Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Cavin
By the time I make it back home, it’s dark.
I’ve been ignoring the constant buzz of my phone for hours.
Seamus
Where the fuck are you?
Mam
Where are you, son?
I had to pay the fucking tribute.
Malachy warned me they’d come to collect. He didn’t say they’d take my sister to make their point.
My hands are still shaking… from rage or fear, I don’t fucking know.
He told me what the consequences would be.
And now I know something no one else knows—Bronwyn being taken was on me. A warning. A clear message.
While the others wear themselves out chasing shadows, I paid my fucking five hundred thousand euros.
This can’t go on. I can’t hide that kind of money from my family, and even if I could, I fucking won’t.
But I have to keep Bronwyn safe. I have to find out who this is and put a decided end to it.
When I pull into the family estate, I don’t slide in unnoticed like I’d hoped. Floodlights blaze across the driveway, burning white over gravel and stone. Seamus and Da stand in the front foyer—arms crossed, waiting.
Fuck it.
I steel myself and jog up the front steps.
The door swings open before I hit the top.
“Where the fucking hell were you?”
Seamus’s fist connects with my jaw before I clear the threshold. Pain explodes white-hot. Blood floods my mouth.
He hits me again, harder. My head snaps back, skull cracking against the wall.
“Where. The. Fuck. Were. You?”
He grabs my throat and slams me against the wall. His thumb digs into my windpipe. I taste copper. Can’t breathe.
Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
If he were anyone else—anyone—I’d drop him right here, bare-knuckle, the way Malachy taught us in the barn when we were lads. Three hits: temple, throat, kidney. He’d be pissing blood for a week.
But he’s my brother. My boss. The head of this family, since Da retired.
I swore an oath.
So I let him choke me.
“Is there an update?” I wheeze out. “Anything?”
“No,” he growls. “We’ve got nothing. No fucking recording at the graveyard. Nothing.”
“Boys.”
Mam walks into the hallway, tall and regal as always.
“Let him go, Seamus,” she says, cool and firm, the voice we obeyed before Da ever raised his.
Seamus drops his hand, and I drag in air that burns going down.
“Mam,” he mutters. “You don’t—”
“You may be the acting head, but I said drop him.”
There’s blood on my collar… on my hands.
Then her eyes cut to me. “Where’d you go?”
I grit my teeth. “I can’t tell you, but I swear to Christ, I was doing something for the family.” I pause. “I’ve got nothing to hide. You know I don’t. But if I tell you, you’re all at risk. That’s all I can say.”
She studies me, silent. Then, finally, one sharp nod.
“Has Cavin ever lied to you, Seamus?”
Seamus steps back, his jaw ticcing. “Not that I know of.”
Then all our phones buzz at once.
“Text from Bronwyn,” Seamus mutters.
I pull out my phone and stare.
I’m in the garden.
Relief slams into me, and my knees buckle. I lock them before anyone notices.
It worked. It fucking worked. I paid the tribute, and they brought her back.
What the fuck did I just pay for? Why her? Why now?
WHO did I pay?
Silence for one blessed beat, then chaos erupts.
Mam drops her phone with a little gasp. Seamus bolts for the door, and I’m right behind him.
We tear down the front stairs, gravel crunching under boots, past the hedges, down Mam’s winding path to the garden.
“Where is she?” Seamus shouts.
But none of that matters right now because, somewhere in the garden, my sister is alive.
“She’s here!” Kyla falls to her knees, sobbing. “I found her! I got her!”
She scoops Bronwyn into her arms. Bronwyn is gagged and blindfolded.
“Take off her blindfold first,” Seamus says, his voice softer now. “So she’s not afraid.” He drops to one knee beside them.
Kyla’s hands shake too badly. I step in, my fingers steady, and peel the blindfold off. Bronwyn blinks up at me. I yank the gag away next in one motion. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Terrified. For half a second, I see Erin. Same fear. Same wide eyes when the bomb went off.
I shove the thought away. Not now. Not fucking now.
“What happened?” She gasps. “Where am I?”
She’s shivering. Seamus gathers her in his arms. “Do you remember anything, love?”
Mam drops to her knees, pulling Bronwyn close, kissing her cheeks. “My baby.”
“I remember… a bomb. That’s all I remember.”
The sun’s long gone down.
Seamus and Zoya’s little ones are tucked into bed upstairs. Bronwyn curls into the couch, legs folded under her, drinking tea spiked with Jack Daniels. A family favorite.
