Chapter 4
Cormac
Ishut her door behind me and stand there for a second with my dick still wet from her.
She told me to go, so I went. That’s the rule with her. Push when she wants pushing. Back off when she asks for space. She hates being cornered unless she’s the one who chose the corner.
I head downstairs, half-dressed, rage wrapped back up under my skin.
The kitchen light is still on. Aidan is at the table with his laptop open, one hand around a glass of whiskey, the other moving over the trackpad.
Declan is at the counter, stacking medical supplies back into a box with that neat, controlled way he does everything.
He looks up when I come in. His eyes flick once over me, reading the obvious.
“She threw you out?” Aidan asks with a snicker.
“Yes.” I grab the bottle and drink straight from it.
Declan shuts the lid on the box. “How is she?”
“Angry. Tired. Well-fucked.”
“We heard.” Aidan’s mouth curves. “Good. Means she’s still got fight in her.”
“She had that before,” I say.
“Different kind now,” Declan replies.
He’s right. Before, it was survival. Fast, sharp, ready to cut. Tonight, it turned into something else. Direction. She nearly slit a man’s throat in front of half the university and walked out with her head up. That changes things.
I set the whiskey down. My knuckles sting. My ribs are starting to tighten up. One of Roisin’s men got a decent shot in, which means I was distracted. I don’t like being distracted.
Aidan turns the laptop so we can both see. “Lafferty came through.”
On the screen is a file with Brennan’s name at the top. Photo. Date of birth. Mobile numbers. A list of addresses. Cars. A private clinic in Dublin flagged in red.
“He went there?” I ask.
“Most likely. One of Roisin’s men called ahead from a burner. Brennan was admitted under a false name forty minutes ago. Broken nose. Possible cracked rib. Lacerations to his hand and forearm.” Aidan looks up. “She did a nice job.”
Declan’s expression goes cold. “Very nice.”
Aidan scrolls. “He’s under observation until morning. Two security men outside the room. Private floor. Brennan family money doing what it does.”
“Then we go to Dublin,” I say.
Declan shakes his head. “Not tonight.”
I look at him. “Why not?”
“Because you’re angry enough to tear the room apart, and Aidan’s angry enough to make it theatrical. We go in like that, we get seen.”
Aidan tips his glass at him. “See? This is why we keep him.”
I take the icepack from the freezer and press it to my ribs. It helps a bit. Not enough. Nothing is going to help enough until Brennan is choking on his own blood.
“We don’t wait long,” I say.
“We don’t,” Aidan replies. “But he is not our primary target. She is.”
“That fucking bitch,” I growl. “Never liked her.”
“We didn’t have to like her. We tolerated her because she is a Board member. Eyes on the prize, people,” Aidan says. “Callaghan’s seat goes to Dervla. We make fucking sure of that. But there will be another seat opening up soon after.”
“Roisin’s,” I say unnecessarily.
“And that’s when we strike and take the entire institution down.” He sits back with a pleased smile on his face.
Declan grimaces. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“I’m planning,” Aidan says. “Try not to confuse the two.”
I sit down opposite him and set the icepack on the table. “What’s the play, then?”
Aidan clicks into another file. Roisin’s face fills the screen. Academic record. Committee memberships. Family companies. Board connections. Photographs at charity dinners and university functions. She looks polished in every one of them. Controlled. Untouchable.
I want to put her through a wall.
“She made a public move tonight,” Aidan says. “That matters. She can dress it up however she wants, but too many people saw what happened. She challenged Dervla in our space, used her brother, let weapons into the ring, and lost.”
“People will talk,” Declan says.
“They already are. Those who weren’t there will wake up to videos and whispered versions of the same story. Dervla won. Roisin overreached. The Apex held.”
I tap the photo on the screen with one finger. “Still not enough.”
“No,” Aidan says. “Which is why we make it enough. We play the long game. Well, long-ish. We don’t do anything.
We sit. We watch. We wait. We get Dervla that Board seat, and then Roisin will understand what it means to cross us.
In the meantime, she can duck the rumours, the disgust that will head her way. I don’t give a shit. We wait.”
I sit back and sigh. I knew he would be all reasonable with his plans. It does nothing to appease my hit-first, ask-questions-later approach to life, but fuck it. He’s right. “Fine. But what do we do about Eoin? Just let him walk out of that clinic and lose him?”
“No. Lafferty is on him. He won’t let him get lost behind Brennan money. O’Connell money talks louder.”
