Chapter Thirty-One
Flynn
I watch Autumn and Viviana through the doorway, sitting at the kitchen table, eating bread and fruit. Viviana talks with her hands, dramatic and animated. Autumn looks terrified and entertained at the same time.
“What the hell are they talking about?” Declan mutters beside me, leaning on the doorframe.
“Judging by Autumn’s face,” I say, smirking, “I’d bet your woman is telling her your beautiful love story.”
Declan straightens, eyes widening. “Oh fuck.” He turns away. “I can’t deal with this.”
“Come on, mate. It’s beautiful. You, putting a bullet into her father, it was romantic as hell.” I clap him on the back as we head toward the office after taking off the riding gear. “Really heartwarming—”
“Don’t, Flynn. For fuck’s sake.” He grunts.
We turn the corner into the hallway leading to the office when Kian and Connor appear, practically sprinting.
“The warehouse on Third has blown to shit.” Kian tosses Declan the keys mid-run.
“Fuck. The Bratva’s guns.” I snap, already moving. There’s no time to tell Autumn anything. I’ll text her once we’re there.
We pile into the SUVs. Declan floors it. Kian and Connor follow in the second vehicle.
“He didn’t even wait twenty-four hours,” I growl. Declan exhales through his nose, jaw tight.
“You really think it’s Flanaghan?” he mutters.
“Yeah.” My stare stays locked on the road. “Doyle confirmed it.”
By the time we reach the docks, the entire warehouse is engulfed. Flames shoot into the sky. Smaller explosions pop inside like firecrackers. Firefighters scramble back, shouting orders that disappear into the roar.
“Fuck…” Declan murmurs.
Dark-windowed jeeps skid in from the other side. The Bratva climbs out, Rurik first, face twisted in fury.
“That’s our fucking shipment!” he roars, marching toward us.
I step beside Declan, already bracing. I want a fight. Rurik looks eager to give me one.
“We know,” Declan says, steady, controlled.
“You can’t even protect it for a single fucking DAY!” Rurik gets nose to nose with him, but Declan doesn’t back up. He steps closer.
“We’ll handle it.”
Rurik steps away, spits on the ground.
“We should’ve made business with capable people. Not with two pretty boys playing mafia.”
I move forward at the same time Stepan does.
“Someone planned this,” I bite out. “They hit it the first night. That’s not a coincidence.”
Rurik pauses, eyes narrowing. Studying me. Calculating.
“You better bring us our money or our guns,” he says, voice low, dangerous. “Or heads will roll.”
“Is that a threat?” Declan snaps.
Rurik turns back, advancing on him. I step in instantly, grabbing Rurik’s arm before he can swing. Stepan lunges. His men move. Declan shoves Stepan into the SUV.
Chaos breaks open.
I punch Rurik in the face. Hard.
He grunts, staggers, then slams a fist into my stomach. Pain explodes through me, but I barely feel it over the rage.
“We should’ve never trusted you Russian pieces of shit,” I snarl, grabbing his jacket as the night ignites around us.
“The media,” Kian snaps, and every man freezes.
We all step back at once as a news van screeches to a stop by the barricades. Cameras swing toward the flames like vultures catching the scent of something dying.
“This isn’t over, Callaghan.” Rurik’s voice drops to a low whisper as he yanks Stepan toward their jeep. “I want our guns.”
Then they’re gone, into the dark jeeps, engines roaring as they pull away.
A second later, another vehicle arrives.
John Flanaghan.
Doyle.
Christian Keeffe.
Of course.
“What the hell happened?” Christian demands, pointing at the fire, disbelief twisting his face.
“Someone knew the guns were here,” I growl. “They didn’t rob it. They blew the whole fucking thing up.”
Flanaghan laughs.
A high, ugly sound that pisses me off instantly.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” he spits. “Probably the Russians themselves did it. Create chaos, make everyone dance.”
I stare him down, stepping right into his space. “Why the fuck would they blow up their own shipment?”
He backs up a half step.
Just a half.
Enough to show me he didn’t expect the question.
“Because now they have a reason to come after us,” he hisses. “To kill us all.”