Da stands by the fireplace, arms crossed, while Seamus paces.
“You found nothing?” he asks.
Declan shakes his head. “None of the security cameras were triggered. Whoever came had access to our gates.”
“So she doesn’t remember anything at all about who took her,” Seamus mutters.
“We’ve got no footage. No triggered alarms. No signs of entry.
And yet… here she is.” He rakes a hand through his hair.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Bronwyn, you sure you don’t remember anything? Nothing?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I remember the explosion. And then… blank. I just woke up, and I was here.”
“How long was she gone?” Seamus asks.
“Twelve hours,” Kyla answers.
“Wow.” Bronwyn sips her tea. “Well, that’s scary as hell.”
“Tell me about it,” Seamus growls. He looks at the bodyguards in the hallway. “You were at the cemetery perimeter. I want a full report by eight a.m.” He points at Nate, head of security. “Pick your top three. They’ll be glued to Bronwyn.”
“Oh, Seamus…” Bronwyn starts.
“Hush.” He cuts her off.
“I agree with your brother,” Da says.
“Someone showed up, took our girl, and brought her back like she’s a message.”
“A warning,” Mam says, standing. “We do know it was a warning. Aye?”
“Aye.” Seamus’s jaw tightens. “But for what?”
I want to open my mouth and let it all spill out. Every dark, twisted bit of it. But I stay quiet. I have to.
“Well,” Kyla says, thoughtful now. “It happened right at Malachy’s burial, didn’t it? So maybe… he had the key to something. Or he knew something none of us did.”
Seamus looks at me. “Right. Something happened,” he continues. “But Bronwyn came back. So we’ve got no leads on who the hell did this. But we do know that the stronger we solidify our clan, the less likely they are to try it again.”
“Well then.” Kyla rises to her feet. “Time we start making advantageous moves, isn’t it?
Seamus married Zoya. That gave us an alliance with the Kopolovs.
But we don’t need Moscow right now. We need Ireland.
This is where we live. This is where we earn.
” Her eyes are bright. “This is where we set roots, gain momentum. Where we thrive.”
“Yes,” Seamus agrees.
“I’m not saying the alliance with the Kopolovs isn’t valuable,” Kyla says. “But now that it’s secured… we need more. Something different.” She straightens her shoulders and sighs. “Marry me off, then.”
The words hit hard. Bronwyn gapes, and Mam goes still, but Kyla continues. “Marry me to someone who’ll benefit the family, won’t you?”
My stomach turns.
Kyla. Offering herself up like a lamb to slaughter. For us. For the family.
Because that’s what we do—we sacrifice and break ourselves on the altar of the McCarthy name.
We all will, in the end.
“Kyla—” Mam gasps, stunned. “It doesn’t have to come to that.”
But Seamus doesn’t argue. Neither does my father.
“Who?” she asks, her voice thin now. “Who can you marry me to that would make our family stronger?”
No one who deserves you, lass.
“I can’t tell you how grateful we are for your sacrifice, love,” my father says. “But I can’t think of a single person. In fact, it’s the opposite. Right now, the strongest move we can make—the smartest—is to expand our trade routes. Cavin, tell us the latest about your work, son, will you?”
So I tell them. As a gun runner to Belfast, my work’s only increased in the past months. Doubled since this time last year.
“The East Coast is secured. Ballyhock is as strong as ever. There’s talk the Boston Irish also want access, but right now, it’s just that. Talk.”
“Right,” Seamus says, eyes narrowing. “What we really need is access to the West Coast and south of Ireland. Killarney. Cork. Galway.”
I walk to the wall, stabbing a finger at the map. “Here. The lines. The docks. All of it.” I shake my head. “If we could secure that connection, get access to the West Coast trade, we’d be…”
I stop myself.
Unstoppable. Fucking invincible.
And worth killing for.
“Did you say the West Coast?” Mum says, her voice soft. We all turn. She smiles faintly. “Funny, isn’t it?”
We say nothing and just wait. It’s clear she’s thinking, coming to grips with what she has to say next.
“Well then. Maybe it’s not one of my daughters we’ll have to marry off…”
Silence.
Her eyes lock on mine.
Me.
“Maybe it’s one of my sons.”
My blood goes ice cold.
No. No fucking way.
“What’re you on about, Mam?” Seamus asks.
“Tara Kavanagh came to me today. She heard about the bombing. Heard Bronwyn went missing. You know we’ve been friendly since your school days at St. Albert’s, right?”
