Chapter Thirteen
Flynn
The cold air hits me like a slap. I’m hard, and if it weren’t for the fact that she’s still recovering from the fire, I’d be inside her, making her say my name like it’s the only word she remembers.
My bike waits around the corner, black and seething. I straddle the beast, slide the helmet on, and lock my gaze on her window through the visor.
She’s safer here.
And I’m close enough to burn down the whole building if anyone even breathes in her direction.
The engine snarls awake beneath me as I pull into the street. Kaden’s SUV rolls in behind me, just like I knew it would. My shadow.
I tap the Cardo.
“You didn’t have to follow me,” I grunt, rougher than I mean it to be.
“Right. But I like getting paid. And dead bosses don’t pay well,” he says, too amused.
“She like the apartment?”
“She does.” I cut left, heading toward the docks.
“Did you tell her you own the whole building?”
“Nope.”
“She’s gonna be pissed.”
“Let her,” I mutter. “As long as she’s alive.”
The docks come into view, shadows stretching long over the water. I roar down the ramp, the bike snarling under me, and spot Christian already waving us in, jumpy as always, never sure if today’s the day I start a war.
I park in the private garage beside the old steel warehouse, Kaden pulling in close, his engine echoing mine.
“Again, Flynn?” Christian laughs, voice tight at the edges.
“Don’t worry. I’ll behave.” I strip off my suit jacket, then my shirt, rolling my shoulders slow, stretching, loosening muscle and rage.
Inside, two Irish Consortium women watch from the shadows. Daughters of men who wish they had my place at the table.
“Oh my God, Flynn, you’ve been working hard,” one squeaks. It takes everything not to roll my eyes.
I push past them, cock already half-hard, that gnawing tension thrumming in my veins. Only two things settle it, fighting or Autumn. She’s not here, so fists will have to do.
The next challenger steps into the ring, some brave, stupid bastard who wants to make a name off mine.
Kaden drops into a chair beside Christian, muttering, “Just try not to almost kill him like the last one.”
“I’ll be betting on you.” Flanaghan emerges from behind a pillar, smirking like we’re old friends. Haven’t seen him since things went sideways with Declan.
“As you should,” I bite back.
He claps me on the back. “Hey, no hard feelings, boy.”
Who the fuck is he calling boy?
I ignore him and vault into the ring, blood running hotter, hard-on fading under the burn of fresh anger. If he wasn’t a founding-family prick, I’d crack his jaw for that.
The referee’s mouth moves, but it’s all noise, background static under the thrum of blood in my ears. My focus locks on Flanaghan standing ringside and then on Doyle, who just slipped in behind him. Doyle gives me a nod. I give one back.
Wonder if Doyle would flip on John; could be leverage for Declan, but only if he proves he’s not a snake. I file it away. Doesn’t matter right now.
Pain snaps me back, the first punch cracks across my jaw, left side. Iron hits my tongue. I’ve been distracted. That’s on me. Won’t happen again.
Straightening, I smile, a slow, dangerous grin. I lift my hands. Bare knuckles, skin split over old scars, sweat slick across my chest and arms. There are no gloves here, no rules I care to follow. Just muscle, bone, and the low, feral burn of rage.
The crowd fades out, bodies a blur behind the lights. It’s just me and the bastard in front of me, hungry to prove he belongs in the ring.
I feint right, let him swing wild, then drive my fist straight into his gut, hard enough to hear the breath leave him in a gasp.
My muscles flex, heat rolling through me, pain and power tangled together.
I want him to fight. I want to bleed. I want to forget everything except the rhythm of fists on flesh.
He swings again, sloppy, desperate. I duck, slam my shoulder into his ribs, shove him against the ropes, pinning him just long enough to taste his fear.
“Come on,” I growl, voice low, hungry, taunting him, taunting myself.
He tries for my ribs, but I catch his wrist, twist, drive my elbow into his temple. The crowd roars, a sea of noise. It means nothing. I am feral, lost in the violence, in control because she’s in mind. Every fucking second now.
When he staggers, I let him. I want him to see me, to know what it means to stand in this ring with me, bare, brutal, untouchable. For a second, I almost want him to win, but that’s not how it will end.
I fight until my knuckles split and the ache in my chest quiets, if only for a moment.
“You look like shit, mate.” Declan’s voice cuts through as I step into his office. Kian and Connor are already there, lounging like they own the place.
“Thanks.” I shrug it off, rolling my neck, sore from yesterday’s fight. The ache sits deep in my muscles, a dull, satisfied burn.
“You’ll give Christian a heart attack if you keep showing up last minute to fight.” Kian grins and hands me a glass of whisky, the good stuff. My knuckles ache as I wrap my fingers around it.