“He didn’t need a fucking reason,” I roar, slamming my fist onto the nearest SUV. The hood dents inward with a metallic crunch. Christian flinches. Doyle’s eyes widen. John swallows.
“They’re the Russian mafia,” I continue through clenched teeth. “That alone is reason enough.”
The flames reflect in the metal, in the puddles, in our eyes.
Middle of the goddamn afternoon, like someone planned this knowing it would be loud, dramatic, visible.
They wanted the Bratva to see it burn.
They wanted a war, and they wanted us to take the blame.
Back at the mansion, night has already swallowed the sky. We spent hours at the warehouse, trying to drag truth out of ashes, but no one saw a damn thing. The cameras were cut. The security guards who were stationed there vanished like smoke.
Someone is pulling strings, and the more I think about it, the more I feel it in my bones it’s him, but then another thought hits like a punch:
The Keeffes. Are they involved? Did those two eejits team up with Flanaghan to take us down?
Fuck.
“Hey.” Her soft voice slides across the room and crawls right under my skin. She wraps her arms around my neck from behind as I sit on the chair in the bedroom Declan set aside for us.
We’re all staying under the same roof tonight. More men, less risk. Safety in numbers. Control by proximity.
“Hey, baby.” I whisper, taking her wrist gently and bringing her hand to my lips. Her skin is warm against my mouth.
“You’re tense,” she murmurs, starting to massage my shoulders. Her hands move slowly, circles of heat spreading under my skin. “I heard about the warehouse. It’s all over the news.”
I let out a long, heavy breath. “They’re moving fast. We need to be more careful.”
“Flanaghan?” she asks quietly.
I nod.
She keeps working my shoulders, my neck, her touch sinking into every tight muscle. I close my eyes, breathing through the simmering fury in my chest. She stops suddenly.
“Well, this isn’t doing shit,” she mutters. “You feel even more tense now.”
I open my eyes and stare at her. “It’s fine. I’ll just sit here with my eyes closed for a minute.”
I let them fall shut again. My mind turns fast, dangerously fast. The plan is still alive, just twisted into something sharper, darker than I expected.
Blowing up the fucking warehouse wasn’t the kind of move I expected from a worm like Flanaghan. We could kill him right now, end this, but we’re not a hundred per cent sure it’s him. My thoughts stop dead when I feel her hands on my belt.
“Autumn.” The word rips out of me the second her small hands yank my sweats down and free my cock. Before I can even think to stop her, those soft lips part, and she takes me in, hot, wet, and so fucking greedy she sucks the air straight out of my lungs.
Jesus Christ.
My hips jerk; I’m rock-hard in one heartbeat. “Fuuck,” I groan, the sound punched out of me as her head starts moving, cheeks hollowing, tongue swirling like she was born for this. For me.
I fist her hair on pure instinct, pulling hard until her mouth leaves me with a filthy pop. I force those big eyes up to mine. “What the fuck are you doing, trouble?”
She smiles, slow and wicked, lips swollen and shiny with me. “You’ve been wound tighter than a drum all day. Massages weren’t cutting it.” She flicks a glance down at my cock, standing angry and leaking against my stomach, then back up. “So I figured I’d try something that actually works.”
I stare at her, chest heaving. “So you just drop to your knees and suck my cock like it’s medicine?”
Her grin turns proud, filthy, perfect. She reaches up, digs her thumbs into the knotted muscle at the base of my neck, and presses. “Tell me your shoulders aren’t looser already.”
Fucking hell. She’s right.
I release her hair. She dives back down like she’s starving, swallowing me to the root.
Her tongue does something evil around the head, and my eyes damn near roll back into my skull.
Then her fingers slide lower, cupping my balls, rolling them in slow, teasing circles that shoot fire straight up my spine.
“Where the fuck did you learn that?” I rasp, barely recognising my own voice.
She hums around my cock, and the vibration nearly ends me right there.
Fuck questioning her; right now I need to own that smart little mouth.
I tighten my grip on her hair and take over, guiding her faster, harder. She gags, eyes watering, but doesn’t pull away; she leans into it, nails digging into my thighs like she’s begging for more. My balls draw up tight, that electric pull coiling low and vicious.
“You,” I snarl, voice shredded, “are going to swallow every. Fucking. Drop.”
