Chapter 24
Maeve
Moira (n) a person’s fate or destiny
All four of us load into the truck. Ronan and Orin are up front, and Callum and I ride in the back. I sit in silence, lost in thought, while the guys talk shop.
“Did Fitz find anything more?” Callum asks.
“No, he said he’ll keep looking until he finds something,” Ronan responds.
Orin scratches his chin, mulling over something.
Callum's hand is resting on my knee, his grip firm.
He seems to be in deep thought as he stares out of the window with his other hand on his jaw, covering his mouth.
I reach over and put my hand on his, and he snaps out of it with a smile.
We intertwine our fingers, and he leans over, kissing me on the forehead.
We pull into the warehouse lot. The parking lot is empty aside from a few cars that are ours based off the blacked out windows and unique antennas peaking from the roofs.
The warehouse itself is nice, which isn’t what I expected.
The paint isn’t chipped, no rust to be seen, and the landscape is kept up nicely.
It sits beside a few more well kept warehouses.
The guys abruptly straighten, almost simultaneously.
Ronan pulls to the side of the building and parks.
There’s a hint of hesitation in his eyes; I can see it from the backseat through the rearview mirror.
Callum opens the door, allowing the sun to stream in, making me realize it isn’t dusk quite yet.
Orin stays close by as we step out to walk into the warehouse.
All three of the guys' heads are on a swivel. Ronan’s brows are pinched together, seeming to sense something, and it has me on edge.
I look up at Callum, and he has the same energy surging off of him.
My spine goes straight as Orin’s back makes contact with my side.
“Guys, what’s going on?” My voice has both a bite and a shake to it.
No one says a word, but Callum reaches down and places my left hand in his, his grip vice-like.
I reach down and put my right hand on my blade instinctively.
Ronan walks ahead of us and puts his back to the wall next to the entry door.
I didn’t notice the door until we got close, but it was for sure a forced entry.
The scratch marks make it look like someone used a crowbar to pry the door open.
Orin, Callum, and I go to the other side with me between them.
Ronan gives Orin a signal, and Orin opens the door.
Ronan enters the building, Orin flanking him.
A single whistle has Callum pulling me by the hand into the building with him. The sight in front of me makes my stomach turn and bile rises in my throat.
Bodies are scattered across the cement floor.
My hand rises to my face, covering my mouth as I take in the river of crimson pooling below the men.
Callum runs his free hand through his dark hair and blows a long, strained breath.
He releases my hand and walks to one of his men near an open door, where I now realize there is an empty chair with zip ties scattered on the floor around it, seemingly cut off by someone.
Callum turns the man's body, and his head drops, no doubt recognizing who it is. There’s one bullet to the back of his head.
It looks too clean. There’s no visible sign of a struggle, as if he had no idea it was coming.
“Where is Joe?” Ronan asks from across the room where another one of their men is lying on his back, a gunshot wound in the middle of his chest. He most likely heard the first shot and came running to see what was going on, but whoever did this expected him and shot him right as he turned the corner.
His gun was still in his hand. Callum stands up and looks around.
Orin shakes his head, confirming that the man he just checked was dead.
Callum pulls out his cell and dials someone as the guys continue to check the other men.
I look around, registering that the inside of the building is kept up just as well as the outside. The high ceilings with exposed beams, the cement floors, and the vehicles neatly parked along the walls spark a memory of when we were kids.
I’ve been here before. A long time ago… with my mother. I’m lost in thought when I lock eyes with Callum. We stare at each other for a few heartbeats, the shock of the scene we’d discovered rendering us speechless.
It’s silent until we hear a ringing behind a closed door.
We all freeze in place, staring in the direction of the sound.
Callum steps in front of me like a shield as Ronan and Orin run over, guns drawn, so silently I almost didn’t register them coming up behind us.
Just as before, they prepare themselves to clear the room.
Callum and I move out of the line of fire just in case, his gun drawn and at the ready.
Ronan nods to Orin, who pulls the door back. Ronan turns the corner first, Orin right on his heels. They move together with such grace, completely in sync. It makes me wonder how many times they have been in a position like this.
After a few moments of silence, we hear Ronan call out to us.
“Hey boss, you’re gonna want to see this.”
Callum steps forward quickly, pulling us into the room, and tied to a chair in the center of it is a man I have seen before. Joe, one of my father's footmen. He has blood dripping from his mouth, his eyebrow, a swollen busted eye, and cuts across his chest.
“Joe? Can you hear me?” Ronan asks, tapping Joe’s face with his hand, trying to wake him. We can see that he is still breathing, which is a miracle given the condition he’s in. Joe groans.
“I’m going to call Cian. We’ll get some more men over here, and the clean-up crew.
What do you want to do about the families?
” Orin’s face is somber, no doubt recalling the day he had been told his parents had been killed in a similar fashion.
A pang of sadness hits me right in the heart.
I remember not seeing him for a few days.
I release Callum's hand and close the distance between Orin and me. Orin’s stare is vacant.
