73. Ruairi
Ruairi
The groan of rusted metal grates through the pit as the lift begins its slow descent.
Eamon paces, his breathing sharp, controlled only by sheer force of will. Every time the chains creak, his jaw tightens. I don’t tell him to calm down. Because, for once, I’m just as desperate as he is.
Above us, Seamus operates the controls, cursing the old mechanism. The winch creaks under the strain, rust grinding against rust, chains rattling like bones.
Eamon shoves his hands through his hair. "For fuck’s sake, Seamus, get it down here faster."
Seamus’s voice cuts through the dark, brittle with impatience. "Unless you want to climb, this is as fast as it goes."
Finally, with a shuddering jolt, the lift reaches the bottom. Before the gate even slides open, Eamon hauls me up, gripping my arm as he drags me off. I stumble, my body weak, unsteady, slower than I’ve ever been.
The lift lurches, a sickening jolt, then starts its agonizing crawl upward.
"Fucking hurry," Eamon growls at no one in particular. His fists are clenched at his sides, and his breathing is ragged and shallow.
The moment the platform scrapes against the top, he doesn’t hesitate, shoving the cage door open. Without a word or a glance in my direction, he takes off, chasing after Ronan and Aoife.
I don’t have the strength to go after him.
All I have is Seamus, who steadies me, his grip firm but careful as he helps me into a nearby chair.
Then, he grabs a bottle of water from a nearby crate.
"Drink,” he says, pressing the bottle into my hand.
"There’s food here," he offers. "The guards had supplies. "
I shake my head. "Not now." I don’t say that the thought of eating makes my stomach turn. Twisting off the cap, I take a long swallow. The water is lukewarm, but it soothes the raw burn in my throat. "What the fuck happened? Where were you?" I rasp, the words scraping their way out.
Seamus exhales, dragging a hand down his face. "It fell apart the second we got into place."
My stomach turns. "Explain."
He doesn’t argue. He just starts talking, his voice raw with barely contained fury. "The guards turned on me," he spits. "The ones who were supposed to have my back."
He drags a hand down his face. The motion is jerky, almost violent.
"I barely made it two steps before they were on me. They took my weapon like I was nothing while they held me down like a fucking dog." His hands clench into fists at his sides. "Then, they locked me in one of the upstairs rooms and left me there, helpless, while everything went to hell."
A slow, cold rage coils up my spine, tightening with every word.
Seamus grits his teeth. "The lock was old. Rusted. It took longer than it should’ve to pick it." His voice is low, edged with frustration he can't hide. "But the second I broke free, I ran straight down here."
"But by then, Ronan already had her."
The words taste like acid.
Seamus meets my gaze, steady and unflinching. "Eamon’s on them," he says. "He’ll bring her back."
Before I can respond, a gunshot cracks through the night. Seamus and I both freeze. My pulse slams into my throat. We exchange a look, one neither of us wants to acknowledge.
What the hell just happened?
Who took a bullet?
Seamus paces. I watch him for a long moment before speaking. "Go."
He stops, turning to me. "What?"
"Go after them."
Seamus crosses his arms. "Not happening."
I grit my teeth. "I'm no good to anyone right now. I can't fight. I can barely fucking stand. But you can."
Seamus doesn’t budge. "I'm not leaving you here. You think I trust any of those bastards not to come back?"
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.
"I get that you want to help her, but I’m not risking you just to chase after something Eamon already has handled."
I clench my jaw, glaring at him. And yet, I can’t deny it. Seamus isn’t just loyal to Eamon. He’s loyal to Aoife.
It guts me to realize I didn’t see the ones closest to me for who they really were.
Ronan. Cian.
Both of them turned against me. And I didn’t see it coming. I was too fucking blinded by war. Too caught up in the fight with Aoife. Too focused on Eamon as the enemy. The weight of it settles like a stone in my gut.
The silence stretches. Each second feels like an eternity until, finally, the door opens. Eamon steps in first. His gaze sweeps the room, locking onto Seamus before landing on me. Behind him are Aoife and Bridget.
I freeze.
Bridget’s breath catches. Her eyes widen in disbelief.
"Ruairi?" Her voice trembles. “Is that really you?”
"It’s me, a ghrá ," I say softly, my voice thick.
She doesn’t move. Like she’s afraid if she does, I’ll disappear.
When I open my arms, she rushes into them. Her hands grip my face, her body pressing into mine, desperate, needing to feel that I’m real.
"What happened to you?" she breathes, her hands skimming over me.
I hold her tighter, pressing my face into her hair. But I don’t tell her. Not now.
Not yet. Instead, I meet Aoife’s gaze.
Eamon’s holding her tightly against him.
My sister, the fiercest thing I’ve ever known, is shaking in his arms like she might come apart if he lets go.
She’s covered in blood. Brain matter. Bits of the man who thought he could control her.
She’s wearing the aftermath like war paint, but this isn’t a victory.
It’s survival.
Eamon’s hands are steady around her, his hold protective, firm. He murmurs something low against her temple, but I can’t hear the words.
She doesn’t respond. She’s not crying, but she’s far from okay. And all I can think is, how the fuck did it come to this?
I was so busy waging a war that I thought I had to win. Too busy pushing Aoife away, telling her she wasn’t strong enough, worthy enough to have a place in the Syndicate. I never saw the storm my sister was becoming.
And now? Now, she’s standing in the wreckage of all of it.
Bridget pulls back, her eyes pleading. "What happened?"
I stroke her hair, breathing her in, feeling her warmth against me.
"We’ll talk about it later," I say softly. "The only thing that matters is that we’re together."
And that we’re all still standing.
For now.