I hold her flush against me and thrust deep, once, twice, then bury myself down her throat and come with a guttural roar.
My head snaps back, vision whiting out as I unload pulse after thick pulse straight into her.
She takes it all, throat working around me, milking me dry while I shake and curse and thank whatever god put this woman in my path.
When the last shudder leaves me, I drag her off slow, thumb wiping the spit from her chin, and haul her up for a kiss that tastes like both of us.
“Feel better?” she whispers against my lips, smug as hell.
I smirk, still half-dazed. “Get on the bed, wife. My turn.”
I stand there for a second, chest heaving, trying to gather the pieces of my fucking soul she just scattered across the floor with that mouth. She giggles and crawls onto the bed, stretching out flat on her back like she’s offering herself up to a god she already knows owns her.
I strip my shirt off slow, letting her watch.
The way her eyes drag over my chest, down the lines of my abs, lingering on the deep V that disappears into my sweats…
yeah, she’s not hiding how much she wants me anymore.
That alone makes my cock throb harder than it has any right to after she just drained me.
She moves her arm to the nightstand, and picks up her camera, the one I gave her. She snaps two pictures and bites her lips. “You look so hot.” She whispers.
I stalk to the foot of the bed, hook my fingers in the waistband of her leggings, and peel them down her legs inch by inch. Black lace panties underneath, tiny, delicate, already soaked through. I smirk. “Nice panties, wife.”
She wiggles her brows, cheeks pink but eyes dancing. That confidence, the way she’s finally letting herself be bold with me when we’re naked, hits me harder than any punch I’ve ever taken. She’s starting to believe she’s safe. Starting to believe she’s mine in every way that matters.
I drop to my knees, drag that lace down her thighs, and toss it somewhere behind me. Her legs fall open on their own, thighs trembling just a little. I spread her wider, settled between them, and finally let myself look.
Christ. Pink, slick, swollen for me. I lean in and drag my tongue up her centre in one slow, filthy stripe.
She whimpers, her whole body jerking like I shocked her.
“Fuck,” I growl against her, voice rough, “you taste like every sin I shouldn’t want but will kill to keep.” I blow a cool stream of air over her clit and watch goosebumps race across her skin. “Never getting enough of this perfect pussy, Autumn. Never.”
I bury my face. No teasing now. I lick her like I’m starving, because I am, swirling around her clit, sucking it between my lips, swallowing every drop she gives me. Her fingers twist hard in my hair, my back bowing off the mattress.
“It feels so good, baby,” she gasps.
Baby.
The word punches straight through my chest. I smile against her cunt, slide one thick finger inside, and groan at how tight she clamps down.
Soaked velvet. I curl it, stroke that spot that makes her sob, then pull out and replace my finger with my tongue.
I fuck her with it slow and deep while she writhes, thighs shaking around my ears.
Thank fuck for Declan’s soundproof rooms. If any other man ever heard the way she moans my name, high, broken, desperate, I’d put a bullet in him without blinking.
“That’s it, trouble,” I rasp, adding a second finger, stretching her open while I lash her clit with quick, ruthless flicks. “Come all over my face. Let me drink you down.”
Her grip turns brutal, nails scraping my scalp, and then she shatters. A sharp, muffled scream into her own palm as her pussy spasms around my fingers, flooding my tongue. I keep licking, keep pumping, drawing it out until her legs give out and she collapses, trembling, sweat-slick, gorgeous.
I crawl up her body, press a soft kiss to her parted lips so she can taste herself on me, and whisper against her mouth, “Good girl.”
We lie tangled together, her naked body pressed tight against mine, her warmth sinking into my skin like something I never earned but refuse to let go of.
“I need you to be strong tomorrow,” I whisper into her hair. She snuggles closer, fitting against me perfectly like she was carved to sleep in my arms and nowhere else.
“I will,” she says softly. “Don’t worry about me.”
She looks up at me, eyes shining with tears she’s trying to swallow. I lean down and kiss her eyelids, tasting the salt as it slips free.
“I’ll always worry about you, trouble.” I kiss her forehead, my grip tightening. “You’re the only fucking thing that matters to me.”