, sharp and final.
“But if I have to act like him,” Tristan said, “then that’s on you.”