He seems to be stuck in his head with the memory.
I reach out, placing my hand on his bicep, and he looks down at me.
It takes him a moment to realize it’s me he’s looking at.
I hear Cian calling Orin’s name, and he finally comes back to the present with glossy eyes.
He clears his throat before answering Cian.
“Uh, yeah, we need a clean-up crew and men at the warehouse.” A pause in conversation.
Cian, no doubt, is already sending out orders.
“The only survivor is one of our men, so families will need to be contacted for the other four. Do you mind calling Eoin and informing him of the situation?” The call ends, and Orin’s head shoots up in a brief panic as if remembering something important.
“Where’d the guys take Nessa?” Orin asks the boys, and they all realize the same thing.
She’s supposed to be here. Ronan takes off out of the door, followed by Orin, Callum, and me.
I don’t know my way around here, so I stay close.
Running toward the hallway where the guy had been hit, turning the corner, we slow our pace as we approach another closed door.
My heart is pounding in my chest, and the boys get into position again as they prepare to clear the room.
We hear Ronan curse, prompting us to move into action to see why.
“She’s gone,” Orin says, his hands by his sides. His shoulders are pulled back, and he looks defeated and angry, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“What the fuck is happening?” Ronan paces the room with a hand on his hip, the other holding the pistol as he runs his palm across his forehead.
“I don’t know, but we need to see if Fitz can pull anything from the footage and give us some kind of lead. Things aren’t adding up here, and I don’t like the way this is looking,” Orin says to no one in particular as he becomes lost in thought, attempting to connect dots we can’t see.
Suddenly, the sound of screeching tires grates the silence. We all turn toward the door, then look at one another. Orin goes out first this time, Ronan follows, then Callum and me. We stop at the end of the hallway, waiting and watching the door we had entered from.
The door swings open and men enter the room quickly.
Ronin, Orin, and Callum immediately relax, realizing that reinforcements had arrived.
Callum pulls me close, kissing me on the top of my head before resting his chin there.
He rubs my back and I hold onto him. We aren’t in immediate danger, but none of this is adding up.
“What are we gonna do?” I ask Callum, my face still buried in his chest, so it sounds muffled. He sighs, his heartbeat still rapid.
“I’m not sure, mo agra,” he kisses the top of my head again before he speaks further.
“But the one thing I do know is we have men that will be searching for the driver and Nessa, as well as Fitz, scouring for more information. I don’t like the way this smells, and someone will pay for every life they took today.
” There was no missing the edge in his voice.
I pull back, catching him looking at one of his dead men, cold and lifeless on the floor.
Callum’s stare is steely and hard and full of rage.
“Are we still leaving in the morning? Do we need to wait till Monday like we originally planned?”
Callum ponders the options for a moment before he responds.
“There isn’t much we will be able to do until we know who’s responsible for this. There will be enough death by the end of it, and I don’t want the blood of the innocent on my hands. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
I just nod my head, and we walk to where the men stand discussing what to do going forward. They stop talking when they see me approaching. A rush of fury comes over me. I’m sick of being kept in the dark.
“No need to stop the conversation on my account, gentlemen. I am an equal part of this now, and I need to be in the know to be able to help,” I say, my voice cold.
I step forward, releasing Callum's hand, and stand in the middle of them all.
Callum's body is close to my left side. I turn to see him watching me, his eyes narrowed and deadly serious, his jaw flexing as he tries to control himself. But he doesn’t interrupt me.
“I am just as much a part of all of this as they are. I am my father's only child, and I will be taking over when he decides to step down, so I will say one more time, don’t stop on my account. You will report the same information to me as you do him.” They know who I am referring to.
They look toward Callum, then immediately begin to tell us what they know.
Callum’s hand makes contact with my lower back, and I can feel my anger start to recede.
“It has to be the Costas,” one of Callum’s men insists.
“We agree. Who else could it be?” another footman responds.
“Any whispers in the grapevine?” Orin asks as he turns to one of the younger guys, an Egan employee.
“Last time Cory checked in, he tailed Deluca to a cigar shop off 8th Ave.” This guy is barely an adult, but he seems confident in himself as he speaks.
“He hasn’t told us of any further movement.
I’ll call him and get an update.” He pulls his phone from his pocket as he steps away while the others continue talking in hushed tones, cursing the Costas and speculating about their motives.
“Cory isn’t answering his phone,” the younger footman exclaims from the hallway. His jaw is clenched, and he is gripping his phone tightly, knuckles white.
“Send some men over to his last known location. We need to meet my father and Cormac. Keep me updated, please.” Callum’s fury is apparent in his tone.
He scratches the scruff along his jaw with his left hand as he looks up to the ceiling.
“And from this point forward, no one is to go anywhere without at least one other person with them. No solo missions.” He looks around at the men, and they all mumble their agreement.
And in the midst of all this insanity, I can’t help but wonder. Where is Nessa? And who helped her escape?