Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Erin
Behind my back, zip ties cut into my wrists. I can feel blood trickling down my fingers where the plastic digs in.
“You have the money,” I say, my voice echoing off the metal walls. The money sits at the masked man’s feet like a trophy before he pulls off the damn mask.
Donovan. Of course it was fucking Donovan. I knew it was an inside job, and that smarmy smile of his and those lifeless eyes—
“You're the spy,” I say, when the realization hits me like ice water.
“Clever girl.” He winks at me like I'm a child who's finally solved a puzzle. “Guess you did well in school, didn't you? Took you long enough.”
I shake my head. “Why? It's all there. Every cent. Just let me go.”
Donovan’s leaning against a support beam, his arms crossed, his face twisting into something I don't recognize. Something cruel.
“And you're a fucking traitor,” I add, my voice cracking.
“Ah, sure we have the money, darling,” he says, his accent thicker than usual, rough around the edges. What's he been playing at all this time? “But that's not really what this is about anymore, is it?”
My heart's hammering so hard I can barely breathe.
“Cavin is going to kill you for this.”
That makes him actually laugh, like I've told the funniest joke he's ever heard. But when he looks at me again, his eyes are cold.
“Really now? See, that's where you're wrong, love.” He pushes off the beam, then walks toward me slowly. “I have far more bargaining chips than you're aware of.”
I try to scoot back, but there's nowhere to go. The back of the chair hits the wall. I'm out of options now, completely and utterly fucked.
“You know the best part?” He crouches down in front of me, close enough I can smell the whiskey on his breath. “Cavin doesn't even know who's been playing him this whole time.”
“Why?” The word comes out broken. “You’re family—you're his cousin. He said you're loyal. Family's supposed to mean something, right?”
He stands abruptly. “Tell me, Erin, what did your family mean to you? What did your da mean to you?”
I flinch at the mention of my father. “Leave him the fuck out of this.”
“Can't do that, love. See, your da's the whole reason we're here.” He stops pacing and turns to look at me fully. “Did you know he worked for us? For years.”
My belly drops. “That's a lie.”
“Is it?” Donovan tilts his head. “Padraic Kavanagh. Good man. Loyal man. Well, loyal to the Boston Irish, anyway. Not so much to the McCarthys.”
I knew it. I knew there was something with the Americans.
But… Da?
“No.” I'm shaking my head, but even as I deny it, the pieces are clicking into place. The money that disappeared. My parents' fights. The late-night meetings. The way my father would go to Boston on “business.” How he'd take calls at odd hours—different time zones, I suppose.
“He cheated them, Erin. He had no West Coast connections. And you’re the one who’ll pull the trigger on this. You’re the one who’ll make sure we go away, we do what we have to, and your husband will keep paying this damn tribute.”
He doesn’t know yet that I told the McCarthys. “You know how that's gonna end, don't you, love?”
“Don’t you call me that.”
He chuckles low. “Was damn fun seeing you and Cavin go mental over the damn posts I made.”
“You did that? Why?”
He shrugs. “Easy to throw a man like Cavin off. It’s simple to know what gets under his skin.”
“This was never about what I thought it was, was it? Me and my marriage to Cavin.”
“Ah, you're getting there.” He laughs and shakes his head. “You were supposed to have access to the doctor, right? Dr. Rosenberg, is it? Where's he now, I wonder?”
Donovan takes out his phone and makes a call. “Padraic. You got him?”
“Aye.”
My god. My father?
“Your da destroyed your life for us. He knew that if you got in with the McCarthys, he would too.
That you'd have access, right? Me and him—we could take over this fucking McCarthy clan.
Work with the Boston Irish. Take over the tribute.
It's been going on long before you were around. Malachy was the one who started it all.”
“You're lying. You're fucking lying.”
“I'm not,” he says simply. He crouches again, grabs my chin hard enough to bruise. “This is how it's gonna work. We get tribute every two weeks. Not monthly anymore. And if we don't, you die.”
“Cavin's not going to—”
“Cavin will do exactly what we tell him, or he'll be scooping up what's left of you.” He releases my chin and stands. “The Boston Irish send their regards, by the way. We've been patient, but our patience is running out. And I'm telling you now, lass—”
The door to the warehouse explodes inward with a crash that makes my ears ring.
Cavin.
He's there, silhouetted in the doorway, looking like death itself. Blood stains his shirt. His face is pale, but his eyes are pure murder. Behind him, I can see his shadows—his family.
He found me.
How? Donovan shows a flash of terror before he schools his features.
“Get away from my wife,” Cavin says, his voice deadly calm.
Donovan doesn't move. “Ah, you shouldn't be here, cousin. You should be in the hospital. You're looking like shite.”
“Last chance,” Cavin says, taking a step forward. He's swaying slightly, and I can see the effort it takes for him to stay upright.
“Or what?” Donovan spreads his hands. “You'll kill me, right? Start a war with the fucking Boston Irish? You can't win. You're in no position to make demands, Cavin.”
“Brothers,” Cavin says quietly, never taking his eyes off Donovan. “Get her to safety. They need to know what's happening. All of it.”
Declan and Seamus move immediately, weapons drawn. But Donovan’s not alone. I didn't notice them before, his men in the shadows.
“I don't think so,” Donovan says.
Suddenly, there are guns everywhere, armed men I don’t recognize.
“Get her the fuck out,” Cavin orders. “Now!”
