Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Erin
The kitchen smells like coffee and something burnt—maybe the toast sitting in front of Bronwyn that she's been staring at for the past five minutes without touching. It feels somber in here, like a funeral. I'm exhausted and haven't slept in days.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Cavin on the floor, blood pooling around his head, and that massive bastard with the pipe raising it for another swing. My hands won't stop shaking.
I force myself to think through the variables again. The timing of the attack, the placement of his injuries…the fact that they left him alive. This wasn’t random. Someone wanted to send a message, and they wanted Cavin conscious enough to receive it.
“Erin, love, you need to eat something,” Kyla says softly, pushing a plate toward me.
She's not the sensitive sort, but all of us have been affected by this beating. She's got dark circles under her eyes too—maybe none of us have slept. Caitlin busies herself by the kettle, switching it on, waiting for it to boil.
“Cup of tea,” she says to all of us. We nod quietly.
But when she pours it, she slips and burns herself. She curses and runs her finger under the tap.
Don't think I've ever heard Caitlin McCarthy curse in my life.
Bronwyn looks so fragile. So scared. And she doesn't even know that tonight could be the night she's taken again.
My god, I have to stop it. Christ, if she only knew what was really at stake.
“Where is he now?” Bronwyn asks quietly, her voice just above a whisper.
“Still sleeping,” I lie.
But he's not sleeping. He's barely conscious, still disoriented and fucked up from the concussion. When I checked on him twenty minutes ago, he didn't even know what day it was.
Bronwyn reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “You were so brave, Erin. I don't know how you did it. How did you?”
“I… I love your brother,” I say simply. It's the truth.
I tap my fingers on the table. One, two, three, four. But nothing soothes me now. Nothing except… except him.
I want my husband.
Today's the day the doctor's supposed to come. Cavin's supposed to bring him to see Bridget at the hospital. But Cavin can barely stand, let alone drive across the city and coordinate a medical consultation.
What the fuck am I going to do?
“Cavin said Dr. Rosenberg was coming today,” Caitlin says. “Your mam talked to me about it.”
“Aye,” I say. “Cavin was supposed to bring him to see my sister.” I clear my throat.
Caitlin looks at me, but nobody asks questions.
“We'll have somebody else bring him, lass.”
I nod. “Okay,” I whisper.
Kyla gives me a look but doesn't call me on anything. She doesn't trust me. I don't think I can blame her.
The kitchen door swings open, and Declan walks in, looking like he hasn't slept either. The McCarthy family may be brutal, but they love each other, and their loyalty runs something fierce.
Declan's jaw is tight, and there's something in his eyes that makes my stomach drop to my toes.
“Declan,” I say, standing up so fast my chair scrapes against the floor. I'm a bit dizzy. “Did you find out who hit him with the pipe?”
I tap my pocket. One, two, three, four.
He glances at Bronwyn and Kyla, then jerks his head toward the hallway.
I follow him out, my heart pounding. Truth be told, I don't trust the McCarthy family unless my husband's in on it. But I have to now.
“Tell me you found something,” I say the second we're alone. “Tell me you know who the fuck sent that bastard after my husband.”
“I got intel this morning,” Declan says, pulling out his phone, his voice taut. “Ran the prints from the pipe. Got a name, location, the whole fuckin' lot.”
And then he stops, staring at his phone.
“What?” I demand. “What is it, Declan?”
“It's gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“I mean, it's fuckin' gone, Erin. The file, the intel, all of it.” He swipes through his phone, his jaw clenching tighter with every passing second. “It was here an hour ago. I had everything, and now… now it's gone.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
“Someone deleted it.” His eyes snap up to mine, and there's something in them I don't like—suspicion, distrust. “You were the first person to ask me about it, weren't you?”
“Of course I was. I was the one who saw my fuckin' husband get hit with a fuckin' pipe.”
“Someone with access deleted this, Erin.”
My blood runs cold. “Do you think I—”
“I don't know what to think,” he says gruffly. “It's a hell of a coincidence, isn't it? You show up, and everything goes sideways. Your da fucked us over.”
“My da?” My voice rises. “What the hell are you on about?”
Declan's expression doesn't change. “You don't know? Sure you don't.”
“Know what?”
He studies me for a long moment, like he's trying to decide if I'm lying. “Your father. The deal he made with Cavin. He didn't hold up his end. Cost us a shite ton of money.”
“What?”
“He ghosted us, Erin. Didn't give us the West Coast connections he promised. There is no West Coast connection.”
The floor drops out from under me. My father? No. He wouldn't.
But even as I think it, I know it's possible. My father would sell his own damn daughter if the price was right.
He sold me, didn't he?
“I didn't know,” I say, my voice breaking. “I swear to Christ, I didn't know.”
He doesn't look convinced.
“Listen, we need to get Cavin to the hospital. Dr. Rosenberg is coming today for my sister, and Cavin can barely stand. He's disoriented and sick, and if he doesn't get to the doctor, he's not going anywhere—”
“He's not going,” Declan says flatly. “Not with you.”
“What?”
“You heard me. He's not leaving this house. Not until we figure out what the fuck is going on. Not with that concussion. Doc says he needs to rest.”
“But… but today's the day. Dr. Rosenberg's coming,” I say, trembling. “This is important—”
“Then we'll reschedule the doctor,” he says. “Another day won't kill her.”
But the words sit like an anvil in my chest.
Reschedule the doctor. Another day won't kill her.
But it might. It might kill her. Because if Dr. Rosenberg can’t see her… and if that tribute doesn’t get paid…
But I can't say that. I can't tell them anything. Cavin made me promise.
“You don't understand,” I say desperately. “This is important—”
“What I understand,” Declan cuts me off, “is that my cousin got his skull cracked open, and you're awful eager to get him out of this house.”
“That's not—I'm trying to help.”
“Help?” He laughs, but there's no humor in it. “You want to help? Then tell me who the fuck deleted that file. Tell me who you've been talking to.”
“I haven't been talking to anyone!”
“Then how the hell do you explain it?”
I can't. I don't have an answer.
Behind Declan, I see Seamus appear in the hallway, his massive frame blocking the way to the stairs. Lorcan's there too, his arms crossed, watching me like I'm a threat. And Christ, they're not going to let me get to Cavin.
But I know… it's one of their men. One of the McCarthys deleted that file.
And tonight, if that tribute doesn't get paid, what's going to happen?
“Declan,” I say, my voice steady even though my hands are shaking, “I didn't betray Cavin. I would never betray him. My father—whatever he did—it had nothing to do with me.”
“Of course that's what you'd say,” he says coldly.
“Someone is setting us up,” I say. “Someone wanted him dead in that ring. And someone doesn't want us to figure out who.”
“Us?” Declan's eyes narrow.
I catch myself. “We need to find out before they try again.”
Declan stares at me for a long moment, and I can see him trying to read me. Trying to figure out if I'm lying.
“There is no we, Erin,” he says coldly. “Not until you prove you're not the one behind this.”
And just like that, it's over.
He turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the hallway, with Seamus and the rest of the family blocking my path.
Upstairs, Cavin's alone, barely conscious, with only a vague idea that tonight's the deadline.
I have to get to him. I have to get him out of here. I have to help him pay that tribute.
But how the hell am I going to do it when his own family won't let me near him? When his family thinks I'm the one who betrayed them?
I have to do this myself.