Chapter 17
Dervla
Ishould probably shower again before I go and bait a Board member into a public scene, but there is no time, and honestly, the bruises only help. “Right. If I die, make it embarrassing for them.”
“You’re not dying,” Aidan says, taking my water bottle.
“Not reassured,” I mutter and head inside before any of them can decide that means I need another lecture. My focus has shifted. It is cleaner now. Sharper. Anger with direction.
Upstairs, I swap my damp tee for a fresh black one and drag a hoodie over it. I check Henrietta, then shove her into the sheath at my back under the hoodie. Hidden, but reachable. My phone goes into my pocket.
When I come back downstairs, the three of them are waiting in the hall like a private security detail with severe behavioural issues.
Declan’s eyes sweep over me once. “You good?”
“No, but I’m committed.”
“That’ll do,” Cormac says.
Aidan opens the front door. “After you.”
I step out into the damp afternoon.
Campus feels wrong after this morning. Too normal.
Students cross the paths with bags and coffees and phones out, while I walk through the middle of it carrying enough fury to level a chapel.
It’s odd that this morning has been brushed under the carpet, but I guess that’s just how things go here.
Back in Dublin, we’d have been in lockdown for hours, and the campus closed until further notice.
We cut across the path toward the quad in a hard line, and I can feel the three of them around me without looking.
By the time we reach the edge of the quad, people have started slowing. Some stop outright. Phones appear. They know something is about to go down.
I step into the open and keep going until I’m dead centre on the drying stone.
Then I stop.
“Right,” I say, mostly to myself. “Let’s make this everyone’s problem.” I clear my throat and then shout, “Roisin Brennan, get your fucking arse out here.”
My voice carries across the quad and slams into old stone. Conversations die. Footsteps slow. A hundred heads turn at once.
For one beat, nothing happens.
Then a door on the far side opens, almost as if she’d been waiting for this. She must’ve seen us approaching and knew shit was going to hit the fan.
Roisin steps out of the academic wing like she’s arriving for a meeting she scheduled herself. She stops at the top of the steps and looks straight at me.
The air changes.
Students start clustering at the edges, keeping enough distance to feel safe while staying close enough to watch me either win or get broken. Phones rise higher.
Roisin comes down the steps at an unhurried pace, two girls I vaguely recognise trailing behind her until one look from her stops them dead. She keeps walking alone.
“I was wondering how long it would take,” she says when she is close enough for me to hear without shouting.
I smile at her. “I’d say the same, but that would imply I’ve been thinking about you more than five fucking minutes at a time.”
Her eyes flick over my face, my throat, the bruises she can probably see above my hoodie. “You look rough.”
“So do your prospects.”
A murmur runs through the crowd.
Roisin’s expression doesn’t move much, but I catch the small tightening at the corner of her mouth.
She’s not as calm as she wants the audience to think.
She stops a few feet away. Close enough that if she moves fast, I have a problem. Close enough that if I move first, so does she.
“You think this changes anything?” she asks quietly.
“I think it changes your day.”
Her gaze slides past me for half a second. Over my shoulder. Taking stock of the three of them at my back. Then back to me. “You’ve brought your guards.”
I smile wider. “And yet I’m still the one you should worry about.”
Around us, the quad goes tighter. Students edge in, not enough to interfere, enough to witness. Enough to spread this to every hall, every group chat, every whisper network on campus within minutes.
Roisin folds her hands behind her back. It makes her look even more controlled. More formal. More dangerous. “If you wanted to scream in public, Callaghan, you could’ve saved us both time and done it alone.”
“I didn’t come to scream. I came to show you what an Apex really is on this campus.” I take a step closer and lower my voice so no phone, no ear can pick it up. “I know who I am now, you see. And I’m better than you.”
Her eyes flash, and her hand snaps out, clamping around my throat, squeezing tightly.
Cormac growls and moves towards us. I hold my hand up to stop him.
Then, I slam my palm into her elbow and twist hard, breaking the line of her arm off my throat before she can get a proper hold.
At the same time, I drive my knee straight into the inside of hers.
Her leg buckles.
The shock on her face is brief and deeply satisfying.
I don’t waste it.
I grab a fistful of her hair, yank her down, and smash my forehead into her nose.
The crack is sickening.
The crowd gasps as one.