Two of Cavin's men break away, moving toward me. Donovan nods to his own men, and they shift to intercept. The warehouse is a powder keg, ready to explode.
“We'll have to take Erin. Insurance, you understand.”
“Over my dead fuckin’ body,” Cavin snarls.
“That can be arranged.” Donovan pulls his gun and aims it directly at Cavin's head. “You're concussed. Barely standing. You really want to do this now?”
“Try me, you treacherous cunt.”
Everything happens at once.
Cavin moves impossibly fast for someone who should be barely conscious, launching himself at Donovan. The gun is knocked away, and the two of them crash to the floor. The phone falls to the floor. Somewhere in the house, gunfire barks.
“Cavin!” I scream, while the room erupts into chaos. Gunfire. Shouting. Bodies moving in the darkness.
Two men reaching for me go down hard, bullets in them before they can touch me. Ciarán. Another comes from the side. Declan handles him with brutal efficiency, knifework that makes me turn away.
But I can't look away from Cavin and Donovan.
They're animals, tearing into each other with a viciousness that makes my stomach turn. Cavin's clearly hurt—every movement looks like it costs him, but he fights like a man possessed. Fists, elbows, teeth.
I scream and try to get out of my bonds, but the harder I pull, the more I bleed.
Donovan gets on top, grappling for dominance. He rains blows on Cavin's face. I wince. My god, his concussion—
“You should have fucking stayed down!” he screams. “You should have paid your dues!”
Cavin catches his wrists and twists, and I hear something snap. Donovan howls, and Cavin uses the momentum to reverse their positions, slamming Donovan’s head against the hardwood. Once. Twice. Three times.
I wince and scream.
Around us, the fight is turning. The McCarthys are outnumbered, but they're better trained, more vicious.
Ashland takes down two men with his fists.
Seamus is methodical, brutal—one bullet for each target.
Declan moves like a dancer, all deadly grace and precise violence. I swear to fuck, I hear him laugh.
“Erin.”
Seamus is suddenly there, cutting through my zip ties with his knife. My wrists scream as blood rushes back into my hands.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes. What about Cavin?”
“He's got it. Come with me.”
But I can't move, can't look away as Cavin wraps his hands around Donovan’s throat and squeezes.
Donovan’s face turns purple, his hands scrambling.
“Cavin.” Declan's voice cuts through the chaos. “We need him alive. We need information.”
“He tried to take her from me,” Cavin says, sounding barely human. Blood pours from his nose. His lip is split open. He wobbles on his feet but doesn't let go. He's a shark going in for the kill. “He tried to take my wife.”
For a moment, I think Cavin won't stop, that he'll squeeze until Donovan stops moving, until there's nothing left but a corpse. His grip tightens. Donovan’s struggles are weakening.
“Cavin, please,” I beg. “Don't. We need to know who else is involved. You don’t want his blood on your hands, not this way.”
Something in my voice reaches him.
“Cavin, it's not worth it. Not your cousin's blood on your hands, love. Cavin. Let them take him.”
His hands loosen just slightly, and Donovan gasps, sucking in air. Cavin hauls him up by the throat, dragging him toward the door.
“You're coming with us. And when I'm done with you, you'll wish I'd fucking killed you here.”
Around us, Donovan’s men are dead. The wooden floor is slick with blood. Seamus keeps a hand on my arm, steadying me.
Outside, the cold air hits us like a blessing. I'm shaking so hard my teeth chatter.
Cavin throws Donovan into the back of a van. The others pile in around him, keeping their weapons trained on the traitor.
Cavin turns to me, his face a mess of blood and bruises. “Are you hurt, love?” he asks, his hands hovering over me like he's afraid to touch me.
“I'm fine. You shouldn't be here. You should be in the hospital.”
“Don't fucking care,” he says roughly. “I thought I'd lost you. I thought they'd—”
“I'm okay. I'm here.”
He kisses me hard and desperate. When he pulls away, he presses his forehead to mine.
“We're going to finish this,” he says. “All of it. No more secrets. No more tributes. I'm done playing by their fucking rules.”
Behind him, in the van, Donovan is screaming, begging. The sound is cut off abruptly, followed by the wet thud of fist meeting flesh.
“You fucking traitor,” Declan snarls from inside.
“Dr. Rosenberg—”
“I know, love.”
Cavin's hand finds mine in the darkness and squeezes.
We're not safe yet. Not by a long shot.
But we're together.
And god help anyone who tries to take that away.
Cavin still holds his gun. “You’re wrecked, love,” I say.
“I know it,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve had worse. We’re headed to your family’s house. Let’s see what we can find.”
When we reach my family’s home, the others file out of the van quickly. “Stand behind me. Careful, Erin,” Cavin says, slowly leading me to the front door. “We don’t know where anyone is.”
“Do you hear voices in the kitchen?”
By the time we get to the kitchen, my parents are surrounded by Seamus, Daire, and Ciarán.
“Found them,” Seamus says. “Erin, I’m sorry, but they have to go into custody until I have answers.”
I nod, even as my eyes go watery and a lump forms in my throat. “Aye. I know.”
“Erin!” My mother reaches for me, her eyes wide and terrified. And that’s when I see him—Dr. Rosenberg, sitting at the kitchen table, watching all of us placidly.
“Dr. Rosenberg!”
He nods in greeting.
I sink into a chair before my legs give out.