“Right,” Seamus mutters.
“She said something that got my attention.”
“What’s that?”
“Her husband’s gained access to the Western trade routes.”
Seamus and I look at each other.
“Is that so?” he asks.
Declan’s already pulling up his laptop, showing maps, numbers, routes. “Mmm. That would be a match made in heaven.” Easy for him to say. His head isn’t suddenly on the marriage block.
“Something to think about, then, isn’t it?” Mam says again, sipping her tea.
“Aye,” Seamus echoes. “And we need to move fast.”
“The Kavanaghs have no sons, correct?” Seamus asks.
“Correct,” Mam confirms. “Two daughters. Cavin, you went to school with one of them.”
I nod. I did, and the girl I went to school with was at the cemetery the day of the bombing.
I was the only one who saw her though. If I were to get close to her family, I’d be able to investigate, see if her da had anything to do with the bombing.
Seamus turns to me, his expression flat. “You’re the one who said you’d do anything for the family. Didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, nodding.
“You meant it?”
My back goes straight. “Of course.”
Are they suggesting I marry Erin Kavanagh? An image flashes—her body pressed against mine in the graveyard. The way she fit against me like she was made for it. The way I got hard, carrying her to safety.
Awkward Little Miss Perfect. The girl who ratted me out, who looked at me like I was dirt.
The girl whose hand I can still feel in mine.
Christ.
“Good, then. Perhaps you’ll be the one to secure this connection. Hmm?”
Secure the connection. Take vows that last a lifetime, bind myself legally to a woman I despise, and fuck her when duty demands an heir. Wake up to her hatred every goddamn morning.
Aye. That’s how we secure a connection.
I blow out a breath. “Aye. Perhaps I will.”
“Not Cavin,” Declan snaps. “Come on, Seamus. He’s done enough for the family, hasn’t he?”
Done enough. If he only fucking knew.
“Is marrying a beautiful woman really that much of a sacrifice?” Seamus asks.
“How would you know?” Declan cuts in with a snort. “You married for love.”
Daire sighs. “He’s not wrong.”
Mam laughs quietly into her teacup, and Seamus narrows his eyes.
“You said you’d do anything for the family,” Seamus pushes.
He’s got me. The bastard knows it. I did say that, swore it in blood when I joined the clan’s business. But this? Shackling myself to a woman who hates me? Who’ll spend every day of our marriage wishing I were dead?
A woman I apparently can’t stop thinking about since I touched her?
Fuck my life.
I sit up straighter. “Aye.”
And I will. I remember how it felt—searching for Bronwyn, tearing the world apart just to bring her back. I remember the hours inside that godforsaken high-security prison as I paid the piper for sins I didn’t commit. Torin still is… still locked away.
Of course I meant it.
“Then we’ll arrange a marriage,” Mam says, her voice final.
“Aye,” Da agrees. “It’s time.”
My stomach drops, free fall.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Erin Kavanagh’s grown into something of a beauty, hasn’t she?” Kyla says with a grim smile, though her eyes look a bit troubled. Is that relief I see as well?
“I suppose.” I purse my lips.
“You don’t look thrilled, Cavin,” Seamus notes.
I shrug. “That girl, that woman, was a thorn in my side at St. Albert’s. She got me into more trouble than the devil himself.”
“Was ages ago,” Seamus says, crossing his arms on his chest.
“Right.” I won’t go back on my word, but give a man a fuckin’ minute.
“Honestly, Cavin,” Kyla mutters. “It’s not high school anymore.”
Still. I remember the way she looked at me—those cold, narrow eyes. The way she’d rat me out without flinching. She hated me. Still does. I’d bet my life on it.
“Only one problem though. She’d never agree to marry me. You do know that, right? She fuckin’ hates me.”
I made her life hell at St. Albert's. Called her names. Made her cry. She's got every reason to hate me.
But I have every fuckin’ reason to hate her right back.
They stare. Declan shakes his head, but the rest look like I’ve just handed them the keys to the kingdom, and I know, if I marry, it’ll benefit all of us.
“Fine. If marrying into the Kavanaghs is what it takes… If this is how we solidify the family… make us stronger…”
I stand, my shoulders tense.
“Fine. Do it. Tell me where and when.”
And with that, I turn.
“I’m going to bed.”
Erin fuckin’ Kavanagh.
I’d rather go back to prison.