Roisin stumbles back with blood on her mouth and upper lip, one hand flying to her face.
I go with her, not giving her a second to recover, because Cormac is right and because hesitation gets you buried.
She swings for me, fast and clean, trained enough to turn pain into action, but I’m already inside her reach.
Her fist glances off my shoulder. I rake my nails down her cheek and drive the heel of my hand into her throat.
She chokes.
I shove her hard in the chest.
She hits the stone on one knee, catching herself before she fully falls, and for one glorious second, the entire quad sees Roisin Brennan brought down in the middle of her own kingdom.
“You should’ve stopped when you had the chance,” I say, loud enough for everyone.
Her head snaps up. Blood runs from her nose. Her eyes are murderous.
Then she comes at me properly.
No posture now. No control. Just speed.
She catches my hoodie and drags me forward, trying to twist and throw me by the weight of it.
I rip one arm free and jam my thumb toward her eye.
She jerks her face away on instinct, grip breaking just enough. I slam my forehead into her again, less clean this time, more impact than aim, and we both stagger. Pain flashes white across my skull. Worth it.
Roisin recovers faster than I want. Her fist drives into my ribs, hard enough to empty half my lungs. I hiss and fold for a second, and she takes it, catches my wrist, turns, tries to drag me across her hip.
Trained. Clean. Efficient.
I go filthy.
I stomp on her foot with all my weight, wrench my hand free, and claw for her face. My nails catch skin. She snarls. I drive my knee up toward her cunt. It lands badly, glancing, but it still folds her for a beat.
The crowd noise swells. Phones are everywhere now. Good. Let them film every second of it.
She comes back with a sharp elbow that clips my temple and sends me sideways. The world tilts. Stone rushes up. I catch myself before I go down fully, one palm skidding on wet ground.
Roisin grabs for the back of my hoodie.
I roll instead of rising clean, catch her ankle with both hands, and yank.
She hits the quad hard on her side with a crack of bone on stone.
She curses and twists, trying to kick free, but I’m already scrambling up, one hand still locked around her ankle. I drag her a short brutal distance across the wet quad before she lashes out with her other foot and catches my shoulder hard enough to make my arm give.
I let go and surge to my feet.
She pushes to her feet, blood streaming from her nose, her eyes narrowed to slits that promise retribution.
This is good. This is honest.
She swings low this time, not aiming for a clean hit, aiming to take my legs. I hop back, barely, and her fist clips my thigh instead. Pain bites. I answer by lunging in and catching her by the coat, twisting the expensive fabric in my fist and driving her sideways into me before she can reset.
We go down together in an ugly tangle.
Stone slams into my hip. Her nails rake across my jaw. I hiss and jam my forearm across her throat, pushing, but she is stronger than she looks when she has leverage. She bucks hard and nearly throws me off.
“Get the fuck off me,” she spits.
“No.”
I slam her head back against the quad.
A sharp sound. Another gasp from the crowd.
Her palm cracks across my ear. Pain bursts through my head, hot and loud, but I keep my forearm jammed into her throat and hit her again.
This time, she gets an arm between her skull and the stone. Smart. Annoying.
She bucks hard, hips twisting, and I lose the top position for half a second. It is enough. She rolls us, comes up over me, and drives her knee into my stomach.
Air leaves in a brutal rush.
She grabs a fistful of my hoodie and slams me back down. “You stupid fucking bitch,” she hisses, blood dripping over her mouth.
I smile up at her because I know exactly how unhinged that looks. “A bit rich coming from you.”
Her hand flashes toward my face.
I catch the wrist. Barely. Her nails score my cheek as I wrench her arm aside, and with my free hand, I drive two fingers into the soft hollow at the base of her throat.
She chokes and rears back.
I slam my head forward again.
Not elegant. Not clean. Just bone and fury.
Her nose was already broken, so this one gets a truly satisfying noise out of her.
The crowd loses its fucking mind.
I shove hard, get enough space, and twist out from under her. We scramble up almost together, both breathing hard, both bloodied now. My ears ring. “This is just a warm-up. Your brother is in for a world of pain when I find him. And I will find him.”
Roisin wipes blood from her mouth with the back of her hand and spits red onto the stone between us.
“Try,” she says.
I laugh, breathless and harsh. “That’s all you’ve got?”
She lunges.