“Nice,” I say. “I’m fucking off upstairs. I need to get horizontal before my ribs cause me to make noises I will absolutely deny.”
“You okay?” Aidan frowns.
“Fine. Par for the course.” I stand up as he nods, getting it. He won’t admit it, but he could probably do with a lie down himself after those three thugs. I rap my knuckles on the table and stare at Declan.
He gives me a stare back that is completely blank and furious at the same time. He knows my thoughts. “It was you two or her,” he says.
“I know. I can still be pissed we had to walk away.”
“You can. But you don’t get to blame me for it.”
“I’m not blaming you,” I say. “I’m blaming the fact that tonight turned into a fucking circus.”
Declan nods once, accepting that for what it is.
Aidan shuts the laptop halfway and stares at me. The room goes quiet. Not peaceful. Just wrung out. We are all carrying blood and adrenaline and a list of names that needs shortening. I head for the stairs before the silence starts getting under my skin.
Every step jars my ribs. I keep my face blank anyway. Pain is pain. It passes, or it doesn’t. Either way, I’m not interested in discussing it.
The hallway is dark except for the thin strip of light under Dervla’s door.
I stop.
Not because I’m going in. She told me to leave. I did. But I still stop and listen.
No crying. No pacing. No smashing furniture. Just quiet.
I leave her and go into my room.
The mirror over the sink gives me the full picture when I switch on the bathroom light. Split lip. Bruise coming up along my jaw. One cut over my brow. Knuckles skinned. Ribs are already darkening. I strip off my clothes, turn the shower on as hot as I can stand, and step under it.
When the water hits the bruises and cuts, it drags a rough breath out of me. I brace one hand against the tile and let it run over my face, over the back of my neck, down my chest. Blood, cum and sweat go down the drain. The ache stays.
My forearm catches my eye when I reach for the soap.
Dervla.
Still red. Still healing. Still the maddest thing I have ever let myself do without a fight.
I drag my thumb over the letters once and think about her on the bed, eyes bright with lust, cunt gripping my cock, telling me to get out.
Think about her in that ring with Brennan’s throat under her blade.
Think about the way she said it was personal, and stepped in anyway.
Mine.
Not the sweet version. Not the sane version. The version that means if anyone lays a hand on her again, I’ll break every bone they need to stand.
I shut the water off before I stay under it too long and start thinking even stupider thoughts.
Wrapping a towel around my waist, I step back into my room and dry off enough to avoid dripping all over the floor.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
I stare at it once, then answer. “Yeah.”
A man’s voice. Calm. Older. Educated. “Mr Byrne.”
I go still. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m calling because tonight got out of hand.”
“No shit. Which part specifically got your attention?”
A short pause. Then, “Miss Callaghan should not have been put in that ring.”
My grip tightens on the phone. “You’ve got a talent for stating the fucking obvious.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Name yourself.”
“That would be unwise.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, towel low on my hips, every muscle going tight again. “Then this conversation is over.”
“Roisin Brennan acted without authorisation.”
That gets my full attention.
“Authorisation from who?” I ask.
“You are asking the wrong question.”
“No. I’m asking it to the wrong coward.”
He ignores that. “Roisin Brennan exceeded her remit. Her brother compounded the error. What happened tonight will have consequences.”
I look at my bedroom door, at the strip of darkness under it, and think of Dervla asleep or trying to be. “For who?”
“For several people, if things continue in this direction.”
“Try being less cryptic.”
“You and your friends have made yourselves visible. That was either very brave or very foolish.”
“We’ve always been visible. We own this ground.”
“So you think.”
My jaw goes tight. “If you called to threaten me, do it properly.”
“If I intended to threaten you, Mr Byrne, you would know.”
There is no heat in his voice. That is what makes it worse.
“If you are a Board member, I will find out who you are in exactly two seconds after this call ends.”
“I’m not. I am the only person standing between Miss Callaghan and the threat that is looming.”
My eyes narrow. “Now you’ve got my attention.”
“That was rather the point.”
“You want her on the Board.”
“I want her higher than that, Mr Byrne. The Board is a start.”
“What goes higher than the Board?”
“Miss Callaghan is standing in the path of something old, and too many people have finally realised she’s there.”
That cuts through the ache and the leftover fury in one clean line.
“Why me?” I ask.
“You are the one who will make sure the path is clear when the time is right.”
“And when will that be?”
“When I say it is.”
“Right. Helpful.”