“He needs to toughen up,” I mutter, jaw tight. He also needs to stop running to Declan every time I show up swinging, the little eejit.
Connor checks the papers on the desk. “Everything’s ready for the Bratva next week.” I nod, sinking back in the chair, letting the tension unwind from my shoulders.
“And Flanaghan?” Declan asks, worry threading through his voice.
“I’ll handle it.” I lean back, feeling the stretch in my arms, resting sore muscles that still want more. My body never knows when to quit.
“You can’t kill him.” Declan’s lips curve with a ghost of a smirk.
“Unfortunately.” I tip my glass in mock salute, raising it to my lips. Whiskey burns all the way down. Maybe I’m still tasting blood.
“Did you visit Autumn?” Declan asks, like he already knows.
I meet his eyes, steady. “I did.” I hold his gaze. “Didn’t fuck her, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Not yet,” Kian pipes up, and I slap him hard on the back, just to feel the crack of muscle under my palm. He laughs, unbothered.
“Did you tell her you own the damn building?” Declan presses, eyes narrowed.
I shake my head, jaw clenched. “If I told her, she’d never have stayed.
” When Declan said she was hunting apartments with Viviana, I made sure my realtor showed them the worst places in town before slipping Autumn the keys to mine.
It took me three hours to get the moving company to set everything up; her taste isn’t hard to figure out.
She gasps over every damn garden post on Pinterest. No one else noticed, but I did.
Truth is, I study her. The way she dresses. Her perfume, subtle and soft, lingers in my head. How she eats, how she fidgets in traffic, the little sounds she makes on the phone when she’s nervous, the way her cheeks burn when she messes up. I see everything.
She’ll never know I own that place. The fire report came back clean, no foul play, just bad luck. She’s safe, for now, but I need to know where she is, always. I almost lost her, and I won’t let it happen twice.
“Flynn?” Kian’s voice pulls me back. I blink, grip tightening on the glass.
“Sorry, mate. What?”
“For the Bratva, the dinner. You should bring a date.” Kian raises an eyebrow, smirking.
“What the fuck?” I straighten up, muscles tensing. “Why?”
They all glance at Declan.
“He’s coming with his wife, his sister, and his brother.” Declan sighs, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.
“And?” I lift my chin, not getting it.
“I’m not going to be the only one showing up with a wife.” He points at the door. “Viviana won’t have the patience to entertain the Bratva women.”
“Flanaghan has a wife,” I point out.
“She hasn’t shown up in six months. Doubt she’ll start now,” Connor says, laughing.
“And you two eejits?” I look between Connor and Kian.
“I’m not taking anyone. I’m too young for that shit,” Connor jokes. I roll my eyes as Declan bursts out laughing.
“Well, the Bratva sister is hot,” Kian adds, arms crossed, leaning on the wall.
“How the fuck do you know that?” I grin.
“I’ve been investigating. Saw pictures.” He shrugs, cocky.
“You are not going to fuck the Bratva leader’s sister, Kian.” Declan pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration radiating off him. “Christ.”
“So that leaves… yeah?” I tilt my head, grinning. “Who the hell am I supposed to take—”
I stop, a grin stretching wider.
“No!” Declan snaps, jabbing a finger at me as I raise my hands in mock surrender. “Not Autumn. Viviana will kill me.”
“I didn’t say anything, mate.” I let the innocence drip off my tongue, hands still raised. Watching him stress over his wife is the best part of my day.
“I know you, Brady. Don’t fucking play with me. Not Autumn, you hear me?” He’s pacing now, jaw clenched. I barely keep from laughing.
It’ll be her or no one.
We go over everything and check the next shipments.
The meeting’s over, and I head to the new mansion.
Still can’t believe Declan talked me into buying this bloody monstrosity in the middle of nowhere. He said I needed space. Said I’d outgrown the penthouse, but I doubt that.
The Callaghans are nearby, but everything else is forty minutes out: my clubs, the docks… Autumn.
The gates creak open, and the security guard nods as I drive through.
Three storeys, all dark stone with two massive columns out front and a staircase just to reach the main door. Seven bedrooms, each with its own bathroom; three living rooms, a kitchen big enough to feed a small army, and a dining room that could host the entire royal family.
Fucking hell.
There’s a library I’ll never use, a sunroom with overpriced couches, and three offices. I use one. Kaden takes the other when he stays over, but it was the outside that sold me.
Not like Declan’s; he’s got hedges and roses and a garden full of shit no one touches.
Mine?
Mine’s surrounded by tall and dense trees. A fucking forest at my doorstep.
At night, you can’t see past the tree line. The darkness swallows everything.