65. Eamon
Eamon
"It wasn't a fucking robbery," Seamus says, his voice tight with frustration. "They didn't take a damn thing."
I grab the back of my neck as I stare down at the photos spread across my desk. Six of my men were executed. The cargo burned to ash. Whoever did this wasn’t looking for a payday.
They wanted to send a message.
“This was found at the scene." Seamus tosses a folded piece of paper onto my desk. The edges are crisp, untouched by the blood soaking the ground in the photos.
I pick it up, unfolding it slowly.
She builds her empire on the edge of the abyss, blind to the blade above. One will take her. Both will end her.
A slow, burning heat coils in my gut.
They’re not threatening me. They’re threatening Aoife.
Seamus exhales sharply. "Who the fuck even writes like that?"
Only one person ever has. Ruairi. But he’s rotting in a pit, barely able to lift his own head, let alone plan a fucking ambush. So who the fuck else wants her dead?
"Any leads?" I ask, my voice deceptively calm.
Seamus shakes his head. "Nothing solid yet. Whoever’s responsible knew what they were doing."
I let the note fall onto the desk, my fingers already reaching for my phone. Whoever they are, they just made the worst mistake of their life. "Until we find out who’s behind this, I want you on her. She doesn’t go anywhere alone."
He gives a single nod, his expression unreadable. "Understood."
"I will not risk her safety," I grind out.
Seamus exhales, shifting his weight slightly. "She’s not going to like it."
"She doesn’t have to."
"I’ll keep her in my sights."
Without another word, he turns and strides toward the door, his movements efficient, deliberate. He pulls it open, hesitates just slightly, like he wants to say something else, but then steps through and lets it close behind him.
The room is silent again, and I lean back in my chair, dragging my thumb across my lower lip, the taste of blood and iron sharp on my tongue. My mind shifts easily into place. Aoife plans to kill her brother tonight. I should be worried about how it will change her, twist her into something darker.
I’m not.
The truth festers beneath my skin. I don’t care who she becomes as long as she’s mine. The truth coils through me like a living thing. I crave the monster she’ll become. I crave the ruin.
Already, my thoughts are reaching past the slaughter to what waits on the other side. A future built on ash and bone, a throne stitched together from the wreckage.
Ours.
But something stirs beyond the edge of all my careful plans, a shadow I can't yet name, a hand already reaching to tear it all away.
Let them come.
I’ll drown the world in blood before I let that happen.